I'll Fly Away, the end
2/9/06 11:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle: I’ll Fly Away
Author: Roxy
Paring: Pete/Clark
Rating: ranges from PG to R
Historical Fic challenge for SV Historical
I’d like to give big hugs and thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
treetracer, for convincing me it wasn’t crap, and to tabaqui for helping it read less like crap.
Actualy, smart-assness aside, I’m kind of pleased with this fic. I wanted to tell a story about a time in our history that was painful and hopeful and horrible all at once. This story ends on a note that can be interpreted anyway you like. Happy? Not happy? It’s up to you. The story that inspired this fic has yet to prove to have a happy ending. Entirely IMHO.
And I didn’t get TQ to check this bit so boo-boos are mine.
A knock at his door brought him out of his stupor, he jerked towards the sound and dashed to the door.
”Yes?” He said cautiously and looked around for something, anything to defend himself with and then…laughed. What the fuck, he was a dead man no matter what. He opened the door and the pastor and a few men from the church were there, the SNNC coordinator and some people he didn’t recognize—and Glasses.
They came in and held a conference in hushed voices and Pete got the message, load your car, don’t wait and hit the road boy. They gave him some money and hugged him and slapped his back and offered him sympathy. “We know you and Nate got close, son,” one of the men said. “We’ll take proper care of him.”
Pete nodded and tears started to run again as a quick prayer went over his head and then they were gone and he was alone. He felt like he’d always be alone from now on because he knew something maybe no one else in the world knew—Clark was more than human. He’d gotten that *thing* that Luthor wanted.
Fuck—he’d never even asked for it.
Glasses came back slowly into the room, hesitantly, as if he were unsure of his welcome now that the others were gone. He looked like he’d been crying.
“Pete…I…I should have been with you. I should have been there.”
“Man, you didn’t know. We didn’t know what was going to happen.”
Glasses nodded and swallowed, and after a moment asked, “Where’s—what happened to Clark?” He looked at Pete and his eyes were deep wells of pain. “I promised his mom and dad I’d look out for him.”
For a second Pete wanted to laugh, Glasses was as thick as a toothpick and probably about as strong—and he really thought *he* was looking out for Clark. It was laughable and sweet and heart breaking at the same time.
“Swear to god, man, he’s okay. He—took the bus—he’ll…” Pete mentally grabbed at straws, blurted something Glasses might buy. “He’ll meet you back at MetU. He thought it was better to leave tonight.” Something like that anyway. Why should he have to know Clark ran and left both of them here alone? “Go on, man, go to sleep. Tomorrow it’ll all be over.”
Logan pushed the fucking ugly glasses back up his nose. “I’m sorry Pete, I’m really am.”
He looked like he wanted to say more and Pete put his hand on his terribly thin shoulder and gently steered him towards the door. “Good night, Logan.”
******
Fuck this, he thought. He stood and grabbed his bag from the alcove struggling to be a closet, stuffed whatever was his into it like he hated it. He pulled jeans on and shrugged into a cotton shirt. He cursed low and steadily as he buttoned it. It hung from him, it was too damn big, it smelled like sun dried cotton and grass, it wasn’t his, he hated it and he couldn’t take it off again….
He was drowning in tears he wouldn’t shed.
He pulled the venetian blinds apart, and looked out into the carport The moon fought to illuminate what the single bulb couldn’t…his car sat in the lot like a thing waiting to break free of invisible chains, like it couldn’t wait to get out from under the weight of Mississippi air.
He wanted to scream—he had to leave now, right now, get out of here right the fucking hell now—
He found himself standing outside of the door and panting like all the devils in the world and Hell were on his tail. For as long as it took him to settle his bill and get in gear was as long as the last few minutes he spent in Harmony Mississippi.
He flew down the back roads, he held the pedal flat to the floorboards, wind shrieked through the windows. His heart was in his throat, his eyes darted all over, surely the hammer of God was about to smash through the roof of his car—he was going to die out here, die—later he’d swear before God—he didn’t blink one fucking time till he crossed the state line….
New York
Pete had to adjust to life back home; he had to lie a lot about what happened to him. To Ma, he lied about the whole time, “Wasn’t as bad as they make out Ma, bad—but not that bad. We were careful all the time. We? My friend--a white boy, Ma. From Kansas. Yeah, he was a nice guy,” he lied so easily to her, the truth separated him from her, and lies were a gulf that grew wider and wider daily. It made him feel sad and lonely. Talking to her made him feel adrift.
Talking to Pop was a little different; he didn’t need to hide quite as much. Pop got the bare bones of the story of that night on the road. He didn’t need to say much. Pop read his eyes and knew. He filled in the blanks and Pete was grateful—he lied about the important part of it because he’d made a vow, even if he’d never been asked to, it didn’t matter. Some things you just did for love.
Right down to pretending there was no love.
He’d gone down South and lived through probably the worst summer of his life, the worst time of his life--but it was the best time too. He’d learned things he’d never have learned at home—he found out who he was. And it was worse than he’d thought, and better. He thought maybe he’d finally become the kind of man his pop could be proud of. He hoped so.
******
Life settled back into a familiar groove…school, home, job, sometimes a date, most times a pretty quick and anonymous fuck…and he only thought of Kent at odd moments, like when he saw that Luthor cat’s picture in the paper, smiling and smooth, too fucking sleek and handsome for Pete ever to like him, rich and privileged and fucking his Clark—the bastard.
He was pretty damn tired of exams and sweating and nerves, he needed a break and he was really looking forward to heading into the city with Ralph for lunch and maybe some window-shopping. Ma’s birthday was coming up and Ralph had pretty good taste, better than his, anyway. He headed out to the quad to wait for him and planted his butt on the wall by the walkway. The stand of birch saplings behind him threw long thin shadows over him, striped the sidewalk. There were birds loud and busy in the trees, building nests and squabbling with each other. Pete glanced back and shook his head. Just like people, fighting over nothing.
He looked up and down the sidewalk and figured he might as well get comfortable; he’d have a nice long wait, no doubt. Ralph hadn’t been on time to anything in his life. He pulled out a folded square of newspaper from his back pocket, soft from multiple readings.
There on the square torn from the society page was a small picture of Lex smiling at the cameras, his arm wrapped around a long legged brunette. Her hair was swept up and exposing her long neck, its slenderness was accented by a huge rock around her neck, and even in the small picture he could see the diamonds at her ears were a matching pair to the necklace. Lex was generous, he thought. Or maybe the stones were payment to look the other way--the caption on the photo announced his engagement.
”Millionaire Alexander ‘Lex’ Luthor announced his engagement to Dr. Helen Bryce. The announcement was made at his father’s annual charity ball to benefit Metropolis Children’s Hospital Sunday evening.”
He studied the picture, had been studying it for days, looking for something, looking for some sign of regret, of pain. Every time he looked at Lex’s smile, he saw Clark bloody and terrified and wild with guilt on a dark country road.
Pete looked up and searched the crowd of students for Ralph, starting to get a little impatient. He carefully folded his little square of newsprint. Enough kicking my own ass for this day.
He got up and someone poked him in the back. “Where the hell have you been?” he snapped as he turned to look behind.
“Trying to pick your heartbeat out of a crowd,” Clark smiled.
Pete staggered to his feet. “Clark…fuck…Clark…” Pete couldn’t go on, his throat closed up and he could only stare.
Clark ‘s expression shifted from happy to concerned to worry. “Is it okay? Do you want me to leave, I can.”
“Hell, no. Don’t you dare leave again.”
Clark’s eyes darkened with guilt and he dropped his eyes away from Pete’s. “I know I have no right to talk to talk to you after what I did, Pete.”
“Don’t be stupid Clark. You did what you had to. I know you have…things… you can’t share. I forgave you pretty damn quick.” Looking at Clark he could see he hadn’t forgiven himself. Pete sensed he probably never would. “Clark, I know about Lex…”
Clark shut down. ”He’s doing what he has to. What he thinks he has to. I can’t stay there, I can’t live like that.” He looked into Pete’s eyes. “I can’t be that person, Pete.”
He nodded. “I know you can’t, Clark.” He reached out and took Clark’s hand to shake, so casual a move, two friends meeting on a beautiful bright spring morning, glad for the day, and nothing more. Pete’s mouth went dry and he had to fight down a groan just at the brief touch of Clark’s hot, marble smooth skin. Behind him, birds burst out of the shadows of the young birches; they wheeled up and passed over them as they flew away.
They watched them go and Clark smiled again, puppy teeth and bright green eyes. “Remind me to tell you…everything, Pete.” His smile dimmed when he looked at Pete again. “What I said before still stands. Last summer was important but…”
Pete nodded. Clark was asking him—telling him-- that Pete would be that person Clark didn’t want to be. He looked up, straight into the sun and closed his eyes. “Okay.” He shrugged. “Okay. I’ll take it.” Hoped the joy would outweigh what he knew he’d lose in the end.
1-29-2006.
Author: Roxy
Paring: Pete/Clark
Rating: ranges from PG to R
Historical Fic challenge for SV Historical
I’d like to give big hugs and thanks to
treetracer, for convincing me it wasn’t crap, and to tabaqui for helping it read less like crap.Actualy, smart-assness aside, I’m kind of pleased with this fic. I wanted to tell a story about a time in our history that was painful and hopeful and horrible all at once. This story ends on a note that can be interpreted anyway you like. Happy? Not happy? It’s up to you. The story that inspired this fic has yet to prove to have a happy ending. Entirely IMHO.
And I didn’t get TQ to check this bit so boo-boos are mine.
A knock at his door brought him out of his stupor, he jerked towards the sound and dashed to the door.
”Yes?” He said cautiously and looked around for something, anything to defend himself with and then…laughed. What the fuck, he was a dead man no matter what. He opened the door and the pastor and a few men from the church were there, the SNNC coordinator and some people he didn’t recognize—and Glasses.
They came in and held a conference in hushed voices and Pete got the message, load your car, don’t wait and hit the road boy. They gave him some money and hugged him and slapped his back and offered him sympathy. “We know you and Nate got close, son,” one of the men said. “We’ll take proper care of him.”
Pete nodded and tears started to run again as a quick prayer went over his head and then they were gone and he was alone. He felt like he’d always be alone from now on because he knew something maybe no one else in the world knew—Clark was more than human. He’d gotten that *thing* that Luthor wanted.
Fuck—he’d never even asked for it.
Glasses came back slowly into the room, hesitantly, as if he were unsure of his welcome now that the others were gone. He looked like he’d been crying.
“Pete…I…I should have been with you. I should have been there.”
“Man, you didn’t know. We didn’t know what was going to happen.”
Glasses nodded and swallowed, and after a moment asked, “Where’s—what happened to Clark?” He looked at Pete and his eyes were deep wells of pain. “I promised his mom and dad I’d look out for him.”
For a second Pete wanted to laugh, Glasses was as thick as a toothpick and probably about as strong—and he really thought *he* was looking out for Clark. It was laughable and sweet and heart breaking at the same time.
“Swear to god, man, he’s okay. He—took the bus—he’ll…” Pete mentally grabbed at straws, blurted something Glasses might buy. “He’ll meet you back at MetU. He thought it was better to leave tonight.” Something like that anyway. Why should he have to know Clark ran and left both of them here alone? “Go on, man, go to sleep. Tomorrow it’ll all be over.”
Logan pushed the fucking ugly glasses back up his nose. “I’m sorry Pete, I’m really am.”
He looked like he wanted to say more and Pete put his hand on his terribly thin shoulder and gently steered him towards the door. “Good night, Logan.”
******
Fuck this, he thought. He stood and grabbed his bag from the alcove struggling to be a closet, stuffed whatever was his into it like he hated it. He pulled jeans on and shrugged into a cotton shirt. He cursed low and steadily as he buttoned it. It hung from him, it was too damn big, it smelled like sun dried cotton and grass, it wasn’t his, he hated it and he couldn’t take it off again….
He was drowning in tears he wouldn’t shed.
He pulled the venetian blinds apart, and looked out into the carport The moon fought to illuminate what the single bulb couldn’t…his car sat in the lot like a thing waiting to break free of invisible chains, like it couldn’t wait to get out from under the weight of Mississippi air.
He wanted to scream—he had to leave now, right now, get out of here right the fucking hell now—
He found himself standing outside of the door and panting like all the devils in the world and Hell were on his tail. For as long as it took him to settle his bill and get in gear was as long as the last few minutes he spent in Harmony Mississippi.
He flew down the back roads, he held the pedal flat to the floorboards, wind shrieked through the windows. His heart was in his throat, his eyes darted all over, surely the hammer of God was about to smash through the roof of his car—he was going to die out here, die—later he’d swear before God—he didn’t blink one fucking time till he crossed the state line….
New York
Pete had to adjust to life back home; he had to lie a lot about what happened to him. To Ma, he lied about the whole time, “Wasn’t as bad as they make out Ma, bad—but not that bad. We were careful all the time. We? My friend--a white boy, Ma. From Kansas. Yeah, he was a nice guy,” he lied so easily to her, the truth separated him from her, and lies were a gulf that grew wider and wider daily. It made him feel sad and lonely. Talking to her made him feel adrift.
Talking to Pop was a little different; he didn’t need to hide quite as much. Pop got the bare bones of the story of that night on the road. He didn’t need to say much. Pop read his eyes and knew. He filled in the blanks and Pete was grateful—he lied about the important part of it because he’d made a vow, even if he’d never been asked to, it didn’t matter. Some things you just did for love.
Right down to pretending there was no love.
He’d gone down South and lived through probably the worst summer of his life, the worst time of his life--but it was the best time too. He’d learned things he’d never have learned at home—he found out who he was. And it was worse than he’d thought, and better. He thought maybe he’d finally become the kind of man his pop could be proud of. He hoped so.
******
Life settled back into a familiar groove…school, home, job, sometimes a date, most times a pretty quick and anonymous fuck…and he only thought of Kent at odd moments, like when he saw that Luthor cat’s picture in the paper, smiling and smooth, too fucking sleek and handsome for Pete ever to like him, rich and privileged and fucking his Clark—the bastard.
He was pretty damn tired of exams and sweating and nerves, he needed a break and he was really looking forward to heading into the city with Ralph for lunch and maybe some window-shopping. Ma’s birthday was coming up and Ralph had pretty good taste, better than his, anyway. He headed out to the quad to wait for him and planted his butt on the wall by the walkway. The stand of birch saplings behind him threw long thin shadows over him, striped the sidewalk. There were birds loud and busy in the trees, building nests and squabbling with each other. Pete glanced back and shook his head. Just like people, fighting over nothing.
He looked up and down the sidewalk and figured he might as well get comfortable; he’d have a nice long wait, no doubt. Ralph hadn’t been on time to anything in his life. He pulled out a folded square of newspaper from his back pocket, soft from multiple readings.
There on the square torn from the society page was a small picture of Lex smiling at the cameras, his arm wrapped around a long legged brunette. Her hair was swept up and exposing her long neck, its slenderness was accented by a huge rock around her neck, and even in the small picture he could see the diamonds at her ears were a matching pair to the necklace. Lex was generous, he thought. Or maybe the stones were payment to look the other way--the caption on the photo announced his engagement.
”Millionaire Alexander ‘Lex’ Luthor announced his engagement to Dr. Helen Bryce. The announcement was made at his father’s annual charity ball to benefit Metropolis Children’s Hospital Sunday evening.”
He studied the picture, had been studying it for days, looking for something, looking for some sign of regret, of pain. Every time he looked at Lex’s smile, he saw Clark bloody and terrified and wild with guilt on a dark country road.
Pete looked up and searched the crowd of students for Ralph, starting to get a little impatient. He carefully folded his little square of newsprint. Enough kicking my own ass for this day.
He got up and someone poked him in the back. “Where the hell have you been?” he snapped as he turned to look behind.
“Trying to pick your heartbeat out of a crowd,” Clark smiled.
Pete staggered to his feet. “Clark…fuck…Clark…” Pete couldn’t go on, his throat closed up and he could only stare.
Clark ‘s expression shifted from happy to concerned to worry. “Is it okay? Do you want me to leave, I can.”
“Hell, no. Don’t you dare leave again.”
Clark’s eyes darkened with guilt and he dropped his eyes away from Pete’s. “I know I have no right to talk to talk to you after what I did, Pete.”
“Don’t be stupid Clark. You did what you had to. I know you have…things… you can’t share. I forgave you pretty damn quick.” Looking at Clark he could see he hadn’t forgiven himself. Pete sensed he probably never would. “Clark, I know about Lex…”
Clark shut down. ”He’s doing what he has to. What he thinks he has to. I can’t stay there, I can’t live like that.” He looked into Pete’s eyes. “I can’t be that person, Pete.”
He nodded. “I know you can’t, Clark.” He reached out and took Clark’s hand to shake, so casual a move, two friends meeting on a beautiful bright spring morning, glad for the day, and nothing more. Pete’s mouth went dry and he had to fight down a groan just at the brief touch of Clark’s hot, marble smooth skin. Behind him, birds burst out of the shadows of the young birches; they wheeled up and passed over them as they flew away.
They watched them go and Clark smiled again, puppy teeth and bright green eyes. “Remind me to tell you…everything, Pete.” His smile dimmed when he looked at Pete again. “What I said before still stands. Last summer was important but…”
Pete nodded. Clark was asking him—telling him-- that Pete would be that person Clark didn’t want to be. He looked up, straight into the sun and closed his eyes. “Okay.” He shrugged. “Okay. I’ll take it.” Hoped the joy would outweigh what he knew he’d lose in the end.
1-29-2006.
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