Rip Redux part 8
7/20/06 12:54 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyThe Talented Miss Ripley
A post-mpreg fiction
Fandom: SV
Pairing: hmm….
Rating:2
what went before
Clark stood with Ripley outside of the penthouse doors waiting for Lex. He glanced down at his daughter, and she was staring straight ahead, her jaw clenched a little. He recognized the look. She glared at the bright pink and green backpack hanging from his shoulder and snorted slightly. He twitched his eyebrows at her and they grinned at each other--until the lock clicked.
The door opened soundlessly, and Lex was there, lean and handsome in a dark red sweater—maroon or burgundy or something he probably had a fancy name for--and black trousers. Clark had to put his free hand in his pocket, to keep from reaching out to touch the sweater. He stifled a smile—yeah. How much Lex would like that? Invulnerable or not, he wouldn’t bet on *not* losing his hand….
Lex was still waiting at the open door, his eyes were gleaming, and Clark wasn’t sure what he was thinking—and that felt odd. He hadn’t wondered what Lex was thinking in a long, long time. His expression was still, expectant, but he didn’t speak to Clark or Ripley. He just stood to one side and gestured for them to come in. Like vampires, Clark thought. Enter freely and of your own will. He glanced at Lex. Hell, this probably did have some near ritual significance to Lex. Everything had significance, in his world.
Ripley grabbed her backpack from Clark, simply walked past Lex and headed toward her room after tossing him a hello, and Lex answered her in a casual way. “If you’re hungry, there’s a plate warmed for you in the kitchen.”
“Okay, thanks Pop,” she said, and headed down the hall to her bedroom.
Clark felt on the verge of…something…crying, yelling, some damn thing…and stared at the back of Lex’s head. He burst out, “God, I wish I could be as cool and level-headed as you.” He didn’t mean for there to be a note of censure in his voice—but he heard it and of course Lex had to have heard it and he turned to look at him with a little smile.
“Really?”
Clark stepped back. Lex looked—Lex looked awful. Clark looked past the cheery sweater, the knife-sharp creases in his sinfully soft looking pants, ignored the scent of cologne and…him—and shit. He looked hollowed out.
“God, Lex. Don’t let her see you looking like this,” Clark whispered. He pulled Lex into the kitchen and forced him to take a seat at the island. He looked in the fridge—odds were he hadn’t eaten since Rip left. Or slept.
He rummaged about in the fridge, looking for normal food, “Wow—do you have like—everything in here?” He smiled a little when he heard a low chuckle behind him. He threw together a sandwich for Lex, hoped he’d eat at least half of it and forced a glass of juice on him, and checked to make sure he drank it all while he made coffee. Coffee was good for everything.
Clark set a mug of coffee, heavy on cream and sugar, in front of him, and was gratified to see a bit of color come back to him as he drank. Lex set the mug down, and frowned before wrapping his fingers around it and just…holding it. Letting his hands get warm, Clark knew. Stress made Lex’s hands cold. He remembered that. “Is there…someone I can call?” he asked. Knowing there wasn’t and a gentle snort told him Lex knew he knew.
Lex drank a bit more and then, exhaled, a long low breath. “Jordan’s coming tomorrow. The team’s back in town.” He sipped at the steaming mug. “He calls from time to time—keeping tabs on me.” he smiled a little lopsidedly at Clark.
Clark felt a quick icy jab under his ribcage. “Oh—that’s…great. I’m glad. Jordan’s always been a good friend. I—I don’t hear from him as much as I’d like.”
“Oh? You should call, you know. But yes, he’s a good friend.” Lex murmured as he poked at the sandwich
“Yeah. Yeah, well, I’m—I’ve got to go now. I’ll call you—to see how you are.” Clark felt reluctant to leave; Lex had eaten less than half of the sandwich. “Oh—how could I forget! Ri—Lexie is developing a power. Already. Much younger than me.” He knew he sounded proud of her, and felt just a bit silly.
Lex looked up sharply, his eyes bright as twin gray lasers. “She is?”
Clark nodded. “Hearing. She can hear nearly as far as I can. It’s so amazing,” Clark beamed and Lex agreed, watching him so closely as he nibbled that Clark began to feel suddenly awkward sitting at the table that used to be theirs. All comfort that he’d felt feeding Lex bled away, he felt like an intruder. There was nothing of him left in the apartment. Nothing for him. He should leave, now. “Tell Lexie I’ll pick her up next week. Or...do you want to bring her?”
Lex’s eyebrows rose. “No, you can come here to get her or if you like, you can pick her up at school.”
Clark nodded and was angry to feel a blush heating his cheeks. “Right, right.” The last time Lex had been at Clark’s was when he handed him the key.
Lex looked up from his coffee and smiled, and it was warm, pretty much free of any meaning except—being nice. “Lexie tells me the book is coming along just great. I’m glad to hear that. I’m glad you’re stretching. That job at the Planet—you weren’t’ suited for that. You didn’t enjoy it.”
“Yeah, it’s—this is different. More personal, I like getting out and talking to people—finding out about their lives, what makes them tick—what’s important to them,” he said enthusiastically. “The next one is about heroes, you know, cops and paramedics and firemen, and…ah, well, I’m just babbling and it’s getting late, and I’ve got work waiting, sorry.”
“Of course. Clark…thank you. For more than just dinner. And good luck on the book. It’s going to be excellent, I’m sure.”
Clark excused himself, and left quickly. He dashed down to the parking garage. Seconds later, he was pulling out of the parking space that was his—kept for him, even though it got almost zero use. Nine years, and a parking space was always waiting for him. He frowned and shook his head, and drove away.
*****
Lex sat alone in the kitchen, sipping the cooling, too milky, and overly sweet coffee. A few years ago, he’d stopped using sugar and cream but Clark didn’t know that. No reason he should.
“Alexandra,” he whispered, “please come here now.”
The silence in the apartment went unbroken, and then…the squeak of a door, and there she was, standing at the table.
“Yes?”
“Eavesdropping is rude and unladylike and beneath a Luthor.” He hesitated and stood, walked around the table until he was looking down into her ocean green eyes. He looked as stern as possible, and said, “A Kent-Luthor.”
She dropped her head. “I know. I’m sorry. I really am.”
One of the good things about being a Luthor, he thought, was being able to decipher what was behind the spoken word. He almost felt faint with relief. “Sweetheart…”
“Pop, all I need to know is that I love you and daddy. That’s all I care about.”
He nodded, his eyes red. “I imagine this is the part were we hug. Should we hug now?”
“Oh, definitely!” She threw herself in his arms, and even though Poppa wasn’t quite as cuddly as Daddy, it was still one of her favorite feelings—Pop’s arms around her. He squeezed her, lifting her a little from her feet. She felt safe, and loved and that was all that was going to matter to her. No more questions, no more wondering…except how Uncle Jordan worked in the picture…but this time she was going after Doc Toby.
******
She staggered into the apartment, ridiculously glad that Poppa wasn’t there. What the hell—being a Kryptonian-Earthling was fucked up! How many damn people were her parents—why the hell didn’t Dr. Chang tell her that it took four people to make her! Thank God Daddy wasn’t the same back then as now…she shuddered. What kind of weird biology kept stacking DNA up like Legos?
She ran to her bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror. Curly red hair…green eyes…a sprinkle of bronze freckles on caramel skin…Uncle Jordan. Right there, in her skin, and her eyes, the shape of her eyes. Oh man. She didn’t even want to know what else was shaping her. Thank goodness she was mild and shy like Daddy. She’d hate to be all over-bearing and ‘I know what’s good for you—and the world’ like Poppa.
She slumped against the sink. Crap. Uncle Jordan—what should she call him? Call him…crap. Her head ached, her eyes burned. She rubbed them and rubbed them. Ick. They felt gritty yet sticky. She peered at herself again. And they were all red. Great. She looked like she’d been on a crying jag, even her nose was red.
Maybe she had allergies…was it possible? Maybe she wasn’t completely like Dad in that respect. She hadn’t cut or scraped herself in years, not that she was about to test herself like Dad did—even if there’d been a wood chipper handy. She grimaced. That had been kind of a funny story the way Grandpa told it—now that she was older, she was getting that it wasn’t quite as funny as she used to think.
She idly sharpened her hearing, looking for Pop…there he was, next floor up at work, being over-bearing. Fine. That meant she had a few hours before he came home.
She sighed. It was hard to *not* use her ability. How did Daddy do it—and he had all these incredible abilities, so much he could do. Why didn’t he use them?
She splashed a little cool water over her face and blotted dry, and strolled to the media room.
Poppa could help him use them; he could keep Dad from wasting his abilities, if he wasn’t such a stiff neck. It was great he was writing the book and all, but really…
She flipped through the DVD case, alphabetized, separated by genre…exactly like Dad did, Poppa tended to file stuff like this by size, or color. She sucked her teeth in annoyed horror. How anyone could be so anal about their clothes and shoes and jewelry and not anything else—was mind boggling, it really was. She frowned at the movies she kept in perfect order, selected one to watch with Poppa after dinner, and *listened* for Pop to come home. One million and one. That was secret one million and one.
******
*I’m coming home now—spaghetti for dinner? Or take out?*
“Spaghetti!” It ‘was so funny and cute to watch him cook. He was so serious about it. She grinned. The staff had all left, it was getting dark, so she turned on the foyer light, and the kitchen light. She pulled a pot out, and got the pasta from the pantry, salad greens from the fridge. At Dad’s, they had super fresh veggies all summer. Dad would zip to Smallville and Grandmom would load him down…she shook her head. Super human and he used it to get fresh vegetables. Shame.
******
She sat at the kitchen and watched Poppa measure out water to cook the spaghetti like he was conducting an experiment. His sleeves were carefully folded back to his elbows; his tie was hanging out of a back pocket. His suit jacket was on the back of her chair, and she had her chin propped up on his briefcase.
“Pop, do you want me to cut up the onions and peppers?”
“Thank you, Lexi,” he said with an air of grave concentration. He measured out an amount of pasta and slipped it into the boiling water and she pushed a stool to the counter and grabbed a knife before sitting at the marble counter. He glanced over, and started to say something, closed his mouth. She grinned.
“Secret number five thousand and one,” she said, and he smiled.
After dinner, they sat together and watched the movie, and Poppa kept glancing at her, puzzled.
“Poppa, don’t try to make sense of it---just enjoy it.”
“Sweetheart, the only thing this movie has to recommend it is Van Dien…and the giant bugs are interesting…are you sure you should be watching this? And when did I buy this?”
She coughed and blushed and kept silent.
After the movie, he had a little work to do, which he did on the couch, the sound down on the TV, laptop propped on his legs. His feet were tucked under him, and she sat next to him, curled into his side, reading a book. Around ten, she leaned up to kiss him goodnight. He looked surprised to find that the time had passed so swiftly. He shifted the laptop and hugged her. Before she left the room, he asked, very casually and eyes fixed on the screen “How’s Dad doing?”
She sighed. Right. “He’s fine, Poppa. He wishes you would call.”
“Did he say that?”
“No. But I can tell he wants to.”
Lex snorted gently. “Good night, sweetheart.”
She went to her room, and turned down her bed. She was about to brush her teeth when she heard the phone ring. She glanced at her clock. Ten thirty. It was Uncle Jordan. She knew because Poppa laughed, and only Uncle Jordan made him laugh out loud.
She smiled. They were cute together. Sometimes she even thought they’d be a cute couple. Even Dad must think so, she thought. Or he wouldn’t ask about them so often lately. And she was totally not above using that. She rinsed and ran back to her bed. She lay back, grabbed her book and planted her feet on the wall. Yeah. She could totally make that work….
TBC...dah-dah-daaaaaaah!!!!!!
A post-mpreg fiction
Fandom: SV
Pairing: hmm….
Rating:2
what went before
Clark stood with Ripley outside of the penthouse doors waiting for Lex. He glanced down at his daughter, and she was staring straight ahead, her jaw clenched a little. He recognized the look. She glared at the bright pink and green backpack hanging from his shoulder and snorted slightly. He twitched his eyebrows at her and they grinned at each other--until the lock clicked.
The door opened soundlessly, and Lex was there, lean and handsome in a dark red sweater—maroon or burgundy or something he probably had a fancy name for--and black trousers. Clark had to put his free hand in his pocket, to keep from reaching out to touch the sweater. He stifled a smile—yeah. How much Lex would like that? Invulnerable or not, he wouldn’t bet on *not* losing his hand….
Lex was still waiting at the open door, his eyes were gleaming, and Clark wasn’t sure what he was thinking—and that felt odd. He hadn’t wondered what Lex was thinking in a long, long time. His expression was still, expectant, but he didn’t speak to Clark or Ripley. He just stood to one side and gestured for them to come in. Like vampires, Clark thought. Enter freely and of your own will. He glanced at Lex. Hell, this probably did have some near ritual significance to Lex. Everything had significance, in his world.
Ripley grabbed her backpack from Clark, simply walked past Lex and headed toward her room after tossing him a hello, and Lex answered her in a casual way. “If you’re hungry, there’s a plate warmed for you in the kitchen.”
“Okay, thanks Pop,” she said, and headed down the hall to her bedroom.
Clark felt on the verge of…something…crying, yelling, some damn thing…and stared at the back of Lex’s head. He burst out, “God, I wish I could be as cool and level-headed as you.” He didn’t mean for there to be a note of censure in his voice—but he heard it and of course Lex had to have heard it and he turned to look at him with a little smile.
“Really?”
Clark stepped back. Lex looked—Lex looked awful. Clark looked past the cheery sweater, the knife-sharp creases in his sinfully soft looking pants, ignored the scent of cologne and…him—and shit. He looked hollowed out.
“God, Lex. Don’t let her see you looking like this,” Clark whispered. He pulled Lex into the kitchen and forced him to take a seat at the island. He looked in the fridge—odds were he hadn’t eaten since Rip left. Or slept.
He rummaged about in the fridge, looking for normal food, “Wow—do you have like—everything in here?” He smiled a little when he heard a low chuckle behind him. He threw together a sandwich for Lex, hoped he’d eat at least half of it and forced a glass of juice on him, and checked to make sure he drank it all while he made coffee. Coffee was good for everything.
Clark set a mug of coffee, heavy on cream and sugar, in front of him, and was gratified to see a bit of color come back to him as he drank. Lex set the mug down, and frowned before wrapping his fingers around it and just…holding it. Letting his hands get warm, Clark knew. Stress made Lex’s hands cold. He remembered that. “Is there…someone I can call?” he asked. Knowing there wasn’t and a gentle snort told him Lex knew he knew.
Lex drank a bit more and then, exhaled, a long low breath. “Jordan’s coming tomorrow. The team’s back in town.” He sipped at the steaming mug. “He calls from time to time—keeping tabs on me.” he smiled a little lopsidedly at Clark.
Clark felt a quick icy jab under his ribcage. “Oh—that’s…great. I’m glad. Jordan’s always been a good friend. I—I don’t hear from him as much as I’d like.”
“Oh? You should call, you know. But yes, he’s a good friend.” Lex murmured as he poked at the sandwich
“Yeah. Yeah, well, I’m—I’ve got to go now. I’ll call you—to see how you are.” Clark felt reluctant to leave; Lex had eaten less than half of the sandwich. “Oh—how could I forget! Ri—Lexie is developing a power. Already. Much younger than me.” He knew he sounded proud of her, and felt just a bit silly.
Lex looked up sharply, his eyes bright as twin gray lasers. “She is?”
Clark nodded. “Hearing. She can hear nearly as far as I can. It’s so amazing,” Clark beamed and Lex agreed, watching him so closely as he nibbled that Clark began to feel suddenly awkward sitting at the table that used to be theirs. All comfort that he’d felt feeding Lex bled away, he felt like an intruder. There was nothing of him left in the apartment. Nothing for him. He should leave, now. “Tell Lexie I’ll pick her up next week. Or...do you want to bring her?”
Lex’s eyebrows rose. “No, you can come here to get her or if you like, you can pick her up at school.”
Clark nodded and was angry to feel a blush heating his cheeks. “Right, right.” The last time Lex had been at Clark’s was when he handed him the key.
Lex looked up from his coffee and smiled, and it was warm, pretty much free of any meaning except—being nice. “Lexie tells me the book is coming along just great. I’m glad to hear that. I’m glad you’re stretching. That job at the Planet—you weren’t’ suited for that. You didn’t enjoy it.”
“Yeah, it’s—this is different. More personal, I like getting out and talking to people—finding out about their lives, what makes them tick—what’s important to them,” he said enthusiastically. “The next one is about heroes, you know, cops and paramedics and firemen, and…ah, well, I’m just babbling and it’s getting late, and I’ve got work waiting, sorry.”
“Of course. Clark…thank you. For more than just dinner. And good luck on the book. It’s going to be excellent, I’m sure.”
Clark excused himself, and left quickly. He dashed down to the parking garage. Seconds later, he was pulling out of the parking space that was his—kept for him, even though it got almost zero use. Nine years, and a parking space was always waiting for him. He frowned and shook his head, and drove away.
*****
Lex sat alone in the kitchen, sipping the cooling, too milky, and overly sweet coffee. A few years ago, he’d stopped using sugar and cream but Clark didn’t know that. No reason he should.
“Alexandra,” he whispered, “please come here now.”
The silence in the apartment went unbroken, and then…the squeak of a door, and there she was, standing at the table.
“Yes?”
“Eavesdropping is rude and unladylike and beneath a Luthor.” He hesitated and stood, walked around the table until he was looking down into her ocean green eyes. He looked as stern as possible, and said, “A Kent-Luthor.”
She dropped her head. “I know. I’m sorry. I really am.”
One of the good things about being a Luthor, he thought, was being able to decipher what was behind the spoken word. He almost felt faint with relief. “Sweetheart…”
“Pop, all I need to know is that I love you and daddy. That’s all I care about.”
He nodded, his eyes red. “I imagine this is the part were we hug. Should we hug now?”
“Oh, definitely!” She threw herself in his arms, and even though Poppa wasn’t quite as cuddly as Daddy, it was still one of her favorite feelings—Pop’s arms around her. He squeezed her, lifting her a little from her feet. She felt safe, and loved and that was all that was going to matter to her. No more questions, no more wondering…except how Uncle Jordan worked in the picture…but this time she was going after Doc Toby.
******
She staggered into the apartment, ridiculously glad that Poppa wasn’t there. What the hell—being a Kryptonian-Earthling was fucked up! How many damn people were her parents—why the hell didn’t Dr. Chang tell her that it took four people to make her! Thank God Daddy wasn’t the same back then as now…she shuddered. What kind of weird biology kept stacking DNA up like Legos?
She ran to her bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror. Curly red hair…green eyes…a sprinkle of bronze freckles on caramel skin…Uncle Jordan. Right there, in her skin, and her eyes, the shape of her eyes. Oh man. She didn’t even want to know what else was shaping her. Thank goodness she was mild and shy like Daddy. She’d hate to be all over-bearing and ‘I know what’s good for you—and the world’ like Poppa.
She slumped against the sink. Crap. Uncle Jordan—what should she call him? Call him…crap. Her head ached, her eyes burned. She rubbed them and rubbed them. Ick. They felt gritty yet sticky. She peered at herself again. And they were all red. Great. She looked like she’d been on a crying jag, even her nose was red.
Maybe she had allergies…was it possible? Maybe she wasn’t completely like Dad in that respect. She hadn’t cut or scraped herself in years, not that she was about to test herself like Dad did—even if there’d been a wood chipper handy. She grimaced. That had been kind of a funny story the way Grandpa told it—now that she was older, she was getting that it wasn’t quite as funny as she used to think.
She idly sharpened her hearing, looking for Pop…there he was, next floor up at work, being over-bearing. Fine. That meant she had a few hours before he came home.
She sighed. It was hard to *not* use her ability. How did Daddy do it—and he had all these incredible abilities, so much he could do. Why didn’t he use them?
She splashed a little cool water over her face and blotted dry, and strolled to the media room.
Poppa could help him use them; he could keep Dad from wasting his abilities, if he wasn’t such a stiff neck. It was great he was writing the book and all, but really…
She flipped through the DVD case, alphabetized, separated by genre…exactly like Dad did, Poppa tended to file stuff like this by size, or color. She sucked her teeth in annoyed horror. How anyone could be so anal about their clothes and shoes and jewelry and not anything else—was mind boggling, it really was. She frowned at the movies she kept in perfect order, selected one to watch with Poppa after dinner, and *listened* for Pop to come home. One million and one. That was secret one million and one.
******
*I’m coming home now—spaghetti for dinner? Or take out?*
“Spaghetti!” It ‘was so funny and cute to watch him cook. He was so serious about it. She grinned. The staff had all left, it was getting dark, so she turned on the foyer light, and the kitchen light. She pulled a pot out, and got the pasta from the pantry, salad greens from the fridge. At Dad’s, they had super fresh veggies all summer. Dad would zip to Smallville and Grandmom would load him down…she shook her head. Super human and he used it to get fresh vegetables. Shame.
******
She sat at the kitchen and watched Poppa measure out water to cook the spaghetti like he was conducting an experiment. His sleeves were carefully folded back to his elbows; his tie was hanging out of a back pocket. His suit jacket was on the back of her chair, and she had her chin propped up on his briefcase.
“Pop, do you want me to cut up the onions and peppers?”
“Thank you, Lexi,” he said with an air of grave concentration. He measured out an amount of pasta and slipped it into the boiling water and she pushed a stool to the counter and grabbed a knife before sitting at the marble counter. He glanced over, and started to say something, closed his mouth. She grinned.
“Secret number five thousand and one,” she said, and he smiled.
After dinner, they sat together and watched the movie, and Poppa kept glancing at her, puzzled.
“Poppa, don’t try to make sense of it---just enjoy it.”
“Sweetheart, the only thing this movie has to recommend it is Van Dien…and the giant bugs are interesting…are you sure you should be watching this? And when did I buy this?”
She coughed and blushed and kept silent.
After the movie, he had a little work to do, which he did on the couch, the sound down on the TV, laptop propped on his legs. His feet were tucked under him, and she sat next to him, curled into his side, reading a book. Around ten, she leaned up to kiss him goodnight. He looked surprised to find that the time had passed so swiftly. He shifted the laptop and hugged her. Before she left the room, he asked, very casually and eyes fixed on the screen “How’s Dad doing?”
She sighed. Right. “He’s fine, Poppa. He wishes you would call.”
“Did he say that?”
“No. But I can tell he wants to.”
Lex snorted gently. “Good night, sweetheart.”
She went to her room, and turned down her bed. She was about to brush her teeth when she heard the phone ring. She glanced at her clock. Ten thirty. It was Uncle Jordan. She knew because Poppa laughed, and only Uncle Jordan made him laugh out loud.
She smiled. They were cute together. Sometimes she even thought they’d be a cute couple. Even Dad must think so, she thought. Or he wouldn’t ask about them so often lately. And she was totally not above using that. She rinsed and ran back to her bed. She lay back, grabbed her book and planted her feet on the wall. Yeah. She could totally make that work….
TBC...dah-dah-daaaaaaah!!!!!!
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7/23/06 11:00 pm (UTC)