fic post:Mariposa

[roxy]

Title:Mariposa
Fandom: SV
Pairing: Clark/Whit…
Rating: 2
Summary: This story is an AU version of my personal hell Smallville.

Parts 1-35 here



They got into the car Whit rented for the night. Whit took the thing out of his pocket again, but Clark didn’t pay attention to what it was—he could smell Lana’s perfume in the car, mingled with the scent of Whit. It made him angry, but he forced it down, had no idea why he was suddenly so angry—he’d known what the deal had been, he’d agreed to it. Still, his blood beat a hot pulse in his throat, and a small ache squeezed in behind his eyes. Whit snapped the—box, it looked like shut, shoved it back into his pocket. Clark grimaced. It had something to do with him—or Lana, he was certain….

All through the drive back home, Whit had his hand on Clark’s knee, his thigh, stroking, squeezing until Clark was ready to beg him to stop. His skin felt like it was twitching on his bones, and the headache grew, refined, became a sharp knife point drilling at the back of his skull before finally fading and he was able to take a deep breath—relax….

They were parked in the shadow of the barn, out of sight of the security lights on the north side. The engine ran on, the car vibrating gently and the radio playing some old song…“How—how was it?” Clark managed a smile and Whit made an impatient movement, shut off the car.

“How do you think it was? I couldn’t wait to get away.” He peered at Clark. “Are you okay? He reached for the glove compartment and grimaced. “Sorry, I don’t…”

Clark squeezed his hand. “I’m fine. Thanks. Whit, something’s on your mind--what’s going on?”

Whit had his hand in his pocket, he looked thoughtful—more than that, he looked afraid. “I’ve been thinking about what I’m going to do after school.” He put both hands on the steering wheel and squeezed. Hard.

“I thought…that you’d work at your dad’s store…”

Whit laughed, and shook his head. “Oh, no, no way. I’m stubborn, but I’m not stupid.” He glanced over at Clark. “I never wanted to stay here, you know that.”

Clark felt rather than heard Whit’s words, like a roaring in the back of his mind. He watched his lips, read them. Something bad was going to happen….

Whit reached in his pocket, pulled out a creased sheet of paper, and handed it to Clark. He opened it and stared at he embossed heading. “Whit…what’s this? United States Marine Corp…”

"I’ve enlisted--I meant to tell you yesterday, but--"

"What? What? You’re leaving? Leaving me?"

"Not you—Smallville. It’s—this way, I can be my own man, Clark—and when I’m done with boot camp, it’ll just be you and me and—it’s only thirteen weeks, Clark—well, school after that—but it’s not long--”

“Are you stupid? You can’t be gay and be a Marine. You can’t live with me, you can’t—Jesus, you fucking idiot!” Clark almost kicked the door open, yanked away from Whit’s hand. “Don’t!” he yelled when he reached for his hand. “How can you do this to me? How can you pretend to care, and then leave?” He ran towards the barn, and Whit had to tackle him to stop him. They lay in the dust outside of the barn, Whit tangled up in his legs, his arms. Both of them shaking, on the edge of tears.

“I need to do this, it will work, I promise.”

“You can’t promise. This is the worst idea ever. Of all the fucking lousy ideas you’ve had, this is the worst.” Clark was finally crying, shoving at Whitney, trying to push him off, but Whit wouldn’t let him go. Whit’s face was red and splotchy, his shirt was wet, his chin—he wiped his running nose on his sleeve.

“You don’t get it, I don’t have anything here. Shit—even Wade knew that! If I can do this, come out of the Marines with rank, and respect, then maybe…”

Clark threw his head back, crossed his arms over his face. “I can’t be brave without you!” he yelled, and lights went on upstairs in his parent’s bedroom…lights went on in the kitchen. Clark let Whit pull him to his feet, let him hug him…

“Boys, everything okay?” Clark heard his dad call, and he shook with the effort to hold in a sob.
Yeah, everything’s fine, Whit called. Clark tripped, but he’s okay, you know…”

“Okay. Hey, you guys come on in the house. It’s late.” His dad went back in, leaving the door open, and the kitchen light on.

“Baby, you don’t need me to be brave,” Whit whispered to Clark, and led him back towards the house. “Fuck, you’ve been brave for *me*—it’s just who you are.” He wrapped Clark in his arms and hugged him, and rocked him, and wiped his face. “It won’t be long, and then, we’ll be on our own. As soon as you’re old enough, you’re coming with me. I’ll never leave you; I swear on my life, I’ll never leave you.”

*****

Necessity can sometime make the worst bearable, and Clark forced himself to get used to the idea that Whit would be leaving right after graduation. He didn’t like it, but he came to tolerate it, was fairly certain he wouldn’t die from it….

He didn’t talk about it much to his mom and dad; they had worries of their own. His mom wasn’t kicking the morning sickness; it seemed to get worse as the weeks went by. Medical bills piled up, adding to the usual money woes. He hated seeing them tight faced as they sat at the kitchen table and dissected their finances, trying to cut further and further in order to make ends meet. A little voice at the back of his head whispered how much simpler their lives would be without him….

The person he could talk to about all this was leaving him, too. The Sullivans would be gone at the end of school, just weeks away. Mr. Sullivan had managed to delay leaving so that Chloe could at least finish the year with her friends, but her junior year would be at a new school somewhere in Metropolis, and after a while, she’d probably forget her time spent in the country, it’d just be an odd footnote in her busy city life.

“Aaand enough of wallowing in self-pity. Let’s get ice-cream,” he said to the lump under the blanket bunched at the end of the couch. Buddy shot out and landed on his chest. “Yeah, you ignore me the whole time I’m moaning in psychic pain but mention ice-cream…” Buddy wiggled all over him, snuffling and snorting moistly in Clark’s face.

“Ew, okay, but you’re sharing a cone—too much is no good for you. He rubbed Buddy’s ears. “You’re getting old, and you have to watch your waist line now.” He looked down at a perfectly flat stomach, thin enough that ribs showed. “Me too. I don’t want Whit coming back home to a fatty.” He followed Buddy to the stairs. “Since he hasn’t left yet though, I’m entitled to ice-cream.” He lunged down the steps, and trapped his dad in the truck shed, and managed to weasel keys and a few bucks from him. “Thanks dad—we won’t be long.”

His dad waved idly in his direction, his full attention on the tractor motor in pieces in front of him. “Drive safe, Clark, and be back before dark, the left headlight’s out on that old clunker.”

“Heck, I’ll be back before dinner—Mom’s making roast beef tonight.”

His dad’s eyes lit up. “Great. Better be here on time or there may not be any left.”

******

Clark sat on one of the picnic tables scattered behind Bobby’s Ice Cream Hut, Whit sat next to him and tossed bits of waffle cone to Buddy, tethered to the table leg. Clark had practically kidnapped Whit from the store, yanking him by the arm down the aisle of Fordman’s, both of them laughing all the way.

“Hey,” Clark explained after he’d pulled him out into the sunlight, “What the hell—you’re graduating in a week, leaving home—what have you got to worry about, right?”

Whit laughed again, and hugged him in front of the big store window. “You know what, Kent? You’re abso-fucking-lutely right. Let’s get ice cream.”

******

“That, my friend, was a brilliant idea.” Whit wiped ice-cream from his fingers, and leaned over to wipe a smear of fudge sauce from Clark’s lip. Clark grabbed his hand and licked the smear from the tip of his fingers.

“Mmm. Tastes good.”

Whit shivered. “The chocolate or me?”

“I’m not sure. We can do a taste test…wanna go back to my house?”

“Ahhh…yeah. Listen, stop by my house first, there’s something I want to get.”

“Okay, but don’t take long. My mom is making roast and potatoes and I don’t want to miss out.”

“Geez Clark, is that all you think about, your stomach…” he followed Clark’s line of sight and blushed a little. “And my dick.”

Clark grinned and shrugged.

******

Clark stood outside the house and through the front door, watched Whitney and his father arguing. It was loud—Clark couldn’t make out words through the closed door but he heard the tone--vicious—Whit’s father was red-faced and furious, and Whitney was shaking his head, a stubborn look stamped on his face. His father came closer, yelling right into Whit’s face, and Whit took a step back, and when his father raised his hand, Clark bolted for the door. He pulled it open, just in time to hear Whit say “no”, and grab his father’s hand. The man dropped it immediately. He looked over Whit’s shoulder and Clark locked eyes with him.

“Get out,” he said, a harsh whisper that made Clark grit his teeth, and reach out for Whit. Whitney backed up, his hand searching for Clark’s, nodded.

“I’m leaving. My stuff—you do what you want with it. I won’t be back here anymore.”

Clark gasped, and pulled Whit back with him. “Come on, Whit, come on…”

“Fine. I’ve got what I want.”

His father opened his mouth to speak and Clark said. “No. Don’t say anything else you might regret.”

The man stared at him, his eyes ice cold and flat with hatred, but he kept silent. Clark felt his eyes on him all the way out to the car, he had the unsettling feeling he was stealing something from the Fordmans—he shook himself—hell, no he wasn’t. He was giving something—support-- to Whit, that’s what he was doing.

They walked out of the house, and down the sidewalk, climbed in the truck before either of them spoke again.

“Some loyal employee from the store called him…” Whit slammed and locked his door, and hugged a frantic Buddy to him before he spoke again. “God, that was awful. Just fucking awful…” and he started to laugh.

Clark startled. “What the hell is so funny?” he demanded.

“Clark—the whole shit was unbelievable. And I’m still standing. That’s the thing—I was always afraid of him, of what would happen if I told him the truth. And here it is, I told him what I thought and I’m still standing and feeling great!” He sounded so amazed, so surprised that Clark laughed with him. “I guess all you have to be is honest some times. Like you, Clark. Thanks for sticking with me.”

“Yeah…” Clark swallowed, “yeah, don’t thank me Whit, I didn’t do anything. So, what the hell was so important that you got thrown out for?”

“You’ll see…say; you think your folks will still let me stay? It’s only three more weeks.”

“Of course...” Clark crossed his fingers mentally and hoped like hell that his parents would agree…things were a lot different now than then… “Three weeks, Whit. Three weeks…I don’t know if I can stand it.”

“Clark, the most important thing I need, is to know that you will stand it, and that you’ll be okay waiting for me.” He rose up a little from the seat, and fished in his pocket. “I’ve been carrying this around since prom—don’t think it’s stupid. Listen, pull over up ahead, okay?”

Clark glanced over, and saw he was holding the same little box he’d had prom night, before they’d had the meltdown. He felt a little flushed, and grinned, eyes on the windshield. "What’s that?” He glanced back ahead—they were about to cross over the road that led to the Smallville sign, and he remembered...he saw that Whit did too.

“What--this box? I stole it from the house.” He grinned. “I needed a nice box to hold a gift for some one I love. It used to be my grandmother’s. I loved her—I still miss her…”

“You never told me about her. Or anything about your family, really.”

“Clark—what’s to tell? Mostly we’re a mess but my Gran—she listened to me.” He squeezed the dull gray box in his hand. “It’s not real pretty, but it means a lot. Like you do.”

Buddy snuffled at the box, and Whit pushed him back, “Not for you—oh.”

Clark looked over at Whit—and past Whit, through the passenger side window, Clark saw a truck bearing down on them, he saw the drivers face, saw a can fly up inside the cab and liquid splash against the inside of the windshield, the driver’s lips formed ‘oh fuck’, clear and precise and easy to read. Clark reached out for Whit and it got dark inside the car, he felt something like a giant’s punch in the center of his chest, his teeth slammed together and the sound echoed down to his toes—

tbc

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