A/N: Another story that just came out. Seriously, assaulted me in like 2 hours this morning. I don't know why Smallville fics are assaulting me, but I'll keep writing and sharing them. Hope you guys like it.

This is a weird POV piece, that I hope gives us a new slant on the tale we know and love.


Mondays With Morrie

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Intro.

13-05-2031

The reporter checked that he had everything he needed. The ultra slimline digital voice-catcher (a recording device so advanced it was considered classified military technology only two years ago), his iBook, with the almost 70 GB of background data he'd collected for the story (all readily searchable by voice-command) and, of course, a reporter's failsafe – a notepad and pen.

The reporter was very aware of the fact that he was walking in the footsteps of giants here.

Normally, being assigned to write a biography was a sign of a flagging career. After all, trolling through old home videos and interviewing people who knew famous people way back when before they were famous wasn't exactly on par with being 'on the spot' – delivering firsthand accounts of the trench battle taking place between heroes from the League and the new invaders from K'raath.

Not this biography, though. This was the highest honour. Even if the interview he was about to conduct wouldn't be terribly riveting, or form a significant part of the Data-Book that was scheduled to be released next year.

The door opened, and an in-house guard, proudly displaying the Daily Planet lapel pin – led the old man in. The reporter was struck by his appearance. According to the file, Maurice "Morrie" Goldstein was 103 years old. He looked at least 130.

The reporter knew that Morrie started working at the Daily Planet as a janitor's intern in 1946. A war veteran at the ripe-old age of 19, he was soon assigned to the security detail. He was promoted to Head of Security in 1960. A position he held for an unbelievable 54 years, before his retirement in 2014.

In a very real sense, Morrie had seen it all. He'd been 'on the spot', in regular contact with men and women who shaped the way the world saw the world. Journalistic greats like Edgar Marriner, Janice Troyman, Perry White… the list went on and on. They all knew Morrie. And Morrie knew them.

Which was the whole reason the reporter was here today. The old man greeted him warmly, with a surprisingly firm handshake, before settling down into the ergonomically fantastic chair they'd brought in for him. His eyes were bright and sharp, and his smile genuine. The reporter liked him instantly – becoming part of a long, long line of reporters who considered Morrie someone they could call friend. He quickly went over his reasons for the interview, asking Morrie if he needed anything before they got started. Morrie asked for water, and the guard was dispatched to fetch a bottle.

The reporter explained that this wouldn't be a standard Q&A. Rather, he wanted Morrie to get comfortable, and just tell some stories. They'd be data-captured, and the reporter would pull pertinent anecdotes for the final manuscript. Morrie was fine with that, and started to talk. Soon, the reporter found himself swept away, on a tale he'd never heard told…