FIC - My Eyes (Teen Titans)
Title: My Eyes
Fandom: Teen Titans w/ Smallville background
Pairing: Clark/Lex
Prompt: 137 - Bleach
Warnings: The Villain's Hero came first
Rating: PG
Word Count: 722
Summary: Sometimes, you just need a good bleaching.
Tim opened the door of the small fridge. He glanced sideways while leaning forward. Conner seemed distracted. No, more stunned, really. Hadn’t even noticed when Tim wandered through the media room for the kitchenette. Just sat like a super heavy stone on the sofa, one hand laying limply over the remote control and jaw dropped far enough to part his lips. This was not Superboy vegged out in front of the TV. Tim let the fridge door fall closed as he inched over to the sofa. The news. Not so unusual in the Tower, but Superboy rarely watched it outside of the monitoring room.
“Hey, Conner,” Tim said. He hadn’t meant to whisper, but Conner didn’t react anyway. Tim reached out and poked one steel shoulder with his puny little finger. “Conner?”
Conner turned, dark eyes glazed and unfocused somewhere around Tim’s chest. He nervously rubbed his hand over his chest and rocked back on his heels.
“I’m going to have to bleach my eyes again.” The statement sounded slightly shocked, maybe a bit amused, but mostly matter-of-fact. Like he bleached his eyes often.
“Can that hurt you?” Tim asked. Bats may have been a dark, vigilante type hero, but the man had drilled it into Tim’s head that keeping allies in good working order was paramount to not dying. Conner’s head shook side to side once, slowly.
“Not really, but it stings enough to distract my brain.” His voice was soft, gentle, almost slurred. Dazed and confused, Tim thought.
“From what?” Tim asked. His eyes darted back to the big-screen, but all he saw was Lex Luthor and a crowd of people - nothing unusual or shocking.
“Gramps is dead,” Conner said, voice and face sharpening with a strange ferocity Tim had never seen. His eyes finally focused, and he looked up at Tim. “Gramps is dead.” A slow smile seeped across the heroically chiseled face. Tim blinked, looked at the TV, and remembered that Conner could look just like Lex Luthor. Tim tended to forget the family relation, on purpose, because that shark smile was just creepy on his friend.
“Mr. Kent died four years ago, yeah?” Tim asked. His eyes stayed on Luthor, a fluttering hope tap dancing on his ribs. “Mr. Luthor doesn’t look all that shook up that his father’s passed,” Tim said, small smirk rivaling Conner’s.
“Of course not,” Conner said, slightly indignant, and Tim was confused all over again. Conner slumped back into the corner of the sofa, tossing the remote onto the table. “But now I’m going to have to bleach my eyes,” he mumbled, impressive arms crossed and the tiniest pout pushing out his bottom lip.
“Yeah, about that,” Tim said, hoping he was back in familiar territory. “Why?” He raised an eyebrow, staring without blinking like Bruce had taught him, and waited as Conner fidgeted.
“Dad’s coming out.”
Tim blinked. Conner picked up the remote and turned off the mute.
“…please come up?” Lex Luthor reached out a hand toward a clump of reporters. A furiously blushing Clark Kent made his way up to the podium. Luthor smiled. Tim had to lean on the sofa. That was not a smile he’d ever even imagined Luthor could produce: there was a softening of his face, of his whole body, that lent a strange light on all the years Tim had known the crazy bastard.
“We don’t have to hide, anymore,” Luthor was saying. Clark smiled indulgently, lips quirking a tiny little smirk at the same time, and wasn’t that a strange thing to see on the mild-mannered persona Mr. Kent liked to use. “My father kept us separate for far too long.” Tim stared hard at the screen, barely noticing Conner’s fake gagging. “But I have a lot to make up for.” Mr. Kent reached out and set his fingers on Luthor’s lips.
“No apologies, Lex.” Mr. Kent stepped closer to Luthor. “I know what you did and why.” Tim could feel his jaw dropping at the body language between arch-nemesis, bitter enemies, long time rivals. “Thank you.” And then Clark Kent, Superman, poster boy of good-ole-fashion American apple pie, kissed Lex Luthor, mad scientist, ruthless businessman, self-proclaimed future dictator of the world. In front of all the major news cameras, a throng of shocked people, and his genetically-engineered son.
“I’ll get the bleach.”
~JJ~
x-posted tamingthemuse
Fandom: Teen Titans w/ Smallville background
Pairing: Clark/Lex
Prompt: 137 - Bleach
Warnings: The Villain's Hero came first
Rating: PG
Word Count: 722
Summary: Sometimes, you just need a good bleaching.
Tim opened the door of the small fridge. He glanced sideways while leaning forward. Conner seemed distracted. No, more stunned, really. Hadn’t even noticed when Tim wandered through the media room for the kitchenette. Just sat like a super heavy stone on the sofa, one hand laying limply over the remote control and jaw dropped far enough to part his lips. This was not Superboy vegged out in front of the TV. Tim let the fridge door fall closed as he inched over to the sofa. The news. Not so unusual in the Tower, but Superboy rarely watched it outside of the monitoring room.
“Hey, Conner,” Tim said. He hadn’t meant to whisper, but Conner didn’t react anyway. Tim reached out and poked one steel shoulder with his puny little finger. “Conner?”
Conner turned, dark eyes glazed and unfocused somewhere around Tim’s chest. He nervously rubbed his hand over his chest and rocked back on his heels.
“I’m going to have to bleach my eyes again.” The statement sounded slightly shocked, maybe a bit amused, but mostly matter-of-fact. Like he bleached his eyes often.
“Can that hurt you?” Tim asked. Bats may have been a dark, vigilante type hero, but the man had drilled it into Tim’s head that keeping allies in good working order was paramount to not dying. Conner’s head shook side to side once, slowly.
“Not really, but it stings enough to distract my brain.” His voice was soft, gentle, almost slurred. Dazed and confused, Tim thought.
“From what?” Tim asked. His eyes darted back to the big-screen, but all he saw was Lex Luthor and a crowd of people - nothing unusual or shocking.
“Gramps is dead,” Conner said, voice and face sharpening with a strange ferocity Tim had never seen. His eyes finally focused, and he looked up at Tim. “Gramps is dead.” A slow smile seeped across the heroically chiseled face. Tim blinked, looked at the TV, and remembered that Conner could look just like Lex Luthor. Tim tended to forget the family relation, on purpose, because that shark smile was just creepy on his friend.
“Mr. Kent died four years ago, yeah?” Tim asked. His eyes stayed on Luthor, a fluttering hope tap dancing on his ribs. “Mr. Luthor doesn’t look all that shook up that his father’s passed,” Tim said, small smirk rivaling Conner’s.
“Of course not,” Conner said, slightly indignant, and Tim was confused all over again. Conner slumped back into the corner of the sofa, tossing the remote onto the table. “But now I’m going to have to bleach my eyes,” he mumbled, impressive arms crossed and the tiniest pout pushing out his bottom lip.
“Yeah, about that,” Tim said, hoping he was back in familiar territory. “Why?” He raised an eyebrow, staring without blinking like Bruce had taught him, and waited as Conner fidgeted.
“Dad’s coming out.”
Tim blinked. Conner picked up the remote and turned off the mute.
“…please come up?” Lex Luthor reached out a hand toward a clump of reporters. A furiously blushing Clark Kent made his way up to the podium. Luthor smiled. Tim had to lean on the sofa. That was not a smile he’d ever even imagined Luthor could produce: there was a softening of his face, of his whole body, that lent a strange light on all the years Tim had known the crazy bastard.
“We don’t have to hide, anymore,” Luthor was saying. Clark smiled indulgently, lips quirking a tiny little smirk at the same time, and wasn’t that a strange thing to see on the mild-mannered persona Mr. Kent liked to use. “My father kept us separate for far too long.” Tim stared hard at the screen, barely noticing Conner’s fake gagging. “But I have a lot to make up for.” Mr. Kent reached out and set his fingers on Luthor’s lips.
“No apologies, Lex.” Mr. Kent stepped closer to Luthor. “I know what you did and why.” Tim could feel his jaw dropping at the body language between arch-nemesis, bitter enemies, long time rivals. “Thank you.” And then Clark Kent, Superman, poster boy of good-ole-fashion American apple pie, kissed Lex Luthor, mad scientist, ruthless businessman, self-proclaimed future dictator of the world. In front of all the major news cameras, a throng of shocked people, and his genetically-engineered son.
“I’ll get the bleach.”
~JJ~
x-posted tamingthemuse