A/N: hey all! It's been a while since I posted anything new, I know. Here's the thing, I love feedback, be it good, bad, or just plain silly. Let me know what you think!!

if you saw the latest episode, then you know Chloe and Jimmy (Olsen, though they didn't come out and say it- but it is, we know it is!) had sex. In my fic, he's the same age as Chloe, maybe a few months younger, so that would make him 15/16 (and in my mind, conveniently happens to look like Adam Brody-the only man alive who could ever possibly bring the bow-tie back to high fashion. And for that, Adam Brody, I salute you!). In it, he's also gotten an internship at the DP.

This is the story of them.

Another A/N: I own nothing, if I did, Lana would be written out entirely…or she would simply be better written. Chloe would have a slough of male admirers, who love her for her strength and her faults, Clark would tell Chloe his secret, and maybe he wouldn't feel so alone, and Lex, I reiterate, would alternately be naked and chained to my—I mean, A A bed, and dressed in a fuzzy man sized bunny-suit. The first is a fetish, the second is just funny. And Clark would mysteriously loose all his shirts. And possibly some pants...and now we know why I am in no way affiliated with the network, or the show. Damn.

Chapter 1: And the Cat Came Back

My mind drifts back, sifting through memories, playing it all over in my mind once more, as I live it again. In the photographs.

I shifted into park, my foot lifting off the brake and my hands reaching for the keys. The engine died quietly, and I took a second to give myself a once-over in the mirror.

"First day as a Columnist. Third summer as an intern." I murmured, digging through my purse. "Tube of lipstick…tampon…" I muttered as I continued to rummage through the clutter, until finally, "Ahah! Mascara!"

As I applied my make-up, touching up my lip-gloss as well, I couldn't help but notice the dark circles under my eyes. "God I need a latte."

Sighing at my reflection, I exited the car, silently appraising my choice of footwear. Flats, while classy, in no way hindered my ability to walk. I could not say the same thing about stilettos.

The corner of my mouth quirked upward into a knowing half smirk as I strode down the sidewalk, to the large glass double doors.

Daily Planet, they said in big bold letters, crisp and clean. They must have redone that recently, I thought to myself, sidling past the front desk with a wave of my hand. They knew me here.

Patricia, the front desk secretary chuckled at me, her frizzy hair caught in a large clip. "Back again Chloe-girl?"

I pivoted, grinning impishly. "Like the cat. And it's Miss Sullivan, if you please,"

"Oh ho! You can put on airs with me when you stop being the girl I used to baby-sit." She snorted. "I changed your diapers girl! Don't you forget it!"

Laughing, I blew her a kiss. "Never, I wouldn't dream of it! Dad says hi!"

I took a few jogging steps to catch the elevator to the 14th floor, sandwiched between one of the janitorial staff and a few business suits.

I tapped one of them on the shoulder, throwing the brown haired man one of my most accommodating smiles, and said, "The 14th floor please,"

When the door slid open, I took a deep breath, and a felt a grin spread slowly across my face. Straightening my red tweed blazer, I entered. Copiers buzzed, the local gossips hovered like flies over the water cooler, and computer keys clacked with the sound of a story.

"Shit, it's good to be back," I said, my voice lost in the perpetual noise of the newspaper office.

I sauntered past the cubicles and copiers, until I stood before the door of the resident Editor-in-Chief, Donavan Spacey. I knocked twice, and leant against the side, a smug look on my face, like a cat who found the cream.

No more than a moment later, the forty-something editor swung the door open, the corners of his green eyes crinkling into happy crows-feet. The cigarette in his mouth looked as if the ash was going to fall off, it had burnt down so much.

"Chloe Sullivan." He stated, shaking his head in mock solemnity. "Come crawling back?"

A laugh bubbled up my throat, "Only for you Dona." I told him, patting the pocket of his pink striped dress shirt. He was gay, overtly so, but he got the job done with such alacrity and capability that even J.J Jamison of the Daily Bugle was begrudged to compliment his style. And so was I.

His arms closed around me in a hug. "God, I missed you!" he reverted back to the Editor, and held out his hand. I took it, my brows quirked up inquisitively. "Good to have you back Miss Sullivan," he announced with a wink.

I played along.

"It's good to be back, Mr. Spacey."

In the corner of the office, someone cleared their throat.

I peered over Dona's shoulder. It was a boy about my age, give or take a year, 16-17, there abouts. He wore a sex pistols t-shirt over a button down, and a Bow-tie. Quirky, I thought. Slung around his neck like it belonged there was a camera. He had his hands stuffed into his pockets, rocking back and forth unobtrusively.

Dark chocolate brown - the light-spots in his eyes were bright. That was what I noticed first about his face. His heavy lashed bright brown eyes.

"Oh!" Dona cried, as if he'd forgotten, "forgive me. Mr. Jimmy Olsen, meet Miss Chloe Sullivan."

I took a few steps forward, and leant to offer him my hand.

"Nice to meet you," I said pleasantly, brushing a stray hair from my eyes.

He gave a little half-smile, and replied, "The pleasure's all mine."