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roxyTitle:Mariposa
Fandom: SV
Pairing: n/a—yet.
Rating: 1
Summary: This is the land of AU-ness. Long live AU’s!
Previous Parts are dressed up like wizards, ‘cause they like the refreshing breeze on their pri—say, is that the time?
Seventh grade
“Mom, can we go to the mall? I need to go-- I want to get a new shirt for the dance this Friday. The whole seventh grade is going to be there. It’s the last dance this year and Pete needs me to go with him…”
Martha stopped and stared at the stranger who actually wanted to go shopping. Clothes shopping.
Wanted. To. Go. Shopping.
“Mo--om, stop it! You’re making me embarrassed. All I want is to go and get a shirt or something. For the dance. It’s not the end of the world.”
Her baby was red-faced, and rolling his eyes, and discomfort oozed out of every pore. Ooh! Well, of course. She should have seen the signs before this. She smiled and said, “We can go tonight, after dinner, if you’d like.”
He nodded quickly and started to back out of the room. “Okay, thanks. I’m—going to finish my homework now.” He tripped over the rug, and slammed his knee into the counter stool. “Ow, da—gosh. Darn it.” Clark grit his teeth, and squeezed his eyes tight against tears, and Martha rushed over.
“Let me see,” she said and pushed him to the stool, pulled his pants leg up. There was a bruise, purpling rapidly.
Clark looked down at his knee. “Damn it,” he muttered, and Martha let it go. Usually, when Clark bruised so easily, it meant a renewal of those horrible headaches he’d gotten frequently as a child. Now, he got them rarely—they usually cropped up again around a growth spurt, and he was overdue…she heaved a great sigh, and stroked his knee. “Maybe it’s just a bruise, honey. You did hit that stool pretty hard.”
Clark tried to smile. “Yeah, you’re right. Clumsy, hunh?” He stood and winced a little and she rose quickly, hand out.
“No, I’m fine, it’s just my knee. I’d probably feel better though, if I had some milk. And maybe some cookies?” He grinned and her heart swelled.
“You really think you can play me like a fish on a line, don’t you?”
“um. No…” he grinned. “…yes? A little?” He grinned wider and she was struck by how angelic he looked. Big green eyes, so wide, sweet dimples, and rosy cheeks. Clark was pretty enough to be a girl, she thought. And speaking of girls… “So, who’s the lucky one you have a crush on?”
“What?” Clark squeaked. “Crush? Who?” The cookie that had been on the way to his mouth flipped out of his fingers and soared into the air. It hit the floor, much to Buddy’s patient delight. In a second cookie and crumbs were whisked away.
Martha laughed. “Who’s the lucky girl? I haven’t heard you mention a particular name, except for…Lana?” She giggled inwardly as Clark turned bright red. “Maybe I should ask Pete?”
Clark turned even redder. “Pete?” he gasped. “Pete—why? I mean, how—would Pete know?”
Martha turned away to fill the kettle with water. “Well, he’s your best friend, and he knows everything about you, so--”
Clark slid off the stool. “Well, he doesn’t know everything, and he doesn’t know about this, and I think I’m going to go finish my homework in my room.” He stomped off.
‘Oops,’ she thought. ‘I think I screwed that up.’ She looked after him, considering going up to talk to him, but she remembered that age very well—emotions were so volatile. She sighed. She’d get over it soon enough. This was really completely average behavior for his age…she felt a little chill.
Average.
Clark had no memory of being anything but average. Jonathan was content to leave it that way, but she…she still disagreed. They’d argued about it, on and off…the spaceship was still buried under a tarp in the root cellar. Jonathan had wanted to literally bury it, far out on the property but time after time, Martha argued against it. Some day, they’d have to explain to Clark--he would need to *see*-- that no matter what it seemed like, he *was* different. It wasn’t something they could hide forever, or forget about like Jonathan wanted to do. It didn’t matter that whatever had once made Clark so obviously…alien…was gone, that to all intents and purposes, he seemed to be a normal, earth average boy. The fact remained that he wasn’t. There still were differences—besides the odd and rather frightening episodes he got from time to time, he didn’t get colds, he didn’t get any of the normal childhood diseases…she sighed. He did heal much faster than most, but only a very observant person would see that. She doubted it made an impression on Clark yet. Her baby had no idea he wasn’t like everyone else.
*****
Clark sat huddled on his bed, wishing he was dead, or something. Wishing he could be like everyone else. He shuddered. Why? Why did he have to be different from the other kids? Why couldn’t his life just— be normal? These things that happened to him--they set him apart, and reminded him everyday how different he was than anyone else.
He shuddered, rolled over on his bed and buried his face against his quilt. ‘Okay, don’t cry, or Mom will see your eyes are all red, and want to know why’…he half-laughed, half sobbed. Why couldn’t she be more like Dad? His arm would have to be hanging by a string before he noticed anything was wrong….
Why couldn’t he be like Pete? Pete was normal, average…well, better than average. Much better than average. Pete had it all, the looks, the body, the popularity…he didn’t fool himself--people liked him because he was “ClarkPete’sfriend” like it was one da—damn word! Who saw *him*, when he was standing next to Pete? Pete was funny as heck, and so sexy…dark, and smooth, like chocolate, like chocolate cake....
Clark threw himself on his stomach and groaned. Chocolate cake—god. Thoughts like that were proof he was different. Every where he turned, it was there. The locker room, the field, the pool…gosh, it was all horrible. And every time he thought about Pete, he felt…funny. Warm. Tingly. Fizzy. Sometimes, thinking about Pete made his eyes burn, and then his head would thump and thump and everything hurt—the light hurt, his skin hurt and he’d feel like throwing up. He’d have one of those two day migraine things and the back of his head would hurt so bad, he’d swear something was trying to rip it’s way out from the inside. Sometimes, he thought that would be a blessing.
He got up, went to his closet and pulled out his blanky. Jacky. Whatever. When he got down like this, there were two things that made him feel better—Buddy, and the red jacket he’d gotten from the stranger whose face he couldn’t recall anymore. He pushed his arms through the sleeves and wrapped himself in it, noted in the back of his mind that the sleeves weren’t very long at all anymore…all he remembered was a general impression of softness—kindness. Safety wrapped up in cocoa skin. He inhaled, and whistled for Buddy.
TBC!
Fandom: SV
Pairing: n/a—yet.
Rating: 1
Summary: This is the land of AU-ness. Long live AU’s!
Previous Parts are dressed up like wizards, ‘cause they like the refreshing breeze on their pri—say, is that the time?
Seventh grade
“Mom, can we go to the mall? I need to go-- I want to get a new shirt for the dance this Friday. The whole seventh grade is going to be there. It’s the last dance this year and Pete needs me to go with him…”
Martha stopped and stared at the stranger who actually wanted to go shopping. Clothes shopping.
Wanted. To. Go. Shopping.
“Mo--om, stop it! You’re making me embarrassed. All I want is to go and get a shirt or something. For the dance. It’s not the end of the world.”
Her baby was red-faced, and rolling his eyes, and discomfort oozed out of every pore. Ooh! Well, of course. She should have seen the signs before this. She smiled and said, “We can go tonight, after dinner, if you’d like.”
He nodded quickly and started to back out of the room. “Okay, thanks. I’m—going to finish my homework now.” He tripped over the rug, and slammed his knee into the counter stool. “Ow, da—gosh. Darn it.” Clark grit his teeth, and squeezed his eyes tight against tears, and Martha rushed over.
“Let me see,” she said and pushed him to the stool, pulled his pants leg up. There was a bruise, purpling rapidly.
Clark looked down at his knee. “Damn it,” he muttered, and Martha let it go. Usually, when Clark bruised so easily, it meant a renewal of those horrible headaches he’d gotten frequently as a child. Now, he got them rarely—they usually cropped up again around a growth spurt, and he was overdue…she heaved a great sigh, and stroked his knee. “Maybe it’s just a bruise, honey. You did hit that stool pretty hard.”
Clark tried to smile. “Yeah, you’re right. Clumsy, hunh?” He stood and winced a little and she rose quickly, hand out.
“No, I’m fine, it’s just my knee. I’d probably feel better though, if I had some milk. And maybe some cookies?” He grinned and her heart swelled.
“You really think you can play me like a fish on a line, don’t you?”
“um. No…” he grinned. “…yes? A little?” He grinned wider and she was struck by how angelic he looked. Big green eyes, so wide, sweet dimples, and rosy cheeks. Clark was pretty enough to be a girl, she thought. And speaking of girls… “So, who’s the lucky one you have a crush on?”
“What?” Clark squeaked. “Crush? Who?” The cookie that had been on the way to his mouth flipped out of his fingers and soared into the air. It hit the floor, much to Buddy’s patient delight. In a second cookie and crumbs were whisked away.
Martha laughed. “Who’s the lucky girl? I haven’t heard you mention a particular name, except for…Lana?” She giggled inwardly as Clark turned bright red. “Maybe I should ask Pete?”
Clark turned even redder. “Pete?” he gasped. “Pete—why? I mean, how—would Pete know?”
Martha turned away to fill the kettle with water. “Well, he’s your best friend, and he knows everything about you, so--”
Clark slid off the stool. “Well, he doesn’t know everything, and he doesn’t know about this, and I think I’m going to go finish my homework in my room.” He stomped off.
‘Oops,’ she thought. ‘I think I screwed that up.’ She looked after him, considering going up to talk to him, but she remembered that age very well—emotions were so volatile. She sighed. She’d get over it soon enough. This was really completely average behavior for his age…she felt a little chill.
Average.
Clark had no memory of being anything but average. Jonathan was content to leave it that way, but she…she still disagreed. They’d argued about it, on and off…the spaceship was still buried under a tarp in the root cellar. Jonathan had wanted to literally bury it, far out on the property but time after time, Martha argued against it. Some day, they’d have to explain to Clark--he would need to *see*-- that no matter what it seemed like, he *was* different. It wasn’t something they could hide forever, or forget about like Jonathan wanted to do. It didn’t matter that whatever had once made Clark so obviously…alien…was gone, that to all intents and purposes, he seemed to be a normal, earth average boy. The fact remained that he wasn’t. There still were differences—besides the odd and rather frightening episodes he got from time to time, he didn’t get colds, he didn’t get any of the normal childhood diseases…she sighed. He did heal much faster than most, but only a very observant person would see that. She doubted it made an impression on Clark yet. Her baby had no idea he wasn’t like everyone else.
*****
Clark sat huddled on his bed, wishing he was dead, or something. Wishing he could be like everyone else. He shuddered. Why? Why did he have to be different from the other kids? Why couldn’t his life just— be normal? These things that happened to him--they set him apart, and reminded him everyday how different he was than anyone else.
He shuddered, rolled over on his bed and buried his face against his quilt. ‘Okay, don’t cry, or Mom will see your eyes are all red, and want to know why’…he half-laughed, half sobbed. Why couldn’t she be more like Dad? His arm would have to be hanging by a string before he noticed anything was wrong….
Why couldn’t he be like Pete? Pete was normal, average…well, better than average. Much better than average. Pete had it all, the looks, the body, the popularity…he didn’t fool himself--people liked him because he was “ClarkPete’sfriend” like it was one da—damn word! Who saw *him*, when he was standing next to Pete? Pete was funny as heck, and so sexy…dark, and smooth, like chocolate, like chocolate cake....
Clark threw himself on his stomach and groaned. Chocolate cake—god. Thoughts like that were proof he was different. Every where he turned, it was there. The locker room, the field, the pool…gosh, it was all horrible. And every time he thought about Pete, he felt…funny. Warm. Tingly. Fizzy. Sometimes, thinking about Pete made his eyes burn, and then his head would thump and thump and everything hurt—the light hurt, his skin hurt and he’d feel like throwing up. He’d have one of those two day migraine things and the back of his head would hurt so bad, he’d swear something was trying to rip it’s way out from the inside. Sometimes, he thought that would be a blessing.
He got up, went to his closet and pulled out his blanky. Jacky. Whatever. When he got down like this, there were two things that made him feel better—Buddy, and the red jacket he’d gotten from the stranger whose face he couldn’t recall anymore. He pushed his arms through the sleeves and wrapped himself in it, noted in the back of his mind that the sleeves weren’t very long at all anymore…all he remembered was a general impression of softness—kindness. Safety wrapped up in cocoa skin. He inhaled, and whistled for Buddy.
TBC!
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![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
10/31/06 02:59 pm (UTC)Oh, and Jacky. Love Jacky!!!
(no subject)
10/31/06 09:47 pm (UTC)