Summary: Once in a while you come across the one person you can't get out of your head. Starts with season three's Exile. What if Clark had met somebody at the club that summer when he ran away (while under the influence of red kryptonite)? Her name's Annette and she's more then she seems to be.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Annette leaned against the back wall of the club, foggy club smoke pooling around her in waves. She wore a tight red v-neck with no sleeves and a small black skirt with red knee high boots. Her long honey brown hair was open, running down to the small of her back.

She noticed a few of the men in the club checking her out and she alluringly smirked back at the ones that looked as if they had money. After all, that was the way she made her living – by renting her body out.

Pushing her hair out of her eyes, she forced a smile onto her face and sauntered over to one of the men. As he offered to buy her a drink, she couldn't help but wish for something else. Something better, something fun, something new.

Clark Kent punched his fist into the ATM machine, letting money pool out into the bag in his hands. He waved to the camera, his face obstructed by the mask he wore. He knew they'd never catch him even if they did find out who he was. They were all just puny humans and he – wasn't.

Chuckling as he spotted a red corvette, he pulled off the black facemask and tossed it to the floor. He crossed over to the car and forced the door open with brute force, smirking with satisfaction when the lock snapped open without resistance.

He distractedly marveled as to why nearly everyone always left an extra key set in the bottom compartment. How stupid could you be, practically begging somebody to come along and steal your car? A poster on a tree caught his eye and he glanced at it. It was a picture of Lex Luthor with the words 'Missing and Presumed Dead' stamped along the bottom.

"Hey gorgeous…" He curved his lips into a ghost of a smile when he spotted a vivacious blonde in a strapless red number on the Metropolis sidewalk.

"Headin' to Club Ecstasy. Care for a ride?" The blonde nodded eagerly, eyeing his new car as she slid in; completely unaware that Clark's x-ray vision was eyeing something as well.

"So," He started to drive. "I'm Kal-El. You?"

"Janice." She ran her fingers over the leather seat. "Leather, yum…" He chuckled, pulling up in front of the club and turning off the engine.

"Yeah." He pushed open the door and climbed out, ignoring the buzz that rose when people recognized him. In the last few months he'd managed to make quite a name for himself.

"Nice car, Kal – El!" One of the guys shouted and he grinned.

"Like it?" The man nodded and Clark tossed him the keys. "Cool. Have it – it bores me."

"Wow, you're so nice!" Janice breathed out, realizing that this meant he was probably loaded.

"Yeah. Un-huh." Clark resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Why don't you go grab us a table? Drinks are on me." Grinning happily, the blonde walked away and he made his way over to the bar. He really had no intent to ever see the blonde again.

"A particularly pretty number today, huh?" Jared, the bartender winked at him and Clark shrugged flippantly.

"I hadn't noticed." Jared nodded, handing him an iced margarita.

"What is it with you, Kal – El?" New girl in here every night, yet you always leave alone." Clark shrugged, scanning the crowd.

"Women are just generally – " He broke off as he spotted a thin scantily clad brunette arguing heatedly with a man that looked to be twice her age. "Who is that?"

People milled around, walking by, women pressing their bodies up against his; some others blocking his gaze on her. Clark simply moved; it seemed to him as if she were the only person in the club.

"That - " Jared nodded over to her. "is Annette. She's a frequent prostitute here." Clark felt the world freeze.

"Prostitute…" the thought of somebody touching her intimately made him want to punch something. He was broken out of his reverie by Jared's whistle.

"Well, well, well. Looks like some girl's finally caught your eye, Kal." Ignoring the bartender, Clark weaved his way around the other people in the nightclub, making his way over to the table where she sat.

"She's mine." That was a give, Clark knew. She would be his and that was that.