Author's Note: Just a little story I fired off after watching the season 6 premiere. I'm totally in love with Jimmy myself, but he threatens to break my Chlark-set heart. This is a plotless little ficlet for you based on that last scene between Clark, Chloe, and Jimmy. Watch it become completely non-canon by next week! (Oh, those wily producers...) Anyway, Clark-voice and slightly OOC. Written trying to be funny, so please don't take it too seriously, especially the ending!

Spoilers for: Episodes 5.22 – Vessel; 6.1 – Zod


Jimmy Olsen Must Die!

A Look-Whose-Love-is-Unrequited-Now-You-Big-Dumb-Alien Story


I don't care who does it, I just know it has to be done. Myself, some hobo down in Suicide Slum, a conveniently targeted meteor. Doesn't really matter to me.

Everything was just peachy two minutes ago. I'd woven my way through the madness that was the Daily Planet in search of my favorite reporter and received the standard "Look, we're still both alive!" hug upon finding her. Yeah, I've had more than my fair share of those already.

It was the "Everything's great now that you're here" and the second, tighter hug that threw me for a loop. Oh, right. There was something I needed to talk to her about. That whole kiss thing.

"Um, Chloe...?" I faltered, trying to work my way through those words. Definitely not comfortable talking about this. Screw your courage to the sticking place, Kent! Ugh, literature. Why Shakespeare, why now? "Before I left...there was this moment when we, um..."

I meant to continue with that thought, I really did. But she took that opportunity to say something about "laying one on me." Okay, I might've put it a bit more tactfully than that, but that was pretty much what happened. Not that I didn't like it. Honestly, I was kinda getting into the moment before that phone rang.

Oh, she was still talking. Got lost in my thoughts there for a second. Sorry. "It's not like I'm expecting us to hook up," she finished.

"Wait. Back up. Really? Because, um, I was kinda hoping otherwise, just a little bit. If it's okay with you, of course." That's what I should've replied. Instead, I cop out with a weak little, "Um, yeah. Me—me neither." Pathetic! Absolutely imbecilic! Say what you want to say, Clark! Don't let her put words in your mouth! Unless her tongue comes with them.

Oops, too many late night movies for me.

I hesitated then, all awkwardness from head to oversized feet. Missed opportunities—story of my life. And this one was especially painful, because not seconds later, there came that voice. So casual, with his "Hello, bright eyes."

"Bright eyes?" I echoed mentally. And just who're you, buddy? Now maybe I was just being defensive and a tad possessive, but he didn't look like he'd just escaped an other-dimensional prison and saved the world from a vengeful alien convict, then come calling on his best friend to make sure she was all right because they both thought the world was ending the last time they parted. I was conversing with the lady, sir. You may not cut in.

"Oh, bad time?" the intruder said, glancing between me and Chloe. Yes, bad time. Please leave. I'd be happy to meet you later, my good man, but I have some business just now with your Miss Bright Eyes.

Ah, but the best-laid plans of mice and men—and tongue-tied aliens, too, obviously—often go awry. Chloe, dear sweet Chloe, drives the dagger home with an easy "No! Uh, I was just talking to a friend." Ouch. Is that how she's felt all these years? Because that whole "friend" thing hurt way worse than I was expecting. That would've been a good time to say something. Hindsight's 20/20. Well, I see way better than that, but you know what I mean.

It was the next thing he said that really cemented the dislike. I could sense it before the words even left his mouth; over the years I learned to pick up on the vibe of people about to say something stupid at me. "Whoa. Grow 'em big in Kansas, don't they?" Yes. Thank you so very much for noticing. I'll have you know they grow them big on Krypton.

I am aware that I'm tall and fairly well-built; it's pretty obvious. Thus, it gets kinda old when people are always alluding to that fact. --Yes, I was on the football team. --No, I don't work out. --How much can I bench-press? don't even want to know. I didn't say anything, just narrowed my eyes and gave him my best "I vill crush you, leetle maaahhhn!" look. It's actually kind of fun, and it works great for intimidation.

Chloe must've noticed I wasn't taking that comment so well, because she hastily made introductions. She presented the Interrupting Boy Wonder as "Jimmy Olsen" and my mind went, "Huh. I know that name. Why do I know that name?"

Still trying to puzzle out why I should remember him, I shook they guy's hand as he stuttered something about it actually being "James Olsen." Chloe responded with a "Since when?" and I felt my eyebrows knit as it hit me. Duh. Stupid, of course!

Lana told me once about a little conversation she'd had with Chloe about...well...intimate things. Including a "summer fling" Chloe had with some boy named Jimmy. I'm sure my little blonde friend would be none too pleased that I possess this knowledge, but I think I've just found that "Jimmy." It's a good thing he'd already retrieved his hand by the time of my little revelation, or he might accidentally have had some fingers crushed. Yeah, I could've taken meeting one of Chloe's ex-boyfriends a little better. Still, I held my tongue. At least I'm good at that.

In response to Chloe's question, Jimmy the Summer Fling shrugged and muttered, "" And he chuckled! Augh. I aimed a disbelieving look over at Chloe, eyes narrowing again. Telepathy's not one of my powers, however, so I really don't think she got my message of "This is him? You're kidding! You could do so much better than this!" Well, maybe she sensed the general idea, though, because she looked down and away from both of us. But not for long, because soon those eyes were flicking back up to the Fling and she was smiling. Augh again. I really don't like this Jimmy kid, he's making my Chloe act funny.

And then he invites her to the vending machine. I'm dumbstruck. And what's worse, she accepts. Immediately. In fact, she said she'd "love to."

Hey, whoa. Hold on a minute, Chloe. You thought I was dead ninety seconds before, and now you're running off without me? I was expecting to get grilled for all the little details (keen journalistic curiosity, anyone?), not left feeling like a spare wheel in this unexpected little tête-à-tête.

Almost like an afterthought, Chloe looked up at me and asked if I was hungry. My mental reply? "No, thank you. I'm actually feeling a bit nauseated by the surreal nature of this conversation. But I'd be happy to chaperone the miniature excursion to the break room." My actual reply? "Me? No. I'm—I'm okay. You guys go ahead." Remember what I was saying about copping out earlier? Chalk another one up for old Clark Kent, king of Not Saying What He Really Means.

I swear Olsen looked relieved that I said to go on without me. I rocked a bit on the balls of my feet and tried to smile, but my face wouldn't cooperate. Soon Chloe and he were grinning at each other and preparing to walk off. In a final gesture of—what was it? Friendliness? Etiquette? A desire to make me as irritated as possible?—well, something or other, the guy says "Catch ya later, C.K." What? We'd known each other for under a minute and he was already abbreviating my one-syllable name? Yeah, that really rubbed me the wrong way.

So that brings me to the present moment, where I'm watching my Chloe walk off with Mr. Summer Fling and blinking at the absurdity of it all. What is this, some sort of bizarro-world? Did the Phantom Zone really spit me back out on normal Earth?

On the other hand, it really does make me realize that I like Chloe. A lot. Enough to where I'm certain that I'm jealous of her new coworker—which, believe me, is not a good feeling. It's like the granddaddy of all missed opportunities laughing in my face.

Which is how I came up with my resolution. Grinding my teeth as they disappear around a corner, I decide to abandon my lifelong determination to never intentionally cause the death of anyone. Like I said before, I don't care who does it or how. If this keeps up, it will just have to happen. I'll regret these thoughts later, I'm sure, but right now my mind's made up...

Jimmy Olsen must die!