![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
fic post mariposa
Title:Mariposa
Fandom: SV
Pairing: n/a—but I’m hinting…
Rating: 2
Summary: This piece of fiction is just that.
Poor Clark...is it just me, or am I kind of...mean? *sniff*
Previous Parts are here wallowing in self-pity after being turned down by Doogie--they have framed their restraining order as a memento....
Life On Mars--Reach
Whitney sat with him for a while, talking about nothing, until the pain finally eased up.
After dinner that night, he asked his parents to stay in the kitchen for a bit.
“I need to talk to you guys.”
“What’s up Clark,” his dad asked, and his mom came around to sit with him. They both looked expectant, and a little nervous, and Clark wondered what they thought was on his mind. His dad asked again what he wanted. “Is something bothering you?”
“Yes.” He wondered how to ask—it was a simple question, kind of silly really but… “Why don’t I go to a doctor? Ever?”
That ‘simple question’ produced a reaction way out of proportion to what he’d been expecting. His parents looked at him with a combination of guilt, sadness and fear and a sort of defeated resignation, too…his mom looked so terribly tired and his dad looked like he wanted to cry—and that scared Clark worse than anything else he could imagine. He couldn’t remember his dad ever crying. His heart beat sped up, he had the feeling this conversation had just become a speeding train and he was on the tracks…
“Jonathan.” His mom said his dad’s name in way he’d never heard before. “Jonathan.”
His dad took in a long breath, and let it out. “Okay.” He really looked bad, looked like Clark felt like after a killer of a headache. “Clark…son. You know you’re adopted.”
Clark nodded. That had been shocking news—but he’d weathered it. What else could they tell him about his adoption…unless… “Geez—I’m not…I’m not your brother or anything, am I?”
“What—no!” his dad said and looked puzzled, and his mom smiled a little. He felt his face flush and he swore off soap operas forever.
“No. But…come on. Follow me.” His dad stood, and walked to the back door, and his mom held out her hand to him. “The best way to explain is to show you. Don’t worry, honey. I’m right with you.”
****
They were in the cellar, and standing in front of a tarp covered shape. His mom had her arm around him; his dad was standing in front of whatever it was like he was going to the guillotine. He reached out, grabbed the tarp and pulled, pulled until the tarp was puddled on the ground, and a thing stood shining in the dim light. It looked like one of his models. It looked just like… "A space ship?”
Dad was into making giant models of spaceships? The detail was crazy—it looked like it’d been through a war. If Dad made it, then he was seriously nuts. But his mom was pushing him forward, and he was touching it, and there was no way in hell his dad had made that…it felt…weird. Familiar. He pressed his palm flat against the surface….
At first, his hand slid over it smoothly…but as he ran his fingers across the surface, he felt bumps, pits, scratches…he could see pock marks on the surface, and faint traces here and there that might have been paint—some sort of markings. It looked like the surface had been scoured clean, like sandblasted metal. “What is it?” he muttered. His fingers searched the seams, “Open it.”
“We’ve never been able to open it again.”
Clark nodded. Sure. That was the archetypal story line, right? No doubt some where there was a stone too, with a sword stuck in it, waiting for him to pull it free…open the ship…climb the tower and rescue the fair…the fair…
“All we know is that it’s yours,” his dad said. “We found you; found this, on the day of the meteor shower. There’s something else too…it has writing on it. But not like anything on Earth.”
“…so what…I kiss it, bleed on it—will that make it open and reveal all?”
Jonathan stared at him; his forehead wrinkled with concern, he said, “You seem awfully calm…” and his tone of voice was worried.
“What’s so strange about this?” Clark shrugged. “I…I almost welcome this. I like this story better than the one where the little boy is broken into bits and glued back all wrong and then lied to every day of his life.” He stepped back, inching away.
“We didn’t lie, Clark, we-- we just didn’t, didn’t say anything. The time…never seemed to--to come,” his dad stuttered into silence.
“No. You lied to me. You said I was like everyone else, and I’m not and that man *knew* it and that’s why he—”
“God, no! No! That was just horrible, but nothing to do with this—nothing!"
Clark shook his head, shook it over and over, backed away from the people he thought he knew…
Up the stairs, and out in the open air, his calm shattered like glass. He ran for the loft, and scrambled into a dark corner. How was it possible? How could it be—maybe they were crazy. That was it--had to be. Aliens and monsters and magic boys---it was all dreams and nightmares and didn’t exist. It didn’t exist.
Clark scooted deeper into the corner until he was crouched under his desk, and cried. Cried because he was scared, because he hurt, and mostly because he knew that something in him had been killed. He gasped for breath, and wiped his face on his sleeve. He shuddered. What did it mean to be alien, if he wasn’t any different from other men?
“Clark? Clark…” his mother came up the loft stairs, searching for him. She looked terribly sad when she saw him crouched under the desk. “Son, please--”
“But I’m not your son, am I? I’m not even a human, and I’m not--” He stopped and wiped his face again, and she sat on the floor as close to him as she could get.
“I can’t imagine how you feel, Clark. I don’t know what I can say to make you feel better, except, we love you, and we didn’t tell you because we wanted to protect you. When you were a child, you were so different—so strong, almost…invincible. And then, everything changed.”
“I got—attacked. Stolen. That’s when everything changed. That’s when the nightmares and the pain started. That’s when you and Dad started to treat me differently.”
“Clark, we only tried to protect you. You were so—so delicate after. So easily breakable. We tried to keep you safe.” She held her hand out. “Come out, Clark, please. Come sit with me.”
Clark crawled out and sat next to her. She took his hand, and he relaxed a little, feeling the warmth, the calluses on her palm. She reached up and pulled his head to her shoulder. “We’ve always worried about you, Clark. We worried that you’d never be happy again, we worried when you lost all your—what was part of your heritage, and then, we worried about you being alone when Pete and you stopped being friends. Then Chloe came into the picture, and I worried again, what if you—you were different in a way we couldn’t see…”
“Mom! Oh my God…”
“More than that, Clark—it’s why we never took you to a doctor. We can’t be sure x-rays or scans wouldn’t show...the truth.” She reached into her sweater pocket. “Here. We found this too. It’s yours. Don’t know what it is, but it belongs to you.”
Clark held a piece of smooth warm metal in his hand. Symbols were carved into the piece. He held it for a long moment, and his mom kissed him on the forehead. “Whenever you want to talk Clark, about anything, you know we’re here for you. Don’t be afraid to talk to us son, we love you.”
After his mom left the loft, he wrapped the metal piece up, and hid it in the rafters. Some other day, he’d look at it. When he felt braver.
tbc next:Can You Hear Me
Fandom: SV
Pairing: n/a—but I’m hinting…
Rating: 2
Summary: This piece of fiction is just that.
Poor Clark...is it just me, or am I kind of...mean? *sniff*
Previous Parts are here wallowing in self-pity after being turned down by Doogie--they have framed their restraining order as a memento....
Life On Mars--Reach
Whitney sat with him for a while, talking about nothing, until the pain finally eased up.
After dinner that night, he asked his parents to stay in the kitchen for a bit.
“I need to talk to you guys.”
“What’s up Clark,” his dad asked, and his mom came around to sit with him. They both looked expectant, and a little nervous, and Clark wondered what they thought was on his mind. His dad asked again what he wanted. “Is something bothering you?”
“Yes.” He wondered how to ask—it was a simple question, kind of silly really but… “Why don’t I go to a doctor? Ever?”
That ‘simple question’ produced a reaction way out of proportion to what he’d been expecting. His parents looked at him with a combination of guilt, sadness and fear and a sort of defeated resignation, too…his mom looked so terribly tired and his dad looked like he wanted to cry—and that scared Clark worse than anything else he could imagine. He couldn’t remember his dad ever crying. His heart beat sped up, he had the feeling this conversation had just become a speeding train and he was on the tracks…
“Jonathan.” His mom said his dad’s name in way he’d never heard before. “Jonathan.”
His dad took in a long breath, and let it out. “Okay.” He really looked bad, looked like Clark felt like after a killer of a headache. “Clark…son. You know you’re adopted.”
Clark nodded. That had been shocking news—but he’d weathered it. What else could they tell him about his adoption…unless… “Geez—I’m not…I’m not your brother or anything, am I?”
“What—no!” his dad said and looked puzzled, and his mom smiled a little. He felt his face flush and he swore off soap operas forever.
“No. But…come on. Follow me.” His dad stood, and walked to the back door, and his mom held out her hand to him. “The best way to explain is to show you. Don’t worry, honey. I’m right with you.”
****
They were in the cellar, and standing in front of a tarp covered shape. His mom had her arm around him; his dad was standing in front of whatever it was like he was going to the guillotine. He reached out, grabbed the tarp and pulled, pulled until the tarp was puddled on the ground, and a thing stood shining in the dim light. It looked like one of his models. It looked just like… "A space ship?”
Dad was into making giant models of spaceships? The detail was crazy—it looked like it’d been through a war. If Dad made it, then he was seriously nuts. But his mom was pushing him forward, and he was touching it, and there was no way in hell his dad had made that…it felt…weird. Familiar. He pressed his palm flat against the surface….
At first, his hand slid over it smoothly…but as he ran his fingers across the surface, he felt bumps, pits, scratches…he could see pock marks on the surface, and faint traces here and there that might have been paint—some sort of markings. It looked like the surface had been scoured clean, like sandblasted metal. “What is it?” he muttered. His fingers searched the seams, “Open it.”
“We’ve never been able to open it again.”
Clark nodded. Sure. That was the archetypal story line, right? No doubt some where there was a stone too, with a sword stuck in it, waiting for him to pull it free…open the ship…climb the tower and rescue the fair…the fair…
“All we know is that it’s yours,” his dad said. “We found you; found this, on the day of the meteor shower. There’s something else too…it has writing on it. But not like anything on Earth.”
“…so what…I kiss it, bleed on it—will that make it open and reveal all?”
Jonathan stared at him; his forehead wrinkled with concern, he said, “You seem awfully calm…” and his tone of voice was worried.
“What’s so strange about this?” Clark shrugged. “I…I almost welcome this. I like this story better than the one where the little boy is broken into bits and glued back all wrong and then lied to every day of his life.” He stepped back, inching away.
“We didn’t lie, Clark, we-- we just didn’t, didn’t say anything. The time…never seemed to--to come,” his dad stuttered into silence.
“No. You lied to me. You said I was like everyone else, and I’m not and that man *knew* it and that’s why he—”
“God, no! No! That was just horrible, but nothing to do with this—nothing!"
Clark shook his head, shook it over and over, backed away from the people he thought he knew…
Up the stairs, and out in the open air, his calm shattered like glass. He ran for the loft, and scrambled into a dark corner. How was it possible? How could it be—maybe they were crazy. That was it--had to be. Aliens and monsters and magic boys---it was all dreams and nightmares and didn’t exist. It didn’t exist.
Clark scooted deeper into the corner until he was crouched under his desk, and cried. Cried because he was scared, because he hurt, and mostly because he knew that something in him had been killed. He gasped for breath, and wiped his face on his sleeve. He shuddered. What did it mean to be alien, if he wasn’t any different from other men?
“Clark? Clark…” his mother came up the loft stairs, searching for him. She looked terribly sad when she saw him crouched under the desk. “Son, please--”
“But I’m not your son, am I? I’m not even a human, and I’m not--” He stopped and wiped his face again, and she sat on the floor as close to him as she could get.
“I can’t imagine how you feel, Clark. I don’t know what I can say to make you feel better, except, we love you, and we didn’t tell you because we wanted to protect you. When you were a child, you were so different—so strong, almost…invincible. And then, everything changed.”
“I got—attacked. Stolen. That’s when everything changed. That’s when the nightmares and the pain started. That’s when you and Dad started to treat me differently.”
“Clark, we only tried to protect you. You were so—so delicate after. So easily breakable. We tried to keep you safe.” She held her hand out. “Come out, Clark, please. Come sit with me.”
Clark crawled out and sat next to her. She took his hand, and he relaxed a little, feeling the warmth, the calluses on her palm. She reached up and pulled his head to her shoulder. “We’ve always worried about you, Clark. We worried that you’d never be happy again, we worried when you lost all your—what was part of your heritage, and then, we worried about you being alone when Pete and you stopped being friends. Then Chloe came into the picture, and I worried again, what if you—you were different in a way we couldn’t see…”
“Mom! Oh my God…”
“More than that, Clark—it’s why we never took you to a doctor. We can’t be sure x-rays or scans wouldn’t show...the truth.” She reached into her sweater pocket. “Here. We found this too. It’s yours. Don’t know what it is, but it belongs to you.”
Clark held a piece of smooth warm metal in his hand. Symbols were carved into the piece. He held it for a long moment, and his mom kissed him on the forehead. “Whenever you want to talk Clark, about anything, you know we’re here for you. Don’t be afraid to talk to us son, we love you.”
After his mom left the loft, he wrapped the metal piece up, and hid it in the rafters. Some other day, he’d look at it. When he felt braver.
tbc next:Can You Hear Me