Stand By Me Epilogue part 3
4/13/05 08:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyHi. Smallville is on in...ooo! Now. I'm posting this next bit and then watching Lex be all evil and Kirk Two-ish. I have high hopes for this ep!
On to part three!
“Hey-hey!” A voice yelled out. “Hey Pete!” His head swung up. Who the hell would call him-- especially in this neighborhood?
A blonde in a black wool overcoat and leather gloves was waving at him. Pete squinted, in the near dark it was hard to see his face—“Pete, it’s me!”
Oh! Whitney Fordman. Pete stopped, his expression halfway between a smile and a frown. He really wasn’t sure if he wanted to see them now, he’d got a pretty good start on feeling damn sorry for himself.
“But this is great! You know, you’re just a block or two away from us—come on, you’re going to make the best Christmas gift ever for Clark. He’ll be pleased as punch to see you, man!” Whitney grinned at him so wide and pretty that Pete had to smile back. But no way was he going back with him. They didn’t need him getting in the way. Besides, he wasn’t much crazy about the idea of being a Christmas gift.
Whitney shifted the bags he held in his arms. “Hey grab one will ya Pete? I need to get this home or we’re not eating tonight. Can you believe stores are open on Christmas Eve in the city? It’s amazing isn’t it? City life is so different from the country, I tell you.” Whitney shoved a bag in Pete’s arms and marched up the street. He stood there openmouthed for a moment—how did he forget this about Whitney? Annoying bastard.
He followed the billowing coat and steady stream of commentary about the hideous decorations and the fucking annoying Santa’s and street people who never seemed to notice Whitney, but begged spare change from Pete like he was the only person on the planet. “Do I look like I can afford to give you change?” he snapped at one guy.”Well, ask your boss.” came the response.
Pete snarled, “Fuck you.” and was shocked at himself. Whitney turned around and looked at the aggressive panhandler. “He said fuck off, didn’t he. Beat it.” The guy blanched and dashed across the street heedless of traffic, a string of curses and blaring horns followed him.
“Thanks.” Pete said without looking at Whitney. He felt embarrassed, both by the assumption that a colored man and a white man walking together had to be boss and servant--he was carrying his fucking groceries-and by the fact that Whitney felt he had to jump in and what—protect him? From a bum? He stewed silently and Whit put his hand on his arm and squeezed lightly.
“Forget it.” Whitney frowned “Assholes. Believe me, the world is full of assholes and we stumble over them more than most folks do.”
He was doing that thing again, just like Clark did, acting as if they had something in common, when they didn’t. He shifted the bag in his arm and huffed in impatience and annoyance. He’d got past that man-loving thing--a year in the city opened his eyes to a lot of things that Ma and Pop would have a flipping fit about. Besides, like his friend Prince said, in the end, all that mattered was that you were loved and loved back. It was just…*They* didn’t get it, they could always hide… Pete had his otherness stamped unmistakably on his features; no way he could pretend to be anything he wasn’t. Well, he grinned to himself, his room mate was running around town calling himself Prince Yarumba--claiming white folk treated you better if they thought you was African instead of a garden variety black boy….
They were on the block where the boys lived in minutes. Almost before he was ready they were in a toasty warm apartment, full of the good smell of fresh pine and cinnamon, vanilla—cookies baking. Christmas music played softly from the radio in the corner and Pete’s eyes filled for a minute. Apple pie. The smell brought to mind him and Clark filching Mrs. Kent’s pie from the window sill one fall day, and having the holy hell beat out of him for it and it was the best damn pie he’d ever had…
There was a clatter and Clark stood in the doorway to what looked to be the kitchen, his mouth open and looking stunned.
“Pete? Pete Ross—is it really you?”
Clark’s face lit up so that Pete really felt like a Christmas present. It’d been a damn long time since anyone looked that happy to see *him*. He put down the sack and grinned at Clark like a fool, and Clark grabbed him and swung him through the air. He heard a dry cough and Clark dropped him abruptly. That boy-always was strong as an ox, that one.
Clark was a sea of chatter, inviting him to dinner and asking him how was home did he hear from anyone, taking his coat and pushing him onto the couch and in general just about overloading his brain. He was grateful when someone shoved a glass of something golden, warm and soothing in his hand. He looked up and found himself eye to eye with Lex Luthor, and held out his hand.
“Good to see you, sir.”
“Good to see you too, Mr. Ross,” he said in that soft voice of his.
“Pete, sir,” he automatically responded and winced inside.
“Than you call me Lex. If you’re comfortable, Pete, you must tell us all about what you’ve been doing.”
Pete frowned and looked down into his glass. He mostly didn’t have very good stories to tell, of home or leaving home but there was one thing…”Well, it won’t be interesting to you unless… have you all been listening to Jazz at all?”
Lex’s face lit up almost as bright as Clark’s. “Have we!” Lex sat on the edge of his chair. “Spill, man, spill!”
Pet grinned back. “I’m doorman at a great club down town. It’s the Onyx, have you heard of it?” at Lex’s enthusiastic nod he went on to describe some of the acts he’d heard there, and marveled as all of Lex’s formality vanished under a wave of enthusiasm.
Clark rolled his eyes and smiled at Pete. “He’s like this about Warrior Angel too. You just made the man very, very happy. Pete.”
Whitney came up behind Lex and kissed the top of his head. He winked at Pete. "Not so bad being a Christmas gift after all, eh?”
Pete felt his cheeks warming. “No. it’s not so bad,” he smiled back. And he then grinned a wicked grin. “How long did you let me stand outside the apartment Whitney?”
Whitney looked puzzled. “What? I have no idea what you’re talking about, my friend. I went to get a few items for tonight and there you were, looking forlorn and a little wet.” He looked as innocent as was possible, and Pete laughed.
“Thank you man.”
Whitney shrugged “For what I have no idea. Thank you—for making our Christmas more like home.”
TBC
OMG! So far I *loving* this ep!
On to part three!
“Hey-hey!” A voice yelled out. “Hey Pete!” His head swung up. Who the hell would call him-- especially in this neighborhood?
A blonde in a black wool overcoat and leather gloves was waving at him. Pete squinted, in the near dark it was hard to see his face—“Pete, it’s me!”
Oh! Whitney Fordman. Pete stopped, his expression halfway between a smile and a frown. He really wasn’t sure if he wanted to see them now, he’d got a pretty good start on feeling damn sorry for himself.
“But this is great! You know, you’re just a block or two away from us—come on, you’re going to make the best Christmas gift ever for Clark. He’ll be pleased as punch to see you, man!” Whitney grinned at him so wide and pretty that Pete had to smile back. But no way was he going back with him. They didn’t need him getting in the way. Besides, he wasn’t much crazy about the idea of being a Christmas gift.
Whitney shifted the bags he held in his arms. “Hey grab one will ya Pete? I need to get this home or we’re not eating tonight. Can you believe stores are open on Christmas Eve in the city? It’s amazing isn’t it? City life is so different from the country, I tell you.” Whitney shoved a bag in Pete’s arms and marched up the street. He stood there openmouthed for a moment—how did he forget this about Whitney? Annoying bastard.
He followed the billowing coat and steady stream of commentary about the hideous decorations and the fucking annoying Santa’s and street people who never seemed to notice Whitney, but begged spare change from Pete like he was the only person on the planet. “Do I look like I can afford to give you change?” he snapped at one guy.”Well, ask your boss.” came the response.
Pete snarled, “Fuck you.” and was shocked at himself. Whitney turned around and looked at the aggressive panhandler. “He said fuck off, didn’t he. Beat it.” The guy blanched and dashed across the street heedless of traffic, a string of curses and blaring horns followed him.
“Thanks.” Pete said without looking at Whitney. He felt embarrassed, both by the assumption that a colored man and a white man walking together had to be boss and servant--he was carrying his fucking groceries-and by the fact that Whitney felt he had to jump in and what—protect him? From a bum? He stewed silently and Whit put his hand on his arm and squeezed lightly.
“Forget it.” Whitney frowned “Assholes. Believe me, the world is full of assholes and we stumble over them more than most folks do.”
He was doing that thing again, just like Clark did, acting as if they had something in common, when they didn’t. He shifted the bag in his arm and huffed in impatience and annoyance. He’d got past that man-loving thing--a year in the city opened his eyes to a lot of things that Ma and Pop would have a flipping fit about. Besides, like his friend Prince said, in the end, all that mattered was that you were loved and loved back. It was just…*They* didn’t get it, they could always hide… Pete had his otherness stamped unmistakably on his features; no way he could pretend to be anything he wasn’t. Well, he grinned to himself, his room mate was running around town calling himself Prince Yarumba--claiming white folk treated you better if they thought you was African instead of a garden variety black boy….
They were on the block where the boys lived in minutes. Almost before he was ready they were in a toasty warm apartment, full of the good smell of fresh pine and cinnamon, vanilla—cookies baking. Christmas music played softly from the radio in the corner and Pete’s eyes filled for a minute. Apple pie. The smell brought to mind him and Clark filching Mrs. Kent’s pie from the window sill one fall day, and having the holy hell beat out of him for it and it was the best damn pie he’d ever had…
There was a clatter and Clark stood in the doorway to what looked to be the kitchen, his mouth open and looking stunned.
“Pete? Pete Ross—is it really you?”
Clark’s face lit up so that Pete really felt like a Christmas present. It’d been a damn long time since anyone looked that happy to see *him*. He put down the sack and grinned at Clark like a fool, and Clark grabbed him and swung him through the air. He heard a dry cough and Clark dropped him abruptly. That boy-always was strong as an ox, that one.
Clark was a sea of chatter, inviting him to dinner and asking him how was home did he hear from anyone, taking his coat and pushing him onto the couch and in general just about overloading his brain. He was grateful when someone shoved a glass of something golden, warm and soothing in his hand. He looked up and found himself eye to eye with Lex Luthor, and held out his hand.
“Good to see you, sir.”
“Good to see you too, Mr. Ross,” he said in that soft voice of his.
“Pete, sir,” he automatically responded and winced inside.
“Than you call me Lex. If you’re comfortable, Pete, you must tell us all about what you’ve been doing.”
Pete frowned and looked down into his glass. He mostly didn’t have very good stories to tell, of home or leaving home but there was one thing…”Well, it won’t be interesting to you unless… have you all been listening to Jazz at all?”
Lex’s face lit up almost as bright as Clark’s. “Have we!” Lex sat on the edge of his chair. “Spill, man, spill!”
Pet grinned back. “I’m doorman at a great club down town. It’s the Onyx, have you heard of it?” at Lex’s enthusiastic nod he went on to describe some of the acts he’d heard there, and marveled as all of Lex’s formality vanished under a wave of enthusiasm.
Clark rolled his eyes and smiled at Pete. “He’s like this about Warrior Angel too. You just made the man very, very happy. Pete.”
Whitney came up behind Lex and kissed the top of his head. He winked at Pete. "Not so bad being a Christmas gift after all, eh?”
Pete felt his cheeks warming. “No. it’s not so bad,” he smiled back. And he then grinned a wicked grin. “How long did you let me stand outside the apartment Whitney?”
Whitney looked puzzled. “What? I have no idea what you’re talking about, my friend. I went to get a few items for tonight and there you were, looking forlorn and a little wet.” He looked as innocent as was possible, and Pete laughed.
“Thank you man.”
Whitney shrugged “For what I have no idea. Thank you—for making our Christmas more like home.”
TBC
OMG! So far I *loving* this ep!
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