fic post:Mariposa
1/2/07 03:38 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle:Mariposa
Fandom: SV
Pairing: Clark/Whit…
Rating: 1
Summary: This AU version of Smallville is chewing my brain into tiny bite-size bits…Enjoy!
Previous Parts are here, wishing you a happy and safe new year. And this year, they mean it. They put your house keys in the mail. Never mind how they got them.
Whitney stood outside of the ICU, waited for his mother. He leaned against the cool tile wall, closed his eyes and for a minute played Anywhere But Here…on a beach, him and Clark alone, waves washing across pink sand and Clark, naked, dripping wet, and golden in the sun—
“Whitney. Dear, it’s okay, your father’s doing much better.” His mother patted his arm with a sympathetic look and he felt like scum. She thought he was upset about his dad and here he was thinking about his—his—Clark. Shit. He couldn’t even think it standing next to his mom.
“Uh, good, great, Mom.”
“You can go in and talk to him. He’s awake.”
“He probably needs his rest, Mom.”
“Oh, go in Whitney. He’ll be glad to see you, and maybe you won’t worry as much.” She squeezed his arm, and he nodded.
He walked into the dim room, his dad was awake, and watching him come in. Whitney stopped at the foot of the bed. He said, “Hi Dad. How are you feeling?” and winced inside.
His dad didn’t speak for a moment, and then in a raspy dry voice, replied. “How do you think I’m feeling? Who’s running the store?”
“Foster,” Foster was the store’s assistant manager. His dad grunted, and Whitney wondered if he clamped shut the tubes going into him, what would happen. “He’s there in the day, I’m there at night. I mean when I’m not at practice or--”
“You’re not missing practices are you? Football’s your only chance to go to Kansas State. Don’t screw it up--”
“Dad—Dad. I’m trying. You need to rest. I’ll come back tomorrow. Okay? I’ll send Mom back in.”
His dad stared at him. “Sure. You do that.”
******
Whit stalked out of the hospital, and with each angry step away from the ICU, his head ached even more. He was feeling…stupid, inadequate. Like always. He was losing fucking *everything*. Lana would be gone like smoke as soon as she heard he lost the scholarship—his shot at pro ball. His dad was going to lose it; his mom was going to give him that fucking martyr look. It wasn’t like he didn’t know already that he was a disappointment to his dad. It was in every word he spared for him, every look…shit—it would have been easier he’d died instead of losing the scholarship. He slammed his fist into the side of his truck, cursed aloud and yanked the door open. God. He didn’t even want Lana. It was what his folks wanted, the life they wanted for him--wife and kids and how the fuck was he ever going to get out from under that? They weren’t Kents, his folks—they could barely deal with the idea of Pete, or Principal Kwan, or anyone else the slightest bit different from them. There was no way in hell they’d be able to handle their son the faggot.
Clark…Clark was pulling away anyway. For the best, that was. Maybe once Clark left him, his life would go back to normal; maybe he wouldn’t haunt him and turn his nice boring, average life upside down. If he could just stop dreaming about him, wanting him.
He rested his head on the steering wheel, took deep breaths. After a moment or two, he straightened and rolled his shoulders--rubbed hard at his eyes and sighed. Okay. Done--time to get back to the real world.
******
The crowds emptied out of the Avalon, and Whit guided Lana through the people chatting on the sidewalk outside of the theater. “Do you want to go home now, or get something to eat in Granville?” Whit checked his watch. “I’ve got some time before I have to go back.”
Lana shrugged. “Whatever you want, Whitney…I have to say, I really would rather we’d gone to see Moulin Rouge instead.”
He looked at her. “Why didn’t you say so, before we…” He stopped and took a breath--so damn typical of her… “Lana…I have something I need to tell you. Just…bear with me, okay?”
“All right, you can tell me on the way to the truck.” She grabbed Whit’s hand, and they walked along the sidewalk, headed for the lot opposite the movie house. Lana’s hand was still in his, tiny and fine boned, like a bird. He wanted to let it go, but she expected him to hold it…
“So speak, Whitney. Tell me what you wanted to.”
“I lost the scholarship. I’m not going to college.”
She dropped his hand, her own flying to her face. “You did what? Oh my--how could you? That was our future—how could you throw it away?”
“Look, I had to take care of the store—take care of my mom and dad. The heart attack did a lot of damage, Lana. We’re not sure what’s going to happen. He needs me, so I’m staying. Because it’s the right thing to do.”
Her gaze pierced him like it hadn’t in a long time. She was suddenly there, and real, and he was ashamed. “The right thing to do, Whitney?” Her tone was sardonic, her expression bitter.
“Lana. You know this isn’t…love. I mean, can you honestly say you love me? The way two people should be in love?”
She stalked across the lot towards the truck, snapped at him, “We could have had a good life together; I could have made you happy.” Her knuckles paled, the grip on her purse strap folded the thick leather in two, her hand shook a little. “I know you needed to help your dad, but you’ve thrown our future away looking for approval…” She shook her head again. “You’re not going to get it this way, Whitney.”
Whitney pulled open the door, and let her slide in, her tiny frame barely filling the seat. He sighed and walked towards his side, climbed in. “You’re a freshman, Lana. You shouldn’t even be thinking forever after yet—you’re going to college—so many things will change for you.” Whit noticed she was staring out of the window; she looked like she hadn’t heard a word. “There’s one other thing, Lana. Clark--”
She held up her hand. “We don’t need to talk about that. I know about that. She stabbed him with her gaze again. “I know all I want to know, anyway. I never should have questioned his orientation.”
Whit drove out of the lot, headed home. Street lights over the road cast flickering shadows across her face but he could see her in the window, and it was hard not to stare at her, try to see into her…try to understand what was happening in her head. “So…you…think I got curious about him and this happened? Like it’s your fault?” He tried to stifle a snicker.
“I’m not saying that,” she huffed and then bit her lip. “Maybe it is. Maybe if I’d let you—you know—instead of just…” Her nose wrinkled. “Maybe it is my fault. And Clark’s.”
The way her voice dropped when she said Clark’s name sent a shiver up his spine.
“Don’t—don’t do anything to hurt Clark.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. How can I hurt Clark? There’s nothing I could do to Clark to hurt him, more than he’s hurt me. More than you’ve hurt me. I know you think I don’t love you, and that’s not true, I do. If it’s not the way you want, I’m sorry.”
Whit sighed deeply. “I know. I’m sorry, and I know what I’ve done to you is wrong--”
She waved her hand. “Let me tell you something, Whitney Fordman-- until you graduate--and you will graduate; we’ll make sure of that—you and I will be the perfect boyfriend and girlfriend, you’ll be *my* prom date, and your little friend better go along with it. You give me this--you owe me.”
Whit chewed on his lip. “Clark won’t go for it. He’ll see this as my opportunity to come out.”
“Tell him it’ll kill your dad. That’s all you have to say. Don’t you know him at all? Family is everything for him.”
Whit looked at her, watched her talking and thought that she’d make some guy a great wife—some corporate ladder climbing cut-throat bastard. He felt sorry for the guy all ready. And then she turned to him, her eyes were shimmery and wet, her lip trembled just a bit and he felt compelled to hug her, sooth her.
“It’s the one thing about Clark I understand,” she said and wiped her eyes. “Take me home, please.”
******
Whitney watched the clock. The clock was God. God was hanging from the middle of the store, a big four-sided monstrosity like something the star-crossed lovers would meet under in a black and white movie…okay, he never used to think like that—that was definitely Clark’s fault….
He squinted at it; imagined moving the damn hands with the power of his mind…just a few more minutes and this shit would be over—
“Thank you, don’t forget your change,” he smiled at the old broad in front of him, and wished she’d move her ancient self out the front doors so he could lock up and get out himself. The doors opened again, and some guys entered. One of them looked vaguely familiar… “We’re closing,” he said. Repeated it when they didn’t move.
The guys turned to him as one, reminding him of a pack of wolves. One of the guys, the shorter one, moved forward and the other two kind of eased behind him. He asked, “Hey…aren’t you Whitney Fordman?”
“Unh, yeah.” Whit frowned at the guy, glanced pointedly at the clock again.
“Wade Mahaney. I saw you throw for 300 yards against Topeka last year. That was a great game, man. Say, I heard that you were trying for a full ride to Kansas State.”
“Yeah, well. That didn’t work out. Listen—we’re closed, so if you don’t mind--”
The guy moved closer, and leaned an elbow on the counter, smiling at him. “Man, I know all about how much that shit sucks. Senior year I got sacked, blew out my knee, had to have four operations.” He leaned both elbows on the glass.
Whit moved back from the counter and folded his arms over his chest. “Tough break for you.”
Wade nodded. “Yep. Dozen fucking full scholarship offers, and then they all went
away--” He snapped his fingers and grinned, “like that.” He pushed back from the counter. “So. What’s your game plan now?”
Whitney walked pointedly to the door, held it open. “Don’t have one, don’t give a shit. Closed now, understand?”
Wade laughed like Whit told the best joke he’ ever heard, and the other two joined in. “Hey, why don’t you come out with us—party?”
“Can’t. I got stuff to do.”
Wade shrugged, “Okay. No problem—” he grabbed a piece of paper and a pen from the counter, “here.” He scribbled on the paper. “This is our place. When you want, swing by. We can talk. Or, you know, party. There’s always a party at our place.” He grinned, winked and walked out of the door. The other two followed him out, laughing.
Whit slammed the door behind them and locked it. Glared at his image in the dark glass. Fucking, fucking life. What a fucked up life.
TBC!!!
Fandom: SV
Pairing: Clark/Whit…
Rating: 1
Summary: This AU version of Smallville is chewing my brain into tiny bite-size bits…Enjoy!
Previous Parts are here, wishing you a happy and safe new year. And this year, they mean it. They put your house keys in the mail. Never mind how they got them.
Whitney stood outside of the ICU, waited for his mother. He leaned against the cool tile wall, closed his eyes and for a minute played Anywhere But Here…on a beach, him and Clark alone, waves washing across pink sand and Clark, naked, dripping wet, and golden in the sun—
“Whitney. Dear, it’s okay, your father’s doing much better.” His mother patted his arm with a sympathetic look and he felt like scum. She thought he was upset about his dad and here he was thinking about his—his—Clark. Shit. He couldn’t even think it standing next to his mom.
“Uh, good, great, Mom.”
“You can go in and talk to him. He’s awake.”
“He probably needs his rest, Mom.”
“Oh, go in Whitney. He’ll be glad to see you, and maybe you won’t worry as much.” She squeezed his arm, and he nodded.
He walked into the dim room, his dad was awake, and watching him come in. Whitney stopped at the foot of the bed. He said, “Hi Dad. How are you feeling?” and winced inside.
His dad didn’t speak for a moment, and then in a raspy dry voice, replied. “How do you think I’m feeling? Who’s running the store?”
“Foster,” Foster was the store’s assistant manager. His dad grunted, and Whitney wondered if he clamped shut the tubes going into him, what would happen. “He’s there in the day, I’m there at night. I mean when I’m not at practice or--”
“You’re not missing practices are you? Football’s your only chance to go to Kansas State. Don’t screw it up--”
“Dad—Dad. I’m trying. You need to rest. I’ll come back tomorrow. Okay? I’ll send Mom back in.”
His dad stared at him. “Sure. You do that.”
Whit stalked out of the hospital, and with each angry step away from the ICU, his head ached even more. He was feeling…stupid, inadequate. Like always. He was losing fucking *everything*. Lana would be gone like smoke as soon as she heard he lost the scholarship—his shot at pro ball. His dad was going to lose it; his mom was going to give him that fucking martyr look. It wasn’t like he didn’t know already that he was a disappointment to his dad. It was in every word he spared for him, every look…shit—it would have been easier he’d died instead of losing the scholarship. He slammed his fist into the side of his truck, cursed aloud and yanked the door open. God. He didn’t even want Lana. It was what his folks wanted, the life they wanted for him--wife and kids and how the fuck was he ever going to get out from under that? They weren’t Kents, his folks—they could barely deal with the idea of Pete, or Principal Kwan, or anyone else the slightest bit different from them. There was no way in hell they’d be able to handle their son the faggot.
Clark…Clark was pulling away anyway. For the best, that was. Maybe once Clark left him, his life would go back to normal; maybe he wouldn’t haunt him and turn his nice boring, average life upside down. If he could just stop dreaming about him, wanting him.
He rested his head on the steering wheel, took deep breaths. After a moment or two, he straightened and rolled his shoulders--rubbed hard at his eyes and sighed. Okay. Done--time to get back to the real world.
The crowds emptied out of the Avalon, and Whit guided Lana through the people chatting on the sidewalk outside of the theater. “Do you want to go home now, or get something to eat in Granville?” Whit checked his watch. “I’ve got some time before I have to go back.”
Lana shrugged. “Whatever you want, Whitney…I have to say, I really would rather we’d gone to see Moulin Rouge instead.”
He looked at her. “Why didn’t you say so, before we…” He stopped and took a breath--so damn typical of her… “Lana…I have something I need to tell you. Just…bear with me, okay?”
“All right, you can tell me on the way to the truck.” She grabbed Whit’s hand, and they walked along the sidewalk, headed for the lot opposite the movie house. Lana’s hand was still in his, tiny and fine boned, like a bird. He wanted to let it go, but she expected him to hold it…
“So speak, Whitney. Tell me what you wanted to.”
“I lost the scholarship. I’m not going to college.”
She dropped his hand, her own flying to her face. “You did what? Oh my--how could you? That was our future—how could you throw it away?”
“Look, I had to take care of the store—take care of my mom and dad. The heart attack did a lot of damage, Lana. We’re not sure what’s going to happen. He needs me, so I’m staying. Because it’s the right thing to do.”
Her gaze pierced him like it hadn’t in a long time. She was suddenly there, and real, and he was ashamed. “The right thing to do, Whitney?” Her tone was sardonic, her expression bitter.
“Lana. You know this isn’t…love. I mean, can you honestly say you love me? The way two people should be in love?”
She stalked across the lot towards the truck, snapped at him, “We could have had a good life together; I could have made you happy.” Her knuckles paled, the grip on her purse strap folded the thick leather in two, her hand shook a little. “I know you needed to help your dad, but you’ve thrown our future away looking for approval…” She shook her head again. “You’re not going to get it this way, Whitney.”
Whitney pulled open the door, and let her slide in, her tiny frame barely filling the seat. He sighed and walked towards his side, climbed in. “You’re a freshman, Lana. You shouldn’t even be thinking forever after yet—you’re going to college—so many things will change for you.” Whit noticed she was staring out of the window; she looked like she hadn’t heard a word. “There’s one other thing, Lana. Clark--”
She held up her hand. “We don’t need to talk about that. I know about that. She stabbed him with her gaze again. “I know all I want to know, anyway. I never should have questioned his orientation.”
Whit drove out of the lot, headed home. Street lights over the road cast flickering shadows across her face but he could see her in the window, and it was hard not to stare at her, try to see into her…try to understand what was happening in her head. “So…you…think I got curious about him and this happened? Like it’s your fault?” He tried to stifle a snicker.
“I’m not saying that,” she huffed and then bit her lip. “Maybe it is. Maybe if I’d let you—you know—instead of just…” Her nose wrinkled. “Maybe it is my fault. And Clark’s.”
The way her voice dropped when she said Clark’s name sent a shiver up his spine.
“Don’t—don’t do anything to hurt Clark.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. How can I hurt Clark? There’s nothing I could do to Clark to hurt him, more than he’s hurt me. More than you’ve hurt me. I know you think I don’t love you, and that’s not true, I do. If it’s not the way you want, I’m sorry.”
Whit sighed deeply. “I know. I’m sorry, and I know what I’ve done to you is wrong--”
She waved her hand. “Let me tell you something, Whitney Fordman-- until you graduate--and you will graduate; we’ll make sure of that—you and I will be the perfect boyfriend and girlfriend, you’ll be *my* prom date, and your little friend better go along with it. You give me this--you owe me.”
Whit chewed on his lip. “Clark won’t go for it. He’ll see this as my opportunity to come out.”
“Tell him it’ll kill your dad. That’s all you have to say. Don’t you know him at all? Family is everything for him.”
Whit looked at her, watched her talking and thought that she’d make some guy a great wife—some corporate ladder climbing cut-throat bastard. He felt sorry for the guy all ready. And then she turned to him, her eyes were shimmery and wet, her lip trembled just a bit and he felt compelled to hug her, sooth her.
“It’s the one thing about Clark I understand,” she said and wiped her eyes. “Take me home, please.”
Whitney watched the clock. The clock was God. God was hanging from the middle of the store, a big four-sided monstrosity like something the star-crossed lovers would meet under in a black and white movie…okay, he never used to think like that—that was definitely Clark’s fault….
He squinted at it; imagined moving the damn hands with the power of his mind…just a few more minutes and this shit would be over—
“Thank you, don’t forget your change,” he smiled at the old broad in front of him, and wished she’d move her ancient self out the front doors so he could lock up and get out himself. The doors opened again, and some guys entered. One of them looked vaguely familiar… “We’re closing,” he said. Repeated it when they didn’t move.
The guys turned to him as one, reminding him of a pack of wolves. One of the guys, the shorter one, moved forward and the other two kind of eased behind him. He asked, “Hey…aren’t you Whitney Fordman?”
“Unh, yeah.” Whit frowned at the guy, glanced pointedly at the clock again.
“Wade Mahaney. I saw you throw for 300 yards against Topeka last year. That was a great game, man. Say, I heard that you were trying for a full ride to Kansas State.”
“Yeah, well. That didn’t work out. Listen—we’re closed, so if you don’t mind--”
The guy moved closer, and leaned an elbow on the counter, smiling at him. “Man, I know all about how much that shit sucks. Senior year I got sacked, blew out my knee, had to have four operations.” He leaned both elbows on the glass.
Whit moved back from the counter and folded his arms over his chest. “Tough break for you.”
Wade nodded. “Yep. Dozen fucking full scholarship offers, and then they all went
away--” He snapped his fingers and grinned, “like that.” He pushed back from the counter. “So. What’s your game plan now?”
Whitney walked pointedly to the door, held it open. “Don’t have one, don’t give a shit. Closed now, understand?”
Wade laughed like Whit told the best joke he’ ever heard, and the other two joined in. “Hey, why don’t you come out with us—party?”
“Can’t. I got stuff to do.”
Wade shrugged, “Okay. No problem—” he grabbed a piece of paper and a pen from the counter, “here.” He scribbled on the paper. “This is our place. When you want, swing by. We can talk. Or, you know, party. There’s always a party at our place.” He grinned, winked and walked out of the door. The other two followed him out, laughing.
Whit slammed the door behind them and locked it. Glared at his image in the dark glass. Fucking, fucking life. What a fucked up life.
TBC!!!
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