“…arter million into the development budget for the upcomi…”

Lois listened with half an ear, tapping her note-pad with her pen almost absently. She had a digital recorder these days, of course. It was handy: less likely to break or stall than her old tape recorder, data stored more accessibly (and save-ably—was that even a word?). But for one, sometimes more sensitive sources wouldn’t talk if they were recorded; and for another, for all the convenience, she still loved taking notes on paper. Plus, her notes held her immediate reactions, uncolored by perspective of time. Sometimes those gut instincts were crucial.

<em>Who am I kidding?</em> she thought with some amusement as the housing and urban development secretary droned on. <em>It just reminds me of when I was still a kid, breaking the rules to impress Perry and get my job. The good old days—god, it makes me sound like an old fart. ‘Back in my day…’</em>

Shaking her head a little, Lois jotted down a note or two on her pad. She knew she really ought to be paying more attention to this press conference—but it was going to be utterly banal. Or at least, it was for the most part.

As the thought occurred, she smiled slightly, in anticipation. One or two of her colleagues had a line of sight to her, and they clearly saw it. Even as she refocused her attention, she caught their suddenly apprehensive looks out of the corner of her eye. <em>Good,</em> she thought to herself. After all, it wouldn’t do for anyone to start forgetting what being Lois Lane entailed. And then—there it was. The signal she’d been waiting for.

“…providing aid in the reconstruction in Hob’s Bay after the recent…”

Her hand went up.

Sometimes the press room could feel like school all over again: raise your hand to ask a question, hope the teacher bothers to look, hope they want to answer the question. There were internal politics—who got to sit where, and god help them all if some snippy magazine reporter complained about being moved back when their paper didn’t have someone there every day. There were the idiot jocks, the society bees, the geeks and wall-flowers (and at that, Lois smiled to herself: one of those was anything <em>but</em>, and damn good thing he wasn’t here, this was her scoop), the too-serious over-achievers…

And there was her.

“…nding to plans for revitalization of the local businesses—yes, Ms. Lane?”

The advantage over high school: the lecturer could get a worse failing grade than she would (metaphorically), if she asked the supposedly impertinent question and got a snippy answer.

“One of the companies contracted for the rebuilding efforts are currently involved in lawsuits for damages due to use of substandard materials—particularly the recent case of several skyscrapes losing their windows.” There was some soft laughter, and she smirked. That story was one of hers, and they all knew it. “What measures is the city taking to prevent similar negligence, and what guarantees for restitution should carelessness have a detrimental effect on businesses and their patrons?”

The politician’s lips thinned, and internally Lois began to grin. Keeping the public informed of greedy companies, a scoop Perry was sure to love, and a promise from Clark to cook dinner, assuming a natural disaster or alien invasion didn’t interrupt—and almost certainly a flight after.

Some days she really pitied anyone who wasn’t Lois Lane.