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Rip Redux part 6
My Two Dads Need Keepers
(a working title)
A post-mpreg fiction
Fandom: SV
Pairing: hmm….
Rating:2
From here on out—it just gets sillier.
Ripley was cleaning her room, like Gestapo Pop wanted, though for the life of her, she couldn’t understand why. No one else in her set had to clean their own rooms for god’s sake—what the hell was the point of having a maid if she had to clean her own room? She pouted and growled as she shoved clothes and books and shoes and stuff into her closet. She took a moment to imagine the look on Herr Poppa’s face if he saw this and that made her laugh at least.
The mountain of stuff knocked clothes off the rack, and she had to crawl on the floor to pick them up, and try and shove some of the mess farther back in the closet. She peered at the back wall of the closet—looked like something was scrawled there …some words and a picture….
She bent closer and saw something that looked like a…a skull? With a bone through it, dripping blood…or…no--she looked closer--it was a heart with an arrow and maybe lace, or flowers, drawn by someone with absolutely no skill—there was something written under it. She dropped to her knees, and shoved away the rest of the clothing dangling in front of the drawing, and she could read what it said now, ‘C+L’ and a date. Oh gosh—she sat abruptly. Oh gee, that had to be Dad’s drawing, no way in hell could she see Pop doing something as girly as that. She giggled at the thought. She traced it with a finger. Oh my god, it was *so* so dorky…and…kind of sweet.
Leaning closer, she could just make out a faint scrawl, as if he wasn’t certain he wanted to write down what he felt. i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) She snorted, and felt a weird sting of some strange emotion, a little anger, and a little sadness…yeah.
She sighed. Still, it was proof, wasn’t it—once Dad had loved Poppa, in a romantic way. She leaned back against the opposite wall and put her feet on the wall over either side of the heart. Once, they’d loved each other enough that Dad did this—and Poppa must not have known…or maybe, he did, and just left it there. Rather sentimental of him if that was the case…she wondered. It was a contradiction, for him. But than again, she grinned, it was the very definition of Poppa. A walking, talking set of contradictions.
Sentimentality—Pop said it was for the weak. Of course, he usually said that while hanging up that horrible construction paper and cotton ball Santa she’d made in second grade—the bald Santa with the mangy beard…she snorted again, shifted, and suddenly her foot went through the wall.
Oh crap! She broke it! She yanked her foot back, and saw with relief she hadn’t screwed up the wall, some little panel there had swung inward with the pressure, and there was something inside it—a box. She reached in and pulled it out, and inside the box was a recorder, old but in real good shape.
She set the box down and played with the little recorder and it clicked on and she heard a voice. A kid’s voice—oh gosh, no, not a kid—that was Dad’s voice….
*Dear Ripley,
A lot of those baby sites say keep a journal. I guess to tell you some day how I felt about it all. Okay, so here’s how I feel. Scared shitless. That’s right, you’re grown now, so get over it. Or you’re supposed to be grown when you hear this. I think that’s the point. Any way, I’m scared. I’m afraid of what will happen*.
She sat staring at the recorder. Oh…wow…this was something recorded before she was even born. Weird. Dad told her about the name—the Ripley thing…but she’d never really thought about how young he’d been…or how sweet. Her eyes blurred for a second. Poor Dad. He sounded scared out of his mind. It was hard to be the only one of you, she had Dad, but he’d had no one like him growing up. How sad…she scrubbed the heel of her hand across her eyes and flicked the recorder back on, she had to hear the rest. She replaced the panel and fluffed up the clothes. She looked critically at it, and kicked the pile on the closet floor until it covered the heart.
She crossed the room, lifted the bedskirt, and shoved the box under it. It was a strange box, sort of ugly and heavy and it felt…weird. Greasy, cold, but not…she wondered where Dad had gotten it. It looked old, the kind of old that was way older than him and Poppa.
She snuggled into the overstuffed fuzzy fuchsia chair that was all that was left of Poppa’s latest foray into redecorating her room, and started the recorder again.
*Wait…stupid recorder…Dear Ripley,
I guess if you’re listening to this, you understand that I’m gay. I hope that by now, it’s no big deal, but people being what they are, I’m not taking bets. I know you know because I would never lie to you. You’ll know everything about us, where we come from, what we are. And what we aren’t*.
Well, they’d done a pretty good job of telling her about her heritage. Sad, she thought, the gay thing was still a big deal. She snorted, yeah, but not forever if Senator Luthor got his way.
*Dear Ripley,
Okay, here’s what happened. Um…grandma and grandpa decided with Uncle Lex that the best place to be while we waited for you was Metropolis. Unh…it’s nice here, lots of sun because we’re really high up…*
She stopped the recorder again. What? What the hell was that—Uncle Lex? He was Poppa…why was Dad calling him uncle?
*Dear Ripley.
Look, you need to understand. I can—could have, I guess, nursed but…no. Just, no. I’m…I guess it would have been different on my home world—*
Okay—no. Giant damn no. She’d listen to that one some day, say—never. She shuddered and made a face. Ew. Too much info, for god’s sake….
******
She listened to the tapes whenever she could, whenever she was sure that Poppa wouldn’t find out. For some reason, it was important that those recording belonged to her alone.
The last recording, she listened to over and over.
*Dear Ripley,
Believe it or not, having you was the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me. Poppa’s a close second, but don’t tell him, trust me, it’s better this way. Now that your name is officially Alexandra, I should call you that…oh, I’ll have to finish this later—Gramma and Grandpa are here and no way am I leaving them alone in the room with Poppa*.
She sat still for a bit, tears running unheeded down her cheeks.
That had been like peeking into the past—like she’d been there with her parents through everything. Poor Dad, so alone for so long, so terrified, and poor Poppa, doing his best to handle something that no one else in the world had handled—or could have, she thought fiercely. And Uncle Jordan…no wonder Dad loved him---no wonder Poppa loved him. She sighed. And now she really knew what Dr. Toby and Dr. Chang acted like they had a right to butt in her life. Without them—she might have had no life. Wow…they were kind of like…heroes.
She sobbed. Why’d they have to be such ass-holes! They’d been so in love! They weren’t like her friend’s parents at all, the kind of people who were better off, for fuck’s sake far, far apart.
She’d always assumed that they were like those people, but for crap’s sake—these morons had really loved each other and then threw it away. She frowned and wiped her face on her t-shirt. Poppa wouldn’t do that—Dad wouldn’t do that.
What the hell had happened?
She went back to the beginning, listened to the tapes again, looking for some clue. Eventually, she gave up in exasperation. There was no clue in the recordings, but something happened and she was going to find out what—and then, she was going to paste those idiots back together. Anybody could see they were supposed to be together. All she had to do was come up with a plan—hell, she was Lex Luthor’s daughter, if she couldn’t come up with a plan, who could? She stopped a moment and reconsidered. She was Clark Kent’s daughter too…maybe she should recruit some help?
tbc!!!!!
(a working title)
A post-mpreg fiction
Fandom: SV
Pairing: hmm….
Rating:2
From here on out—it just gets sillier.
Ripley was cleaning her room, like Gestapo Pop wanted, though for the life of her, she couldn’t understand why. No one else in her set had to clean their own rooms for god’s sake—what the hell was the point of having a maid if she had to clean her own room? She pouted and growled as she shoved clothes and books and shoes and stuff into her closet. She took a moment to imagine the look on Herr Poppa’s face if he saw this and that made her laugh at least.
The mountain of stuff knocked clothes off the rack, and she had to crawl on the floor to pick them up, and try and shove some of the mess farther back in the closet. She peered at the back wall of the closet—looked like something was scrawled there …some words and a picture….
She bent closer and saw something that looked like a…a skull? With a bone through it, dripping blood…or…no--she looked closer--it was a heart with an arrow and maybe lace, or flowers, drawn by someone with absolutely no skill—there was something written under it. She dropped to her knees, and shoved away the rest of the clothing dangling in front of the drawing, and she could read what it said now, ‘C+L’ and a date. Oh gosh—she sat abruptly. Oh gee, that had to be Dad’s drawing, no way in hell could she see Pop doing something as girly as that. She giggled at the thought. She traced it with a finger. Oh my god, it was *so* so dorky…and…kind of sweet.
Leaning closer, she could just make out a faint scrawl, as if he wasn’t certain he wanted to write down what he felt. i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) She snorted, and felt a weird sting of some strange emotion, a little anger, and a little sadness…yeah.
She sighed. Still, it was proof, wasn’t it—once Dad had loved Poppa, in a romantic way. She leaned back against the opposite wall and put her feet on the wall over either side of the heart. Once, they’d loved each other enough that Dad did this—and Poppa must not have known…or maybe, he did, and just left it there. Rather sentimental of him if that was the case…she wondered. It was a contradiction, for him. But than again, she grinned, it was the very definition of Poppa. A walking, talking set of contradictions.
Sentimentality—Pop said it was for the weak. Of course, he usually said that while hanging up that horrible construction paper and cotton ball Santa she’d made in second grade—the bald Santa with the mangy beard…she snorted again, shifted, and suddenly her foot went through the wall.
Oh crap! She broke it! She yanked her foot back, and saw with relief she hadn’t screwed up the wall, some little panel there had swung inward with the pressure, and there was something inside it—a box. She reached in and pulled it out, and inside the box was a recorder, old but in real good shape.
She set the box down and played with the little recorder and it clicked on and she heard a voice. A kid’s voice—oh gosh, no, not a kid—that was Dad’s voice….
*Dear Ripley,
A lot of those baby sites say keep a journal. I guess to tell you some day how I felt about it all. Okay, so here’s how I feel. Scared shitless. That’s right, you’re grown now, so get over it. Or you’re supposed to be grown when you hear this. I think that’s the point. Any way, I’m scared. I’m afraid of what will happen*.
She sat staring at the recorder. Oh…wow…this was something recorded before she was even born. Weird. Dad told her about the name—the Ripley thing…but she’d never really thought about how young he’d been…or how sweet. Her eyes blurred for a second. Poor Dad. He sounded scared out of his mind. It was hard to be the only one of you, she had Dad, but he’d had no one like him growing up. How sad…she scrubbed the heel of her hand across her eyes and flicked the recorder back on, she had to hear the rest. She replaced the panel and fluffed up the clothes. She looked critically at it, and kicked the pile on the closet floor until it covered the heart.
She crossed the room, lifted the bedskirt, and shoved the box under it. It was a strange box, sort of ugly and heavy and it felt…weird. Greasy, cold, but not…she wondered where Dad had gotten it. It looked old, the kind of old that was way older than him and Poppa.
She snuggled into the overstuffed fuzzy fuchsia chair that was all that was left of Poppa’s latest foray into redecorating her room, and started the recorder again.
*Wait…stupid recorder…Dear Ripley,
I guess if you’re listening to this, you understand that I’m gay. I hope that by now, it’s no big deal, but people being what they are, I’m not taking bets. I know you know because I would never lie to you. You’ll know everything about us, where we come from, what we are. And what we aren’t*.
Well, they’d done a pretty good job of telling her about her heritage. Sad, she thought, the gay thing was still a big deal. She snorted, yeah, but not forever if Senator Luthor got his way.
*Dear Ripley,
Okay, here’s what happened. Um…grandma and grandpa decided with Uncle Lex that the best place to be while we waited for you was Metropolis. Unh…it’s nice here, lots of sun because we’re really high up…*
She stopped the recorder again. What? What the hell was that—Uncle Lex? He was Poppa…why was Dad calling him uncle?
*Dear Ripley.
Look, you need to understand. I can—could have, I guess, nursed but…no. Just, no. I’m…I guess it would have been different on my home world—*
Okay—no. Giant damn no. She’d listen to that one some day, say—never. She shuddered and made a face. Ew. Too much info, for god’s sake….
******
She listened to the tapes whenever she could, whenever she was sure that Poppa wouldn’t find out. For some reason, it was important that those recording belonged to her alone.
The last recording, she listened to over and over.
*Dear Ripley,
Believe it or not, having you was the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me. Poppa’s a close second, but don’t tell him, trust me, it’s better this way. Now that your name is officially Alexandra, I should call you that…oh, I’ll have to finish this later—Gramma and Grandpa are here and no way am I leaving them alone in the room with Poppa*.
She sat still for a bit, tears running unheeded down her cheeks.
That had been like peeking into the past—like she’d been there with her parents through everything. Poor Dad, so alone for so long, so terrified, and poor Poppa, doing his best to handle something that no one else in the world had handled—or could have, she thought fiercely. And Uncle Jordan…no wonder Dad loved him---no wonder Poppa loved him. She sighed. And now she really knew what Dr. Toby and Dr. Chang acted like they had a right to butt in her life. Without them—she might have had no life. Wow…they were kind of like…heroes.
She sobbed. Why’d they have to be such ass-holes! They’d been so in love! They weren’t like her friend’s parents at all, the kind of people who were better off, for fuck’s sake far, far apart.
She’d always assumed that they were like those people, but for crap’s sake—these morons had really loved each other and then threw it away. She frowned and wiped her face on her t-shirt. Poppa wouldn’t do that—Dad wouldn’t do that.
What the hell had happened?
She went back to the beginning, listened to the tapes again, looking for some clue. Eventually, she gave up in exasperation. There was no clue in the recordings, but something happened and she was going to find out what—and then, she was going to paste those idiots back together. Anybody could see they were supposed to be together. All she had to do was come up with a plan—hell, she was Lex Luthor’s daughter, if she couldn’t come up with a plan, who could? She stopped a moment and reconsidered. She was Clark Kent’s daughter too…maybe she should recruit some help?
tbc!!!!!
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Although, I have to say how cute is it that Rip is the one who is going to bring them together again. I love that she found the tapes - perfect catalyst.
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(a working title)
... and it's more like My Two Dads Need Smacks Upside the Heads
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I swear you're corrupting me, big time. I love this mpreg!
My life is certainly changed forever.
I hope Ripley can help her two dumb dads.
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I think Ripley is the brains of the bunch! *G*
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oooh, the recordings!!!
//You’ll know everything about us, where we come from, what we are. And what we aren’t*. //
I find that line so touching.
//she was Lex Luthor’s daughter, if she couldn’t come up with a plan, who could? She stopped a moment and reconsidered. She was Clark Kent’s daughter too…maybe she should recruit some help?//
HAHAHA! Word about being CK's kid and needing assistance. Clark knows he can't go it alone, that's what Chloe's for.
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And thanks for what you said about that line, it made me happy.
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I absolutely adored her calling them morons and deciding that since she's Lex Luthor's daughter she should be able to fix them.
:D
So cute.
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I just adore this story. :)
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Thanks so much, you make me very happy!
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Though I absolutely adore stories (a la Parent Trap) where the kid gets the parents back together, so I suppose I'll have to forgive your cruelty.
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Awww, you're just trying to make me love you best! It's been a long time, but look, I didn't make you suffer through it!
Don't you just *love* the Parent Trap? I adored Haley Mills when I were a wee Roxy. I thought she was so cool and not girly. *fondsmile*
Lah! Thanks for the forgiveness!
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she can compete with him anytime :D
GO Ripley , GO!
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This made me laugh out loud! I really love this story!
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And yay, someone doing *something*...
I had no real idea you were this evol, you hoooooor of Satan!
:)
*cough*
*luffs*
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*falls down laughing*
Yay! the new sub-title to my LJ!!!
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Damn this is good fic. Best thing ever, when the day is long and tiresome.
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I like that she feels that lovely youthful invincibility when you know you can do anything. Great story Roxy and I just enjoyed the fact that I could digest three bits tonight. Though your ebilness quotient is high because Clark and Lex are still separate. I want massive comfort and porn to make up for their broken hearts.
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Parents Just Don't Understand!
Go get 'em, Rip!!
:D
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Loving you!!
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I feel a little bad, that was an unfair poke at Clark. *snort*
No, he knows I love him! *g*
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Can I take up the *more fic* chant and foot stomping routine?
(I want more so badly, I even finally made a new icon--thanks to a lovely cap from
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