The Talented Miss Ripley
8/31/06 01:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyThe Talented Miss Ripley part 18
A post-mpreg fiction
Fandom: SV
Pairing: Clark/Lex
Rating:2
What went before
Hark? Hear that whistle blow? Our train's about to pull into the station, lassies! It's the Wrap It Up line, and she's right on time. Have your tickets in your hands. Aaaaaall aboard!
Ripley and Greg wandered through a second hand shop a few blocks from the apartment, a place they hung out at from time to time. There were great bargains to be had, and it was fun hunting for them—sometimes she found great stuff for Dad and Pop and now, she thought, glancing over at Greg from under lowered eyelashes, she had someone else to find great stuff for.
They took their time, poked through shelves of old-fashioned boxes full off odd pieces: jewelry, cards, little plastic toys, tangible memories from ages past. Ripley loved these things, loved thinking about what they’d meant to some long ago someone.
”Hey, Lexie, look at this!” Greg held up a leather thong. A silver skull with black chips of glass for eyes hung lop-sided from it. “Look—Irving would like this, I bet.” He made a face at the skull. “It’s got great creepy eyes.”
“Yeah, he would—oh, look! A book of poems—Poppa loves old books.” She picked up the book, petted the worn blue leather cover, traced the gold leafed title. She glanced up at Greg, pushed a stray curl behind her ear. A wide smile wrinkled her nose. “ Guess what? I’ve got great news.”
Greg grinned and took a step closer. “I figured something was going on, you’ve been practically vibrating all morning. Tell me!”
“My dad’s are dating each other again.”
She looked so happy Greg had to hug her. “Hey, that is great! After that time you called, with the windshield, and the yelling--I wondered if maybe…you know. Ka-plooey?”
She nodded, “Oh yeah, I have to admit, that stuff shook my confidence---I wasn’t sure that everything wasn’t falling apart.” She shuddered, and laid the book back down on the little table she’d picked it up from. Greg took her hand, eased his fingers around hers.
She squeezed him, delicately, and swung their hands just a little. “But, ever since I found that poem--the one I told you about--I knew that they were supposed to be together, like destiny, you know, like when you see someone and there’s this instant connection and sometimes you don’t even know it because it takes something else to show you that it’s real--”
Greg smiled. “Unh-hunh.”
“—and it’s meant to be, I mean, come on—Pop and Dad? Really, they’re like Alexander and Hephaestion, only without the god-awful wigs and all they needed was a push back together, and then—pow!”
Greg looked unsure and slowed the swing of their hands. “Uhn-hunh. Well, so far, it’s been mostly pow, hasn’t it?”
She grinned, a wicked little grin that made weird and lovely things happen to his stomach. “Remember that weekend when I suddenly ran to my grandma’s?” she smiled a little wider and blushed.
“Yeah—oh! Ew—I mean, oh really?”
He looked distinctly uncomfortable and she shrugged. Right, right…different ways of looking at things—patience and empathy, very important virtues…“Well, let’s say that they both looked a lot happier when I came back, and they’ve spent a lot of time together since then. Non ‘yelling storming off calling old boyfriends’ time. And…Dad and Pop went looking for a new vehicle for Dad.” She stared at him with an enormous grin and Greg knew he was supposed to see that as very significant.
“Oh, unh-hunh. Cool.”
“I just know that they’ll be *together* together again soon. I can tell, Poppa is so happy now. And Dad…” she shook her head. “Boy, I’ve never seen him just—glow, you know.” She looked at him, her cheeks pink and her lips bowed in the biggest smile.
“Glow…yeah.” He smiled back
*****
Ripley lay on the couch, her feet against the back and her head on the coffee table. Poppa wandered into the room, stopped and breathed. With extra pointedness.
Oh crap…
“Alexandra. That’s no way to treat furniture. Other people use that table you know, and as lovely as your hair is, I doubt anyone would appreciate knowing you used a surface reserved for foodstuffs and the like to rest your head…”
“Poppa, geez…” what a long-winded way to say get your head the hell off the table. The phone rang and thankfully his attention was diverted elsewhere for the moment.
“Clark!” His face lit up, and he was already walking away, the crime of head on table completely forgotten.
Score—saved by the bell, she grinned. She let the sound of him chatting relax her, his voice soothing and warm—but the tone of his voice changed, and instantly worried, her hearing sharpened a bit.
“Oh. Oh—no, no—I’m a little disappointed but I understand. Of course I do. Call me first chance you get. Yes, me too.” Pop came strolling back, looking a little down, his mouth soft, the way it got when he was as little sad. He looked over at her and sighed.
“Well—your dad sends his love and he’ll call you, but he got rather a sudden opportunity to fly out with a search and rescue team--research for the new book…” Poppa looked so sad that she sat up and motioned him over to her. He walked over with a little smile and she bounced up and hugged him, and held his head in her hands.
“I love you, Pop--hey, let’s call Uncle Jor and ask if he’d like to join us for dinner—what do you think?”
“I think it’s a wonderful idea.” He smiled. “And thank you, but you know, I really am fine, sweetheart.” He pushed the hair back from her forehead before kissing her, and headed to the closet to retrieve his coat. “I’ll pick up something for dinner and no, it’s not going to be pizza, or anything else dripping with grease—it’s going to be real food—not that stuff your dad thinks is food.”.
Gosh the sooner Dad moved back the better—The Food Furher was driving her nuts.
******
After dinner, Poppa went to select a movie to for them to watch that evening and Uncle Jor helped her to clean up the kitchen.
He bent over to load the dishwasher, and Ripley popped leftovers in labeled containers and shoved them in the fridge. “You know,” he said, “in my house I have people who do this kind of thing for you.”
“Helps build character, Pop says.” She contemplated the carefully stacked, color coordinated plastic containers behind the glass-doors of the fridge. Pop liked a neat presentation in the fridge. She definitely planned to ask Dad to talk him onto buying a new fridge. With solid steel doors. Big, black, solid steel doors.
Jordan laughed. “Yeah, like he ever in his childhood life lifted a finger to clean a damn thing.”
“I think he gets it from Grandpa, and from watching Dad do chores and stuff when he was a kid out on the farm.”.
“Rich folks get some strange ideas,” he said, shaking his head.
She stared at him in disbelief “Look who’s talking!”
“Yeah, but I used to be poor—we had to do all our own stuff—in fact, we were so poor--”
“Oh, my gosh—don’t even try it, Mr. Spoiled Rotten.”
Jordan looked offended. “That’s ‘cause my parent were old and tired by the time I was born. They had to pay me off to shut the hell up, instead of chasing me down and kicking my ass. Anyway--looks like your insidious plan to pull those two knuckleheads together worked and wow--” He fixed her with a steely glare, “I didn’t even have to die.”
“Yeah,” she said thoughtfully.
“Well, damn girl—you don’t have to sound like you’re sorry,” he huffed.
She slid her arms around his waist and leaned her chin on his chest, grinned up at him. “Oh gosh no, I’d miss you, and besides, who’d buy me ice cream and hotdogs? Well, besides Greg, but he can’t afford as many as you can.”
“Hmm. About that boy. I want to know…everything. And do your dads know his people?”
“Yes! Worrywart. And besides the most important thing is…he’s awfully cute…and sweet. Just like you.”
Oh please, you must think I’m terminally stupid. Good suck up, though.”
“Thank you. Seriously though—he’s really cute….”
******
After the movie, after Lexie was in bed and Jordan was sound asleep in the guestroom, Lex sat in his study and watched video of the earthquake tearing Turkey apart. Clark was there and even though he was perfectly safe, Lex knew how being in the path of suffering affected Clark. He knew that he took every tragedy personally and felt driven to help in some way. It was why he idolized the people in service fields—firemen, policemen, rescue workers of all sorts…the new book was all about Clark’s love affair with public servants. Lex shook his head—from the people who waited on tables and the guys who manned the tollbooth to cops and doctors…Lex sighed. Clark loved people—needed people, he had to help in some way. He shook his head. Clark’s whole problem was that he saw events like this earthquake as aberrations, attacks, instead of just…life-- the luck of the draw. His whole problem lay in thinking that there were solutions for every thing.
“Hey, you still up? Not worried, are you? He’s fine...”
Jordan stood in the doorway, scratching his sides, and yawning wide. “Whacha doin?”
He padded over to the couch and dropped down, making it creak almost as much as Clark did. He peered at the screen, and Said, “Oh. Oh man…that looks bad…Clark must be just about ready to lose his mind.” He turned to Lex. “You really should help him figure out how to do what he should be doing. Don’t look confused at me—you know exactly what I mean.”
“Clark’s doing just what he should be---he helps by fostering positive opinions about the people who are *trained* to handle crisis like this—he--”
“Fuck that, are you that selfish? You’re not the only one who needs him and besides—why else would he have the abilities he has? To open jars for you? Keep your coffee hot? The world needs him.”
Lex glared at Jordan. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Clark is fine doing what he does. Don’t interfere. And for god’s sake—could you remember you’re a guest and treat me with at least *some* respect? Stop lecturing me.”
“Shit, I respect the hell out of you.” Jordan lay back against the arm of the couch, his arms folded, and totally unconcerned about the glare Lex had trained on him. “I’m just trying to tell you, be careful. You just got him back. You don’t want to lose him again by being an asshole. You are kind of good at that.”
Lex sighed deeply and stared up at the ceiling, mentally counting to a thousand….
Jordan grinned and said, “Okay, right now you’re asking yourself why you stopped yourself from cleaning house all those years ago.” He snorted. “Too late now,” and Lex rolled his eyes and kicked him.
“Clark wouldn’t leave—he’s not ever going to leave again. He promised.”
Jordan looked at Lex for a long moment. “Well, Lex, than you’d better make sure his promise doesn’t destroy what you have. It’s a two way street, you know?” He stood and kissed Lex on the head, and grinned briefly when Lex automatically wiped at his head and frowned. He walked off, stopping at the doorway to raise an eyebrow pointedly before going back to bed.
Lex stared after him. He had no idea why everyone pointed at *him* when Lexie displayed annoyingly meddlesome behavior…
Well. He stretched, and yawned. He should probably put wheels in motion as far as disaster relief. Lexcorp reaching out would be excellent PR…he sighed. And of course, more importantly, it was the right thing to do.
He frowned. Damn it. Jordan was right. Alexandra was right. Clark had a purpose here, whether he was truly aware or not. He had a mission and the tools to carry the mission out and fuck it—he was going to have to share Clark with the world.
He stood and walked to his bedroom, thinking. Fuck. Sharing was something he’d learned over the years to tolerate. Barely. Now, it obviously was about to become a way of life.
He was about to pass his daughters bedroom and stopped, touched the door. Thank goodness, he had an excellent teacher.
TBC!
A post-mpreg fiction
Fandom: SV
Pairing: Clark/Lex
Rating:2
What went before
Hark? Hear that whistle blow? Our train's about to pull into the station, lassies! It's the Wrap It Up line, and she's right on time. Have your tickets in your hands. Aaaaaall aboard!
Ripley and Greg wandered through a second hand shop a few blocks from the apartment, a place they hung out at from time to time. There were great bargains to be had, and it was fun hunting for them—sometimes she found great stuff for Dad and Pop and now, she thought, glancing over at Greg from under lowered eyelashes, she had someone else to find great stuff for.
They took their time, poked through shelves of old-fashioned boxes full off odd pieces: jewelry, cards, little plastic toys, tangible memories from ages past. Ripley loved these things, loved thinking about what they’d meant to some long ago someone.
”Hey, Lexie, look at this!” Greg held up a leather thong. A silver skull with black chips of glass for eyes hung lop-sided from it. “Look—Irving would like this, I bet.” He made a face at the skull. “It’s got great creepy eyes.”
“Yeah, he would—oh, look! A book of poems—Poppa loves old books.” She picked up the book, petted the worn blue leather cover, traced the gold leafed title. She glanced up at Greg, pushed a stray curl behind her ear. A wide smile wrinkled her nose. “ Guess what? I’ve got great news.”
Greg grinned and took a step closer. “I figured something was going on, you’ve been practically vibrating all morning. Tell me!”
“My dad’s are dating each other again.”
She looked so happy Greg had to hug her. “Hey, that is great! After that time you called, with the windshield, and the yelling--I wondered if maybe…you know. Ka-plooey?”
She nodded, “Oh yeah, I have to admit, that stuff shook my confidence---I wasn’t sure that everything wasn’t falling apart.” She shuddered, and laid the book back down on the little table she’d picked it up from. Greg took her hand, eased his fingers around hers.
She squeezed him, delicately, and swung their hands just a little. “But, ever since I found that poem--the one I told you about--I knew that they were supposed to be together, like destiny, you know, like when you see someone and there’s this instant connection and sometimes you don’t even know it because it takes something else to show you that it’s real--”
Greg smiled. “Unh-hunh.”
“—and it’s meant to be, I mean, come on—Pop and Dad? Really, they’re like Alexander and Hephaestion, only without the god-awful wigs and all they needed was a push back together, and then—pow!”
Greg looked unsure and slowed the swing of their hands. “Uhn-hunh. Well, so far, it’s been mostly pow, hasn’t it?”
She grinned, a wicked little grin that made weird and lovely things happen to his stomach. “Remember that weekend when I suddenly ran to my grandma’s?” she smiled a little wider and blushed.
“Yeah—oh! Ew—I mean, oh really?”
He looked distinctly uncomfortable and she shrugged. Right, right…different ways of looking at things—patience and empathy, very important virtues…“Well, let’s say that they both looked a lot happier when I came back, and they’ve spent a lot of time together since then. Non ‘yelling storming off calling old boyfriends’ time. And…Dad and Pop went looking for a new vehicle for Dad.” She stared at him with an enormous grin and Greg knew he was supposed to see that as very significant.
“Oh, unh-hunh. Cool.”
“I just know that they’ll be *together* together again soon. I can tell, Poppa is so happy now. And Dad…” she shook her head. “Boy, I’ve never seen him just—glow, you know.” She looked at him, her cheeks pink and her lips bowed in the biggest smile.
“Glow…yeah.” He smiled back
*****
Ripley lay on the couch, her feet against the back and her head on the coffee table. Poppa wandered into the room, stopped and breathed. With extra pointedness.
Oh crap…
“Alexandra. That’s no way to treat furniture. Other people use that table you know, and as lovely as your hair is, I doubt anyone would appreciate knowing you used a surface reserved for foodstuffs and the like to rest your head…”
“Poppa, geez…” what a long-winded way to say get your head the hell off the table. The phone rang and thankfully his attention was diverted elsewhere for the moment.
“Clark!” His face lit up, and he was already walking away, the crime of head on table completely forgotten.
Score—saved by the bell, she grinned. She let the sound of him chatting relax her, his voice soothing and warm—but the tone of his voice changed, and instantly worried, her hearing sharpened a bit.
“Oh. Oh—no, no—I’m a little disappointed but I understand. Of course I do. Call me first chance you get. Yes, me too.” Pop came strolling back, looking a little down, his mouth soft, the way it got when he was as little sad. He looked over at her and sighed.
“Well—your dad sends his love and he’ll call you, but he got rather a sudden opportunity to fly out with a search and rescue team--research for the new book…” Poppa looked so sad that she sat up and motioned him over to her. He walked over with a little smile and she bounced up and hugged him, and held his head in her hands.
“I love you, Pop--hey, let’s call Uncle Jor and ask if he’d like to join us for dinner—what do you think?”
“I think it’s a wonderful idea.” He smiled. “And thank you, but you know, I really am fine, sweetheart.” He pushed the hair back from her forehead before kissing her, and headed to the closet to retrieve his coat. “I’ll pick up something for dinner and no, it’s not going to be pizza, or anything else dripping with grease—it’s going to be real food—not that stuff your dad thinks is food.”.
Gosh the sooner Dad moved back the better—The Food Furher was driving her nuts.
******
After dinner, Poppa went to select a movie to for them to watch that evening and Uncle Jor helped her to clean up the kitchen.
He bent over to load the dishwasher, and Ripley popped leftovers in labeled containers and shoved them in the fridge. “You know,” he said, “in my house I have people who do this kind of thing for you.”
“Helps build character, Pop says.” She contemplated the carefully stacked, color coordinated plastic containers behind the glass-doors of the fridge. Pop liked a neat presentation in the fridge. She definitely planned to ask Dad to talk him onto buying a new fridge. With solid steel doors. Big, black, solid steel doors.
Jordan laughed. “Yeah, like he ever in his childhood life lifted a finger to clean a damn thing.”
“I think he gets it from Grandpa, and from watching Dad do chores and stuff when he was a kid out on the farm.”.
“Rich folks get some strange ideas,” he said, shaking his head.
She stared at him in disbelief “Look who’s talking!”
“Yeah, but I used to be poor—we had to do all our own stuff—in fact, we were so poor--”
“Oh, my gosh—don’t even try it, Mr. Spoiled Rotten.”
Jordan looked offended. “That’s ‘cause my parent were old and tired by the time I was born. They had to pay me off to shut the hell up, instead of chasing me down and kicking my ass. Anyway--looks like your insidious plan to pull those two knuckleheads together worked and wow--” He fixed her with a steely glare, “I didn’t even have to die.”
“Yeah,” she said thoughtfully.
“Well, damn girl—you don’t have to sound like you’re sorry,” he huffed.
She slid her arms around his waist and leaned her chin on his chest, grinned up at him. “Oh gosh no, I’d miss you, and besides, who’d buy me ice cream and hotdogs? Well, besides Greg, but he can’t afford as many as you can.”
“Hmm. About that boy. I want to know…everything. And do your dads know his people?”
“Yes! Worrywart. And besides the most important thing is…he’s awfully cute…and sweet. Just like you.”
Oh please, you must think I’m terminally stupid. Good suck up, though.”
“Thank you. Seriously though—he’s really cute….”
******
After the movie, after Lexie was in bed and Jordan was sound asleep in the guestroom, Lex sat in his study and watched video of the earthquake tearing Turkey apart. Clark was there and even though he was perfectly safe, Lex knew how being in the path of suffering affected Clark. He knew that he took every tragedy personally and felt driven to help in some way. It was why he idolized the people in service fields—firemen, policemen, rescue workers of all sorts…the new book was all about Clark’s love affair with public servants. Lex shook his head—from the people who waited on tables and the guys who manned the tollbooth to cops and doctors…Lex sighed. Clark loved people—needed people, he had to help in some way. He shook his head. Clark’s whole problem was that he saw events like this earthquake as aberrations, attacks, instead of just…life-- the luck of the draw. His whole problem lay in thinking that there were solutions for every thing.
“Hey, you still up? Not worried, are you? He’s fine...”
Jordan stood in the doorway, scratching his sides, and yawning wide. “Whacha doin?”
He padded over to the couch and dropped down, making it creak almost as much as Clark did. He peered at the screen, and Said, “Oh. Oh man…that looks bad…Clark must be just about ready to lose his mind.” He turned to Lex. “You really should help him figure out how to do what he should be doing. Don’t look confused at me—you know exactly what I mean.”
“Clark’s doing just what he should be---he helps by fostering positive opinions about the people who are *trained* to handle crisis like this—he--”
“Fuck that, are you that selfish? You’re not the only one who needs him and besides—why else would he have the abilities he has? To open jars for you? Keep your coffee hot? The world needs him.”
Lex glared at Jordan. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Clark is fine doing what he does. Don’t interfere. And for god’s sake—could you remember you’re a guest and treat me with at least *some* respect? Stop lecturing me.”
“Shit, I respect the hell out of you.” Jordan lay back against the arm of the couch, his arms folded, and totally unconcerned about the glare Lex had trained on him. “I’m just trying to tell you, be careful. You just got him back. You don’t want to lose him again by being an asshole. You are kind of good at that.”
Lex sighed deeply and stared up at the ceiling, mentally counting to a thousand….
Jordan grinned and said, “Okay, right now you’re asking yourself why you stopped yourself from cleaning house all those years ago.” He snorted. “Too late now,” and Lex rolled his eyes and kicked him.
“Clark wouldn’t leave—he’s not ever going to leave again. He promised.”
Jordan looked at Lex for a long moment. “Well, Lex, than you’d better make sure his promise doesn’t destroy what you have. It’s a two way street, you know?” He stood and kissed Lex on the head, and grinned briefly when Lex automatically wiped at his head and frowned. He walked off, stopping at the doorway to raise an eyebrow pointedly before going back to bed.
Lex stared after him. He had no idea why everyone pointed at *him* when Lexie displayed annoyingly meddlesome behavior…
Well. He stretched, and yawned. He should probably put wheels in motion as far as disaster relief. Lexcorp reaching out would be excellent PR…he sighed. And of course, more importantly, it was the right thing to do.
He frowned. Damn it. Jordan was right. Alexandra was right. Clark had a purpose here, whether he was truly aware or not. He had a mission and the tools to carry the mission out and fuck it—he was going to have to share Clark with the world.
He stood and walked to his bedroom, thinking. Fuck. Sharing was something he’d learned over the years to tolerate. Barely. Now, it obviously was about to become a way of life.
He was about to pass his daughters bedroom and stopped, touched the door. Thank goodness, he had an excellent teacher.
TBC!