A/N: Just a bit of fun. Hopefully. A series of short ficlets, all from the POV of one of the Maintenance and Supplies guys at the Daily Planet, Bob. I made him up, btw, I don't recall any mention of any such character in the show itself. This entire fic was inspired by Bren Ren who asked how much trouble I thought Lois and Clark got into with the Supplies Department due to Clark's desk sweeping tendencies. ;)
This chapter is set during Crimson of S6.
Chapter 1: Crimson Capers
The elevator doors slid open, but before Bob could take a step out, he found himself with a face full of blue as something barrelled into him. He only had a moment to realise he was about to land on his ass, when he felt a steel grip on his arm and was pulled sharply back onto his feet. Bob considered himself a rather solid man and wasn't used to being knocked around, so when he'd regained his balance and managed to get a look at the brick wall he'd run into, he suddenly understood why Joe was standing in the hallway, snorting like a hyena in heat.
He scowled up at the towering man, who looked like he was only a few years out of high school, and noticed that while he'd nearly crumpled in a heap in the collision, this kid still had a grip on his girlfriend's hand. It pissed him off even more. "Hey! Watch where you're goin', kid."
But the over-grown teenager didn't spare Bob so much as a glance, instead, snaking his arm around his girlfriend's back and removing what little space there'd been between them. From the eyes that bulged out of Joe's head, Bob could imagine where that hand had come to rest. The lady in question, with her knee high boots and tiny skirt, didn't seem to mind and just trailed a hand up the broad blue chest, Bob had just come far too up-close-and-personal with.
"What are you kids doin' up here, anyway?" He demanded.
The grin the kid shot him was a little sinister and Bob found himself eyeing the distance between him and the door. But he needn't have worried about escaping.
"Three's a crowd, gramps." The iron grip returned and Bob found himself shoved bodily out of the elevator doors before they slid shut.
"Whoo," Joe laughed. "That's one lucky son-of-a…"
"The Daily Planet isn't some pay be the hour hotel, Joe."
Bob laughed. "Totally."
"Well, as much as I enjoyed that, better get back to work. We have to get this office cleared out by tomorrow."
Bob fell into step with Joe as they left the elevator and made their way to the end of the hall. "What happened to the reporter who used it?" he asked.
"Now that's a big mystery. He disappeared at about the same time as that gossip lady, Linda Lake. Just left the office one night and never came back. I've already started on the clean-up. He even left some of his personal stuff behind. Nice sport coat hanging on the coat rack if you're interested."
"No thanks, don't see myself needin' one of those in a hurry."
"Everything we need to keep and take down to Archives is on the desk, the rest can go… crap!"Joe had pushed open the doors and was staring at the floor around the desk.
Bob squeezed past him to take a look. Folders and papers were everywhere, only a few files left on the desk. "What the hell happened?"
"God damn it, it took us hours to sort this crap."
Bob moved further into the room, surveying the damage. The phone was sprawled a few feet away from the desk but seemed to be intact and undamaged. He couldn't see any damage to any of the other hardware. The desk seemed alright, though when he looked closely he saw scratch marks in the floor at the desk's legs, as if it had been pushed back a couple inches.
Bob shook his head. "For people that go around in starched shirts and ties, you'd think they'd be a little more..."
"That's one word for it." Bob shrugged and got back to business. He didn't share Joe's people-watching curiosity; although to look at Joe now, he'd say it was less curious and more furious. To Bob's way of thinking, he had a job to do - a job that kept this place running - and he needed to get on with it.
He bent over and picked up a desk lamp. It dangled in two precariously attached pieces as he held it up. "Somebody have a vendetta against office supplies?"
He dumped it on the desk and pulled the notepad out of his back pocket. "We'll need to requisition a new desk lamp before the new guy starts."
A/N: Reviews? Yes please! I'm not too proud to beg.