Fic: Vers: VII: Lines
Parts: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII
VII
Lines
I think that whatever happens now doesn't matter that much.
I know the lines of his skin, and the smell of his hair. I have traced fingers lightly across the bare skin of his stomach, and pressed my lips there afterwards, breathing him in. I have felt his hands laid flat, and then fingers curled against the curve of my hips, lips pressed against the stitches over my ribs. I have kissed his collar bone, his shoulder, his rib cage, and, pushing him down into the bed, the soft curve of his mouth and the lid of his closed eye. I know him; know the very seascape of him, and named all the silvery fish in his depths.
He is movement, and meaning, and so am I.
- - -
He sets the coffee down by the bedside table, and I blink open my eyes.
"Clark Kent is naked in my bedroom," I say. I close my eyes again, "Hit my head again."
(I don't need to open my eyes again to know that he is smiling.) "Not this time, Lois. Although -"
"I threw the lipstick out," I say. (He laughs out loud that time).
I feel the mattress pushed down behind me, and then Clark's breath is on my neck, and his arm around my waist, hand on my stomach.
"Can I tell you a story?" he says, his breath tickling my ear. He gently brushes a stray hair out of my eyes. I nod, and feel him sit up next to me. "It's about my parents," he says, "my birth parents."
I lean back against the headboard and look over at him, and he smiles at me. In his face there is a sense of wistfulness, and regret; there is also, in his eyes, the echo of a lie - some sentiment about himself which once lingered about the corner of his mouth. "OK," I say, with a smile, "tell me about them."
"They sent me away," he says, "when I was a baby. To save my life." He breathes in, and closes his eyes, and I realise that he is trembling. "Lois," he says, "it wasn't here. It happened a long way away, on another planet, on the other side of the Milky Way. They put me in a rocket ship, packed me in a blanket, and sent me to Earth for my mom and dad to find and look after."
I swallow; unsure for a moment whether he is insane, or whether I am insane, or whether I hit my head after all, or whether I am dreaming. Then he says, "And I'm the Red-Blue Blur, Lois." And when I look at him, his eyes are filled up with trepidation, and earnesty, and I know that what he's saying is the truth.
"Then," I say, when I find my voice, "it was you, all along. You who saved my life, and you who -"
I can't breathe. I close my eyes, and Clark kisses me, suddenly. I put my hand on his cheek, and realise that there are tears there. "You saved me," he says, his eyes closed, "when I thought I was useless and worthless, you saved me. Without realising what you were doing. Because it is your first instinct to save people. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner." He is shaking his head. "I should have done a lot of things sooner."
"You didn't have to tell me at all," I say, putting my hand on his shoulder. Every moment I had ever shared with either Clark or the Red-Blue Blur was cast in a new light; they had depth, and movement, and colour, and meaning which I saw with fresh eyes. "It was all you," I say again.
"Because I love you," he says, and this time I kiss him.
- - -
"Is this weird?" I say, sitting at my table in the kitchen, while Clark makes breakfast.
"Is what weird?" he says, over his shoulder.
"You know," I say, tapping my fingers against the table. "Us. Together." He says nothing, but laughs, and I roll my eyes. "I'm just saying," I say, "that you were absolutely the last person I expected to fall in love with."
"I didn't know," he says, "that you were expecting to fall in love at all."
I say nothing for a moment, because I think maybe that he is right, and that it never occured to me. Then I say, serious now, "Well, what about you?"
Clark turns around then, and leans against the counter. "I was in love," he says, with that brutal honesty. "But no, I didn't expect to love anyone aside from Lana, much less to be loved back. And -" he looks away here, "and I never thought that I could be this happy in love without becoming human."
I get up then, and kiss him, and the breakfast is burnt.
- - -
I think, sometimes of Lana, and wonder what she is doing. I think maybe that she couldn't spare me the locket, but then maybe she didn't want it.
I hope that she is happy; I think that she is not.
- - -
Clark stumbles into my apartment one day with blood smeared all down the side of his face. He looks like he is about to break, and I fling my arms around him. He says nothing, but just kisses my neck, his fingers twisted into my hair. "I'm here," I whisper into his ear, "I'm here."
"I know," he says. "You're here."
I lie him down on the bed, and lay my head on his shoulder, and as he sleeps, he cries, and I hold him. And I wonder what he did on nights like this before we were together.
And when he wakes in the morning, he tells me everything.
- - -
We still stay nights at the Daily Planet, listening to the police scanner like a married couple. But when he leaves now, I know that he is safe. I know that nothing about the world is fixed only because I know the lines of his skin, but still I no longer dream of bloody fingers and corpses, but of opened cages, and flown birds, and the leaves of oak trees eddied in the wind; and I wake in the night alone, or with his arms around me, and either way I feel safe.
I think that things will work out, in the end.
Fin.
VII
Lines
I think that whatever happens now doesn't matter that much.
I know the lines of his skin, and the smell of his hair. I have traced fingers lightly across the bare skin of his stomach, and pressed my lips there afterwards, breathing him in. I have felt his hands laid flat, and then fingers curled against the curve of my hips, lips pressed against the stitches over my ribs. I have kissed his collar bone, his shoulder, his rib cage, and, pushing him down into the bed, the soft curve of his mouth and the lid of his closed eye. I know him; know the very seascape of him, and named all the silvery fish in his depths.
He is movement, and meaning, and so am I.
- - -
He sets the coffee down by the bedside table, and I blink open my eyes.
"Clark Kent is naked in my bedroom," I say. I close my eyes again, "Hit my head again."
(I don't need to open my eyes again to know that he is smiling.) "Not this time, Lois. Although -"
"I threw the lipstick out," I say. (He laughs out loud that time).
I feel the mattress pushed down behind me, and then Clark's breath is on my neck, and his arm around my waist, hand on my stomach.
"Can I tell you a story?" he says, his breath tickling my ear. He gently brushes a stray hair out of my eyes. I nod, and feel him sit up next to me. "It's about my parents," he says, "my birth parents."
I lean back against the headboard and look over at him, and he smiles at me. In his face there is a sense of wistfulness, and regret; there is also, in his eyes, the echo of a lie - some sentiment about himself which once lingered about the corner of his mouth. "OK," I say, with a smile, "tell me about them."
"They sent me away," he says, "when I was a baby. To save my life." He breathes in, and closes his eyes, and I realise that he is trembling. "Lois," he says, "it wasn't here. It happened a long way away, on another planet, on the other side of the Milky Way. They put me in a rocket ship, packed me in a blanket, and sent me to Earth for my mom and dad to find and look after."
I swallow; unsure for a moment whether he is insane, or whether I am insane, or whether I hit my head after all, or whether I am dreaming. Then he says, "And I'm the Red-Blue Blur, Lois." And when I look at him, his eyes are filled up with trepidation, and earnesty, and I know that what he's saying is the truth.
"Then," I say, when I find my voice, "it was you, all along. You who saved my life, and you who -"
I can't breathe. I close my eyes, and Clark kisses me, suddenly. I put my hand on his cheek, and realise that there are tears there. "You saved me," he says, his eyes closed, "when I thought I was useless and worthless, you saved me. Without realising what you were doing. Because it is your first instinct to save people. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner." He is shaking his head. "I should have done a lot of things sooner."
"You didn't have to tell me at all," I say, putting my hand on his shoulder. Every moment I had ever shared with either Clark or the Red-Blue Blur was cast in a new light; they had depth, and movement, and colour, and meaning which I saw with fresh eyes. "It was all you," I say again.
"Because I love you," he says, and this time I kiss him.
- - -
"Is this weird?" I say, sitting at my table in the kitchen, while Clark makes breakfast.
"Is what weird?" he says, over his shoulder.
"You know," I say, tapping my fingers against the table. "Us. Together." He says nothing, but laughs, and I roll my eyes. "I'm just saying," I say, "that you were absolutely the last person I expected to fall in love with."
"I didn't know," he says, "that you were expecting to fall in love at all."
I say nothing for a moment, because I think maybe that he is right, and that it never occured to me. Then I say, serious now, "Well, what about you?"
Clark turns around then, and leans against the counter. "I was in love," he says, with that brutal honesty. "But no, I didn't expect to love anyone aside from Lana, much less to be loved back. And -" he looks away here, "and I never thought that I could be this happy in love without becoming human."
I get up then, and kiss him, and the breakfast is burnt.
- - -
I think, sometimes of Lana, and wonder what she is doing. I think maybe that she couldn't spare me the locket, but then maybe she didn't want it.
I hope that she is happy; I think that she is not.
- - -
Clark stumbles into my apartment one day with blood smeared all down the side of his face. He looks like he is about to break, and I fling my arms around him. He says nothing, but just kisses my neck, his fingers twisted into my hair. "I'm here," I whisper into his ear, "I'm here."
"I know," he says. "You're here."
I lie him down on the bed, and lay my head on his shoulder, and as he sleeps, he cries, and I hold him. And I wonder what he did on nights like this before we were together.
And when he wakes in the morning, he tells me everything.
- - -
We still stay nights at the Daily Planet, listening to the police scanner like a married couple. But when he leaves now, I know that he is safe. I know that nothing about the world is fixed only because I know the lines of his skin, but still I no longer dream of bloody fingers and corpses, but of opened cages, and flown birds, and the leaves of oak trees eddied in the wind; and I wake in the night alone, or with his arms around me, and either way I feel safe.
I think that things will work out, in the end.
Fin.