Disclaimer: Don't own Smallville. That's clear by now. :)
Author's note: So, it turns out that Stan's manic depression isn't without reason. I'd tell you more but that would give away some of the plot. And it's not often I end up writing something with one of those so I figured I ought to use the opportunity and create some suspense. Or something like that.
Stan: Reloaded.
Chapter 1: Stan the Newspaper man
"No." I stared at Chloe Sullivan over the school store booth. She didn't seem to have gotten it the first time so I repeated it again. "No." English must not have been her first language because she still didn't leave. In fact, she leaned in closer to me. "Come on, Stan. I really need someone to help with the newspaper. Since Clark quit, Pete and I can't get it all done."
I sighed and pushed the color coded files closer to her hoping she'd get the hint and leave. I'm not fond of being ambushed like that with offers of new jobs. My dad was in Vietnam and, trust me, Tet was kinder. Chloe continued babbling and I stared at her wishing for the third time she'd go away.
"So I figured that since you only have the school store to look after you could easily help."
"Yeah, that's it, Chloe. Only the school store," I bitterly threw back at her. "It only takes five minutes of my time and it's not like I'm the only person running it or anything. I don't even matter. My answer's no. So leave. Now."
Chloe looked desperate and I couldn't help but feel pleased I was at least partially the cause of it. "Okay, I didn't mean it like that."
"Yes you did."
"No I didn't."
I gave her a look mixed with loathing and insult. "Don't lie. I'm not so stupid that I can't recognize a lie."
She threw up her hands. "Alright! Fine! I meant it! But what I meant was two people can handle the school store a lot easier than the paper."
I wasn't exactly sure what she meant. "Tw-oo?" I prounounced as though I had never heard the word before.
"Yes, two." She gave in with a resigned sigh. "If you help with the paper, I'll help with the school store." I felt my lips curl into a pleased smile. "Alright. Deal. Now get your folders and go."
She did, almost as though she couldn't wait to get away from there. She probably couldn't. That's how it is with most people anyway. God, I hate them. At the last minute, she turned and called over her shoulder, "Meet me at the Torch office after 7th period!" I suppressed a shudder and rang up a few permanent markers for Chad.
***********************************************************************
Chloe shoved some piles of paper off a spare desk. "This will be your desk," she said with what was supposed to be a flourish.
I stared at it blankly then looked up at Chloe. "It's covered with paper."
"I know. We've kind of been using it as a storage area since Clark left." She seemed oddly embarrressed by this admission. I sat down at the dest uncomfortably. "I'm not surprised he did," I said.
She frowned. "Why do you say that?"
"People always do that when you need them the most. That's how life is. God, don't talk to me about life!"
"Um...okay, I won't," she gave me a strange look and I thought about glaring at her, but there was no point. It would accomplish nothing. I shoved a pile of papers onto the floor and looked up at her. "What menial activity do you have for me to do?"
She seemd taken aback by this comment too. "Um, well, you'll help with the layout, printing, pester the rest of our staff to turn in their articles and cover the sports column."
What? Sports? Was this girl on crack? No, she would never do something so interesting. "I don't do sports," I said firmly, intending to put an end to the matter.
"So? That wouldn't make you the first sports writer we've had who doesn't cover sports."
"I don't write them either."
She looked at me exhasperated and opened her mouth to say something but Pete came in at that moment. "Hey, Chloe! How's the search for a replacement for Cla--" He saw me and stopped dead in his tracks. I don't blame him. I would have done the same. "Hello, Stan," he said slowly, his voice having lost all semblance of friendship and happiness. "What brings you here?"
Chloe broke in before I could answer. "He volunteered to write the sports column."
Pete tried to cover up his unpleasant reaction and failed miserably. "Oh, that's...great."
"No, it's not," I replied dully. "Unless, of course, by great you mean the worst news since the Y2K turned out not to be a problem," I said bitterly.
"Ummm...Chloe, can I talk to you for a second in the hall?" Pete backed away from me like everything within a two foot radius of me was doomed.
"Sure. We'll be back," she told me.
"Of course you will," I said. I always have the worst kind of luck.
Chloe tried to shut the door behind her but some moron had kicked in the frame and it bounced back open. None of them noticed. So I got to hear every word.
"Chloe," Pete began, "I know you're desperate for a replacement sports writer but you can't hire him!"
"Why not? The only thing I had to do to get him to agree to it was volunteer to help with the school store. Compared to the other offers, it'll be a cakewalk." I never thought anyone besides me could refer to the school store with such loathing and, for a moment, I felt a vague sense of companionship with her. Then Pete started talking and killed it.
"I know but it's not as easy as it sounds. Trust me! I interviewed him last year." 'If you can call it that,' I thought. "Stan is a walking depression machine! He's got a chemical imbalance bigger than the national deficit." Actually it's bigger but no nevermind.
"Oh, come on," Chloe said. "He can't be that bad. And if he is a little unhappy, who could blame him? He runs the school store, for god's sake." All of my Chloe love went out the window right then. I was debating whether it had actually had time to enter when the two returned.
"Okay, all you'll need to do for the sports column is go to a few football games, basketball games, whatever, watch what happens and then write the story. Maybe once in a while you could interview the coach or some players to give it a more human feel." She was looking entirely too happy about this.
"A human feel?" I repeated.
"Yes, make it seem more...approachable."
I don't think I've ever seen anything to show that sports is 'approachable.' Usually it strikes me as quite the opposite. But whatever. I stared at her. "You. Want me. To make the...sports column. Approachable," I said slowly.
She didn't seem to understand what the issue was with this. I shuddered painfully and Chloe looked concerned. "Are you okay?"
I gave her a look of disdain. "You want me to write an approachable sports column and ask me if I'm okay? I never thought the people I'd deal with at the paper could be more idiotic than the school store."
Chloe tried not to notice the obvious insult, which only sealed my conviction that she must be dumb. "Well, I'll just...leave you to settle in, okay?" She backed away from me and into Pete and the two of them left.
******************************************************************
I set the tape recorder on the table in front of me and pressed record. I stared at the coach who was sitting across from me fiddling with the whistle around his neck. The tape recorded about thirty seconds of silece and still no one spoke. "So," I said finally. 'Put them at ease,' Chloe had told me. Fat chance. This guy made hedgehogs look relaxed. "You're the new sports coach."
He looked relieved. "Yes, I am--" I cut him off.
"Good." I paused. "Did you hear about our last coach?"
Uncertainty crossed his face and made a stopover. "Um. Yes, actually I did."
"Pretty unpleasant, huh?"
"Yeah, who would have thought such a great coach would turn out to be so disturbed?"
I ignored his comemnt. "Disappointing if you asked me."
The new coach looked even more confused. "Why do you say that?"
"Being cooked alive was too good for him."
Coach Aktinson smiled as though he were talking to a very small child who thought there was a monster under his bed. "Now I didn't hear that."
"I didn't ask you what you heard," I said sharply.
"Okay!" The coach leaned back in his chair holding his hands out in a sign of complacency. I hate complacency. I let the silence drag on for a bit. "What's your plan for the next couple of games?"
The coach laughed a very fake laugh. "Oh, I can't tell you that, you might give it to our opponents." His voice was filled with the worst sort of saccharine cheerfulness that made my teeth hurt just hearing it. I eyed him with distaste. "If you don't have a game plan, you can tell me that too," I said finally.
"Oh, we've got a game plan--"
"Whatever." I moved onto the next question. "How do you plan to deal with a bunch of half brained jocks who have difficulty passing even the most rudimentary math tests?"
Coach Atkinson didn't seem like the sharpest tool in the shed either. He frowned at the question as though the thought had never occured to him before. "Um. I'm not sure what you mean by stupid..."
"You wouldn't be. Stupid. Half-witted. Incapable of buttoning up their own pants. Stupid."
He stared at me. "Say, don't you want to know anything about the positions people are playing or who we consider to be our most valuable players."
I shrugged. "It doesn't really matter. Not if you think of it like I do. They'll all die anyway. But if you need to hear your own voice, I'll sit here and pretend I'm interested."
He did. "Well, we've been hit pretty hard lately, especially since Eric--" I snorted. "Excuse me?" The coach asked.
"Nothing."
"No, I want to know what it was I said that made you snort." He was looking kind of pissed by then.
I didn't say anything but coachie said, "I believe this interview is over." He stood up to make it clear I could leave.
I did. "I'd tell you to have a nice day," I said on my way out, "but you won't anyway."
**************************************************************************
Chloe approached my desk holding my article. She looked irritated but I'm just thinking she stands a little too close to the press and has gotten a few too many of those fumes, if you know what I mean. "Stan, I'm really glad you wrote your article and turned it in on time and all." No she wasn't. "But I can't use this."
"Why not?"
"Well," she searched her mind for a good way to say this that wouldn't offend me. People always do that and I don't know why they bother. It always offends me. "It's not exactly what I was looking for."
I glared at her. "What, a little too human?"
She hesitated. "No, that's not the problem." She paused again then went on. "It's just, well, you called Coach Atkinson a 'dim-witted hedgehog-looking moron whose revolutionary new game plan included the brillant idea of running,'" she quoted. "I can't publish that. It's libel!"
"No it's not. It's true."
"He might not see it like that."
I shrugged. "Well, excuse me for breathing."
She backed up. "Stan, I don't want you to take this the wrong way but--."
"Then tell me which way to take it and I'll be sure to do so," I said bitterly.
"Fine! You know what? It's FINE!" She threw the article across the room but it failed to move with any sort of force and just fluttered to the ground.
"That was ridiculous," I said plainly.
"RIDICULOUS?!" she screamed. "You know what's ridiculous? This situation is ridiculous! I--I--" Chloe ran out of the room, slamming the door behind her. It bounced back with an angry thud. I sat there in the following silence for a moment then noticed a new stack of papers on my desk and knocked them to the floor.
Author's note: So, it turns out that Stan's manic depression isn't without reason. I'd tell you more but that would give away some of the plot. And it's not often I end up writing something with one of those so I figured I ought to use the opportunity and create some suspense. Or something like that.
Stan: Reloaded.
Chapter 1: Stan the Newspaper man
"No." I stared at Chloe Sullivan over the school store booth. She didn't seem to have gotten it the first time so I repeated it again. "No." English must not have been her first language because she still didn't leave. In fact, she leaned in closer to me. "Come on, Stan. I really need someone to help with the newspaper. Since Clark quit, Pete and I can't get it all done."
I sighed and pushed the color coded files closer to her hoping she'd get the hint and leave. I'm not fond of being ambushed like that with offers of new jobs. My dad was in Vietnam and, trust me, Tet was kinder. Chloe continued babbling and I stared at her wishing for the third time she'd go away.
"So I figured that since you only have the school store to look after you could easily help."
"Yeah, that's it, Chloe. Only the school store," I bitterly threw back at her. "It only takes five minutes of my time and it's not like I'm the only person running it or anything. I don't even matter. My answer's no. So leave. Now."
Chloe looked desperate and I couldn't help but feel pleased I was at least partially the cause of it. "Okay, I didn't mean it like that."
"Yes you did."
"No I didn't."
I gave her a look mixed with loathing and insult. "Don't lie. I'm not so stupid that I can't recognize a lie."
She threw up her hands. "Alright! Fine! I meant it! But what I meant was two people can handle the school store a lot easier than the paper."
I wasn't exactly sure what she meant. "Tw-oo?" I prounounced as though I had never heard the word before.
"Yes, two." She gave in with a resigned sigh. "If you help with the paper, I'll help with the school store." I felt my lips curl into a pleased smile. "Alright. Deal. Now get your folders and go."
She did, almost as though she couldn't wait to get away from there. She probably couldn't. That's how it is with most people anyway. God, I hate them. At the last minute, she turned and called over her shoulder, "Meet me at the Torch office after 7th period!" I suppressed a shudder and rang up a few permanent markers for Chad.
***********************************************************************
Chloe shoved some piles of paper off a spare desk. "This will be your desk," she said with what was supposed to be a flourish.
I stared at it blankly then looked up at Chloe. "It's covered with paper."
"I know. We've kind of been using it as a storage area since Clark left." She seemed oddly embarrressed by this admission. I sat down at the dest uncomfortably. "I'm not surprised he did," I said.
She frowned. "Why do you say that?"
"People always do that when you need them the most. That's how life is. God, don't talk to me about life!"
"Um...okay, I won't," she gave me a strange look and I thought about glaring at her, but there was no point. It would accomplish nothing. I shoved a pile of papers onto the floor and looked up at her. "What menial activity do you have for me to do?"
She seemd taken aback by this comment too. "Um, well, you'll help with the layout, printing, pester the rest of our staff to turn in their articles and cover the sports column."
What? Sports? Was this girl on crack? No, she would never do something so interesting. "I don't do sports," I said firmly, intending to put an end to the matter.
"So? That wouldn't make you the first sports writer we've had who doesn't cover sports."
"I don't write them either."
She looked at me exhasperated and opened her mouth to say something but Pete came in at that moment. "Hey, Chloe! How's the search for a replacement for Cla--" He saw me and stopped dead in his tracks. I don't blame him. I would have done the same. "Hello, Stan," he said slowly, his voice having lost all semblance of friendship and happiness. "What brings you here?"
Chloe broke in before I could answer. "He volunteered to write the sports column."
Pete tried to cover up his unpleasant reaction and failed miserably. "Oh, that's...great."
"No, it's not," I replied dully. "Unless, of course, by great you mean the worst news since the Y2K turned out not to be a problem," I said bitterly.
"Ummm...Chloe, can I talk to you for a second in the hall?" Pete backed away from me like everything within a two foot radius of me was doomed.
"Sure. We'll be back," she told me.
"Of course you will," I said. I always have the worst kind of luck.
Chloe tried to shut the door behind her but some moron had kicked in the frame and it bounced back open. None of them noticed. So I got to hear every word.
"Chloe," Pete began, "I know you're desperate for a replacement sports writer but you can't hire him!"
"Why not? The only thing I had to do to get him to agree to it was volunteer to help with the school store. Compared to the other offers, it'll be a cakewalk." I never thought anyone besides me could refer to the school store with such loathing and, for a moment, I felt a vague sense of companionship with her. Then Pete started talking and killed it.
"I know but it's not as easy as it sounds. Trust me! I interviewed him last year." 'If you can call it that,' I thought. "Stan is a walking depression machine! He's got a chemical imbalance bigger than the national deficit." Actually it's bigger but no nevermind.
"Oh, come on," Chloe said. "He can't be that bad. And if he is a little unhappy, who could blame him? He runs the school store, for god's sake." All of my Chloe love went out the window right then. I was debating whether it had actually had time to enter when the two returned.
"Okay, all you'll need to do for the sports column is go to a few football games, basketball games, whatever, watch what happens and then write the story. Maybe once in a while you could interview the coach or some players to give it a more human feel." She was looking entirely too happy about this.
"A human feel?" I repeated.
"Yes, make it seem more...approachable."
I don't think I've ever seen anything to show that sports is 'approachable.' Usually it strikes me as quite the opposite. But whatever. I stared at her. "You. Want me. To make the...sports column. Approachable," I said slowly.
She didn't seem to understand what the issue was with this. I shuddered painfully and Chloe looked concerned. "Are you okay?"
I gave her a look of disdain. "You want me to write an approachable sports column and ask me if I'm okay? I never thought the people I'd deal with at the paper could be more idiotic than the school store."
Chloe tried not to notice the obvious insult, which only sealed my conviction that she must be dumb. "Well, I'll just...leave you to settle in, okay?" She backed away from me and into Pete and the two of them left.
******************************************************************
I set the tape recorder on the table in front of me and pressed record. I stared at the coach who was sitting across from me fiddling with the whistle around his neck. The tape recorded about thirty seconds of silece and still no one spoke. "So," I said finally. 'Put them at ease,' Chloe had told me. Fat chance. This guy made hedgehogs look relaxed. "You're the new sports coach."
He looked relieved. "Yes, I am--" I cut him off.
"Good." I paused. "Did you hear about our last coach?"
Uncertainty crossed his face and made a stopover. "Um. Yes, actually I did."
"Pretty unpleasant, huh?"
"Yeah, who would have thought such a great coach would turn out to be so disturbed?"
I ignored his comemnt. "Disappointing if you asked me."
The new coach looked even more confused. "Why do you say that?"
"Being cooked alive was too good for him."
Coach Aktinson smiled as though he were talking to a very small child who thought there was a monster under his bed. "Now I didn't hear that."
"I didn't ask you what you heard," I said sharply.
"Okay!" The coach leaned back in his chair holding his hands out in a sign of complacency. I hate complacency. I let the silence drag on for a bit. "What's your plan for the next couple of games?"
The coach laughed a very fake laugh. "Oh, I can't tell you that, you might give it to our opponents." His voice was filled with the worst sort of saccharine cheerfulness that made my teeth hurt just hearing it. I eyed him with distaste. "If you don't have a game plan, you can tell me that too," I said finally.
"Oh, we've got a game plan--"
"Whatever." I moved onto the next question. "How do you plan to deal with a bunch of half brained jocks who have difficulty passing even the most rudimentary math tests?"
Coach Atkinson didn't seem like the sharpest tool in the shed either. He frowned at the question as though the thought had never occured to him before. "Um. I'm not sure what you mean by stupid..."
"You wouldn't be. Stupid. Half-witted. Incapable of buttoning up their own pants. Stupid."
He stared at me. "Say, don't you want to know anything about the positions people are playing or who we consider to be our most valuable players."
I shrugged. "It doesn't really matter. Not if you think of it like I do. They'll all die anyway. But if you need to hear your own voice, I'll sit here and pretend I'm interested."
He did. "Well, we've been hit pretty hard lately, especially since Eric--" I snorted. "Excuse me?" The coach asked.
"Nothing."
"No, I want to know what it was I said that made you snort." He was looking kind of pissed by then.
I didn't say anything but coachie said, "I believe this interview is over." He stood up to make it clear I could leave.
I did. "I'd tell you to have a nice day," I said on my way out, "but you won't anyway."
**************************************************************************
Chloe approached my desk holding my article. She looked irritated but I'm just thinking she stands a little too close to the press and has gotten a few too many of those fumes, if you know what I mean. "Stan, I'm really glad you wrote your article and turned it in on time and all." No she wasn't. "But I can't use this."
"Why not?"
"Well," she searched her mind for a good way to say this that wouldn't offend me. People always do that and I don't know why they bother. It always offends me. "It's not exactly what I was looking for."
I glared at her. "What, a little too human?"
She hesitated. "No, that's not the problem." She paused again then went on. "It's just, well, you called Coach Atkinson a 'dim-witted hedgehog-looking moron whose revolutionary new game plan included the brillant idea of running,'" she quoted. "I can't publish that. It's libel!"
"No it's not. It's true."
"He might not see it like that."
I shrugged. "Well, excuse me for breathing."
She backed up. "Stan, I don't want you to take this the wrong way but--."
"Then tell me which way to take it and I'll be sure to do so," I said bitterly.
"Fine! You know what? It's FINE!" She threw the article across the room but it failed to move with any sort of force and just fluttered to the ground.
"That was ridiculous," I said plainly.
"RIDICULOUS?!" she screamed. "You know what's ridiculous? This situation is ridiculous! I--I--" Chloe ran out of the room, slamming the door behind her. It bounced back with an angry thud. I sat there in the following silence for a moment then noticed a new stack of papers on my desk and knocked them to the floor.
