SV fic post: East of the Sun part 17
3/18/08 11:03 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle: East of the Sun
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Lex/people, eventually clex
Rating:PG
Word Count:1804
Summary: Lex learns about trust and love from an unlikely source.
Notes/Warnings: my version of the swing era. Sure, it's weird—it's me!
Many, many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
danceswithgary for beta duty, and the beautiful cover!
So, we had a chapter for Alex, a chapter for Clark and here we are at the turning point.
The kitchen was loud, hot and steamy, filled with the smell of food in various stages of preparation. White-tiled floor and walls reflected back the noise. The counters and tables were clad in stainless steel, and pots and plates hitting the surface added to the din--the crew danced around each other and the hanging racks of pots and, of course, added their voices to the racket.
Willy whistled when he saw Clark. "Tall boy for sure," he declared, and he handed him an apron. "You'll be paid at the end of the week, if you last that long."
Clark's first job was cleaning a stove. There were three huge stoves and the one he'd been pointed towards was down for the day to be cleaned. Clark stood in front of the hulking pile of grease-coated metal and knew that this job was the equivalent of a test *and* being short-sheeted. He heard snickers and whispers behind him. Pretty boy—bet he's gone before lunch—he'll end up cryin' sure enough—kids these days…. He picked up his bucket and scraper and brush and grinned wide. This was going to be nothing like cleaning the barn—this was going to be a piece of cake. He glanced at the clock on the wall above the doorway and reminded himself--not *too* fast....
An hour later, and Clark was trying to decide if 'specialness' was as good a thing as it'd seemed to be earlier. Sure, he wasn't getting splinters from the steel wool, and the gritty soap powder wasn't wearing his skin raw, the hot water wasn't burning him—but he didn't know if he'd ever get the smell of old caked-on grease out of his nose. He snorted, trying to breathe in fresh air. This was worse than cleaning the barn. At least the cows smelled of…of…nature. This—this was--he tried to lick his lips without opening his mouth. Was he ever going to get the *taste* out of his mouth? He grimaced. Old grease, long-dead meals, dust, dirt, bugs…he shook all over and tried hard to ignore it all. When the bread came out of the adjoining ovens and filled the air with its comforting smell, he was pathetically grateful.
A shadow loomed over him. "So, how goes it, Kent—jeepers!" Willy leaned over his shoulder. "Gosh, that's amazing, damn thing looks brand-new! And fast—boy howdy--" Clark glanced over it—did he go too far? He didn't think so—it was clean, but not too perfectly clean—he hoped. "Get lunch, Clark. You deserve it."
One of the cooks handed him a bowl of soup, and he walked over to a couple of tables pushed against the back wall. He sat quietly, began to eat, and tried to ignore the curious stares. At first, no one spoke. Finally, one of the older men asked, "Clark, zat your name?"
He nodded, and the man, Antonio, introduced himself and the others at the table. "You like the work here?"
Clark smiled and nodded. "It's real nice to have a hot meal—this soup is *good*!" The others laughed and agreed the food was worth it and teased him a bit more. Clark caught Willy frowning at him, hoped he hadn't done something wrong. Before he could ask if he had, the man he'd met the day before slapped his shoulder. "I know you okay, you're good boy."
Listening to the men while he ate, he learned that Willy ruled the kitchen, but the Gentlemen owned the hotel, and the club attached to it. He was told that it was best not to think about the Gentlemen, not to ask questions, no matter what. Most of the kitchen help and the waiters were family or friends of friends, and all were indebted in some way to Willy. Clark was advised to keep his head down, do his work, and all would be fine. He nodded and smiled and smiled and nodded. Keep quiet. Work hard. He could do that. *That* was something he understood.
By the end of the day, Clark had scoured the stove, what seemed to be a thousand pots, lugged garbage, and swept and washed the kitchen floors. When no one was watching, he'd put a burst of speed into the job—it made him smile.
He was standing on the back stairs and shrugging into his coat, ready to leave for the day, when Willy came out.
"You'll be back tomorrow." Clark nodded and started to assure Willy he would be back, when it sank in that it had been an order, not a question. Clark grinned. "Yes, sir."
"Good." Willy shoved a small covered pot at him. "Soup. Monday is payday." The door slammed shut.
He strolled along, swinging the pot—he hoped that Reggie had convinced the landlord to let them have a hotplate to reheat it.
He was feeling very accomplished. He'd made money, he was bringing dinner home—for once, *he* was taking care of somebody. He certainly didn't mind roaming, eating what they could beg or 'borrow', but he looked forward to squatting for a while, and staying put out of the weather would be better for Reggie. Some of the bounce left his step the closer he got to their room. He climbed the stairs slowly, stalling….the weight of last night's conversation came rushing back. Clark was reluctant to touch on it again—but he had to. Without knowing everything, how could he trust Reggie? And he really, really wanted to trust him, he did.
Clark was staring at the door to their room, and was about to knock, when he suddenly realized it was too quiet. Reggie wasn't there. Did he go out after all?
Once in the room, Clark saw Reggie's bag was gone along with his coat. He ran down the stairs out to the street and stood on the sidewalk, looking this way and that--how could he find him? He couldn't hear Reggie over the noise of the traffic—if he could see him—he stared about wildly. His heart hammered, and he felt sick. Reggie couldn’t leave him, he couldn't do this to him, how could he? Clark took a deep breath—he needed to think. He went back to their room and sat on the edge of the bed. Reggie…Reggie probably just went out to get food, or take a look around…okay. He'd come back, and home would be waiting for him. Clark knew Reggie would come back. He had to.
@@@@@@
After a day or two passed without Reggie, Clark went looking—after work, he'd run out of the city and stop at depots and jungles up and down the Santa Fe rail line and, while at almost every camp he was sure to meet someone who knew 'The Professor', no one had seen him, no one had word of him.
It was frustrating, and made him uneasy how completely Reggie seemed to have disappeared. Clark began to think—hope--that maybe Reggie had made it to Florida and its magic orange trees, or California, where it never rained, someplace where the dog's teeth were made of rubber and cops had wooden legs…he didn't want to think that maybe the reason he couldn’t find him was that Reggie's hope had come true….
The last time that Clark went out to look for Reggie, he avoided the camps and he kept to the rails. He walked long, long miles along the tracks, waking and listening to the trains, the men who worked on the tracks, heard their cussing, lying, telling tall tales, and the songs….
He listened to the creak and hiss of iron heating, cooling. He heard its music, how even over the shriek and groan of the metal being stressed, warped, coming back into shape it still sang, deep inside itself. And he could see it, saw the trains coming from far away, saw the tracks vibrate, the earth shudder…he concentrated, and could see *through* it. Clark stood in awe—he saw the whole world as a ghost of itself, saw the lines of power that fed the train and the depot and ran above ground, poles carrying the sizzling, snarled loops of energy over the country side. It was incredible—amazing. He whirled around, threw his head back and yelled. "I'm here! Me too, Clark!" He felt like—flying! All this, seeing, feeling it—how could it be bad? Why should it all be hidden? He dropped his arms and sighed. He knew his family had only wanted to protect him, but…not to use this—not to see the world and hear it like he could….
He decided he had to let Reggie go, and it made him feel…sad…angry. He sat in the tall weeds near the tracks, thinking, wondering about love and hurt. Wondering how it could be so easy to betray the people who loved you. Even he'd done it. Leaving his family like he had…Reggie taking advantage of someone barely able to decide for themselves what was right and...Whitney, who'd taken the easy way out, even though it hurt him so much that even Clark could tell that it was killing him. Clark swiped angry tears away—he hadn’t been given the chance to decide his own fate. He wondered if the boy Reggie had destroyed himself over had been given a chance to decide or, had he been like Clark, thrown into it like a kitten in a bag. The wind picked up and whipped the weeds about--his shirt snapped in a particularly strong gust and grit in his eyes made them burn, startling him. At the same moment, he heard a noise behind him, different from the sound of the wind in weeds, the trains—he heard a voice crying out. He whirled towards it. A man trying to jump aboard a moving flat car chose the wrong moment it seemed--the wind worked against him, he was falling….
Clark looked and, in the space of a heartbeat, he saw the man was going to tumble right under iron wheels and, without really thinking, he was *there*, pushing the man upright and onto the flatbed. He didn’t stop until he was on the opposite sides of the track—so fast the man never saw him, Clark was sure he never even felt his hands on him. He watched the train pull away faster and faster, and stood still to calm his beating heart.
"I saved someone…I saved them," he whispered in awe. If he hadn't been gifted with the strange, frightening, amazing ability to do what he just did, right now he'd be pulling body parts off the track. "Wow." He let the breath he'd been holding go, stared at his upturned hands. I can help people-- He felt the dull ache that had been with him for months, the knot in his chest he'd felt for the last few days loosening. I can do something…good. I can make it better.
part 18
TBC
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Lex/people, eventually clex
Rating:PG
Word Count:1804
Summary: Lex learns about trust and love from an unlikely source.
Notes/Warnings: my version of the swing era. Sure, it's weird—it's me!
Many, many thanks to
danceswithgary for beta duty, and the beautiful cover!So, we had a chapter for Alex, a chapter for Clark and here we are at the turning point.
The kitchen was loud, hot and steamy, filled with the smell of food in various stages of preparation. White-tiled floor and walls reflected back the noise. The counters and tables were clad in stainless steel, and pots and plates hitting the surface added to the din--the crew danced around each other and the hanging racks of pots and, of course, added their voices to the racket.
Willy whistled when he saw Clark. "Tall boy for sure," he declared, and he handed him an apron. "You'll be paid at the end of the week, if you last that long."
Clark's first job was cleaning a stove. There were three huge stoves and the one he'd been pointed towards was down for the day to be cleaned. Clark stood in front of the hulking pile of grease-coated metal and knew that this job was the equivalent of a test *and* being short-sheeted. He heard snickers and whispers behind him. Pretty boy—bet he's gone before lunch—he'll end up cryin' sure enough—kids these days…. He picked up his bucket and scraper and brush and grinned wide. This was going to be nothing like cleaning the barn—this was going to be a piece of cake. He glanced at the clock on the wall above the doorway and reminded himself--not *too* fast....
An hour later, and Clark was trying to decide if 'specialness' was as good a thing as it'd seemed to be earlier. Sure, he wasn't getting splinters from the steel wool, and the gritty soap powder wasn't wearing his skin raw, the hot water wasn't burning him—but he didn't know if he'd ever get the smell of old caked-on grease out of his nose. He snorted, trying to breathe in fresh air. This was worse than cleaning the barn. At least the cows smelled of…of…nature. This—this was--he tried to lick his lips without opening his mouth. Was he ever going to get the *taste* out of his mouth? He grimaced. Old grease, long-dead meals, dust, dirt, bugs…he shook all over and tried hard to ignore it all. When the bread came out of the adjoining ovens and filled the air with its comforting smell, he was pathetically grateful.
A shadow loomed over him. "So, how goes it, Kent—jeepers!" Willy leaned over his shoulder. "Gosh, that's amazing, damn thing looks brand-new! And fast—boy howdy--" Clark glanced over it—did he go too far? He didn't think so—it was clean, but not too perfectly clean—he hoped. "Get lunch, Clark. You deserve it."
One of the cooks handed him a bowl of soup, and he walked over to a couple of tables pushed against the back wall. He sat quietly, began to eat, and tried to ignore the curious stares. At first, no one spoke. Finally, one of the older men asked, "Clark, zat your name?"
He nodded, and the man, Antonio, introduced himself and the others at the table. "You like the work here?"
Clark smiled and nodded. "It's real nice to have a hot meal—this soup is *good*!" The others laughed and agreed the food was worth it and teased him a bit more. Clark caught Willy frowning at him, hoped he hadn't done something wrong. Before he could ask if he had, the man he'd met the day before slapped his shoulder. "I know you okay, you're good boy."
Listening to the men while he ate, he learned that Willy ruled the kitchen, but the Gentlemen owned the hotel, and the club attached to it. He was told that it was best not to think about the Gentlemen, not to ask questions, no matter what. Most of the kitchen help and the waiters were family or friends of friends, and all were indebted in some way to Willy. Clark was advised to keep his head down, do his work, and all would be fine. He nodded and smiled and smiled and nodded. Keep quiet. Work hard. He could do that. *That* was something he understood.
By the end of the day, Clark had scoured the stove, what seemed to be a thousand pots, lugged garbage, and swept and washed the kitchen floors. When no one was watching, he'd put a burst of speed into the job—it made him smile.
He was standing on the back stairs and shrugging into his coat, ready to leave for the day, when Willy came out.
"You'll be back tomorrow." Clark nodded and started to assure Willy he would be back, when it sank in that it had been an order, not a question. Clark grinned. "Yes, sir."
"Good." Willy shoved a small covered pot at him. "Soup. Monday is payday." The door slammed shut.
He strolled along, swinging the pot—he hoped that Reggie had convinced the landlord to let them have a hotplate to reheat it.
He was feeling very accomplished. He'd made money, he was bringing dinner home—for once, *he* was taking care of somebody. He certainly didn't mind roaming, eating what they could beg or 'borrow', but he looked forward to squatting for a while, and staying put out of the weather would be better for Reggie. Some of the bounce left his step the closer he got to their room. He climbed the stairs slowly, stalling….the weight of last night's conversation came rushing back. Clark was reluctant to touch on it again—but he had to. Without knowing everything, how could he trust Reggie? And he really, really wanted to trust him, he did.
Clark was staring at the door to their room, and was about to knock, when he suddenly realized it was too quiet. Reggie wasn't there. Did he go out after all?
Once in the room, Clark saw Reggie's bag was gone along with his coat. He ran down the stairs out to the street and stood on the sidewalk, looking this way and that--how could he find him? He couldn't hear Reggie over the noise of the traffic—if he could see him—he stared about wildly. His heart hammered, and he felt sick. Reggie couldn’t leave him, he couldn't do this to him, how could he? Clark took a deep breath—he needed to think. He went back to their room and sat on the edge of the bed. Reggie…Reggie probably just went out to get food, or take a look around…okay. He'd come back, and home would be waiting for him. Clark knew Reggie would come back. He had to.
@@@@@@
After a day or two passed without Reggie, Clark went looking—after work, he'd run out of the city and stop at depots and jungles up and down the Santa Fe rail line and, while at almost every camp he was sure to meet someone who knew 'The Professor', no one had seen him, no one had word of him.
It was frustrating, and made him uneasy how completely Reggie seemed to have disappeared. Clark began to think—hope--that maybe Reggie had made it to Florida and its magic orange trees, or California, where it never rained, someplace where the dog's teeth were made of rubber and cops had wooden legs…he didn't want to think that maybe the reason he couldn’t find him was that Reggie's hope had come true….
The last time that Clark went out to look for Reggie, he avoided the camps and he kept to the rails. He walked long, long miles along the tracks, waking and listening to the trains, the men who worked on the tracks, heard their cussing, lying, telling tall tales, and the songs….
He listened to the creak and hiss of iron heating, cooling. He heard its music, how even over the shriek and groan of the metal being stressed, warped, coming back into shape it still sang, deep inside itself. And he could see it, saw the trains coming from far away, saw the tracks vibrate, the earth shudder…he concentrated, and could see *through* it. Clark stood in awe—he saw the whole world as a ghost of itself, saw the lines of power that fed the train and the depot and ran above ground, poles carrying the sizzling, snarled loops of energy over the country side. It was incredible—amazing. He whirled around, threw his head back and yelled. "I'm here! Me too, Clark!" He felt like—flying! All this, seeing, feeling it—how could it be bad? Why should it all be hidden? He dropped his arms and sighed. He knew his family had only wanted to protect him, but…not to use this—not to see the world and hear it like he could….
He decided he had to let Reggie go, and it made him feel…sad…angry. He sat in the tall weeds near the tracks, thinking, wondering about love and hurt. Wondering how it could be so easy to betray the people who loved you. Even he'd done it. Leaving his family like he had…Reggie taking advantage of someone barely able to decide for themselves what was right and...Whitney, who'd taken the easy way out, even though it hurt him so much that even Clark could tell that it was killing him. Clark swiped angry tears away—he hadn’t been given the chance to decide his own fate. He wondered if the boy Reggie had destroyed himself over had been given a chance to decide or, had he been like Clark, thrown into it like a kitten in a bag. The wind picked up and whipped the weeds about--his shirt snapped in a particularly strong gust and grit in his eyes made them burn, startling him. At the same moment, he heard a noise behind him, different from the sound of the wind in weeds, the trains—he heard a voice crying out. He whirled towards it. A man trying to jump aboard a moving flat car chose the wrong moment it seemed--the wind worked against him, he was falling….
Clark looked and, in the space of a heartbeat, he saw the man was going to tumble right under iron wheels and, without really thinking, he was *there*, pushing the man upright and onto the flatbed. He didn’t stop until he was on the opposite sides of the track—so fast the man never saw him, Clark was sure he never even felt his hands on him. He watched the train pull away faster and faster, and stood still to calm his beating heart.
"I saved someone…I saved them," he whispered in awe. If he hadn't been gifted with the strange, frightening, amazing ability to do what he just did, right now he'd be pulling body parts off the track. "Wow." He let the breath he'd been holding go, stared at his upturned hands. I can help people-- He felt the dull ache that had been with him for months, the knot in his chest he'd felt for the last few days loosening. I can do something…good. I can make it better.
part 18
TBC
Tags:
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
3/18/08 04:52 pm (UTC)This story is unfolding so slowly, part of me is anxious to see it unfold faster, I want to see what happens when Lex and Clark finally meet, but I'm glad you're taking time to tell this story.
I'm as entranced as ever and look forward to every update.
This is a wonderful story.
(no subject)
3/18/08 11:22 pm (UTC)I understand perfectly about the slowness, I feel it too, and have to stop myself from rushing ahead. But I want Clark to be in better shape before he meets Lex.
Which will be soon, promise! *G*
(no subject)
3/19/08 12:37 am (UTC)You're doing wonderfully! No reason to not feel confident.
*HUGS*
Just keep up the good work and I'll be waiting patiently for the next update.
(no subject)
3/18/08 05:06 pm (UTC)Wonderful chapter and looking forward to the next one!
(no subject)
3/18/08 11:23 pm (UTC)(no subject)
3/18/08 05:13 pm (UTC)(no subject)
3/18/08 11:24 pm (UTC)awww, i am so glad that clark finally
3/19/08 11:22 am (UTC)damn, this hiding all the time must be exhausting, and he must so often be afraid, how much he can use his strength.
i am honest, i am not entirely sure, what is the job he is doing?!?
(no subject)
3/18/08 06:48 pm (UTC)(no subject)
3/18/08 11:26 pm (UTC)(no subject)
3/18/08 07:00 pm (UTC)Whoa. And thus begins the birth of Superman, yes? Way cool, but alas, Clark had to lose Reg to get to this place. At least, that's what I keep telling myself. *g* Poor Reggie, poor Clark. Are we gonna get some Alex/Clark action soon? *bats eyelashes* Oh, pretty please! They'd look so gee-orgeous! together!!
Great chapter, roxy. :)
(no subject)
3/18/08 07:18 pm (UTC)(no subject)
3/18/08 11:33 pm (UTC)(no subject)
3/18/08 11:28 pm (UTC)Yes, this is the beginning of Clark doing what he's supposed to be doing. *g*
(no subject)
3/18/08 08:33 pm (UTC)(no subject)
3/18/08 11:29 pm (UTC)(no subject)
3/18/08 10:03 pm (UTC)(no subject)
3/18/08 11:30 pm (UTC)(no subject)
3/19/08 01:58 am (UTC)(no subject)
3/19/08 12:01 am (UTC)(no subject)
3/25/08 04:46 am (UTC)(no subject)
3/19/08 12:25 am (UTC)Also, good to see a Clark who uses his powers intelligently - realizing that there would be repercussions if he were discovered, but not letting that fear handcuff him.
But I can only imagine, super-smell can be a bitch. He has my sympathies, though those super-taste buds have some real potential.
Another wonderful chapter and a wonderful story.
(no subject)
3/25/08 04:51 am (UTC)I think Clark making his own decisions about the use of his powers can only be good for him--and I could never see Clark abusing his powers very much. *g*.
But I can only imagine, super-smell can be a bitch. He has my sympathies, though those super-taste buds have some real potential.
You know, the only times I deal with a super-smeller is in a positive way, but hell yeah--it's got to be one of the first thing the kid learns to control--ick!! LOL!!
But also, imagine his first taste of chocolate, or strawberries...*mmmm*!
(no subject)
3/19/08 04:13 am (UTC)Hmm...are the Gentlemen the same guys that Lex works for?
(no subject)
3/25/08 04:52 am (UTC)Yep. The Gentlemen are the same guys Lex work for.
(no subject)
3/19/08 05:46 pm (UTC)Um. Did I miss the Alex chapter, or did you mean the ones at the beginning?
(no subject)
3/25/08 04:53 am (UTC)(no subject)
3/20/08 07:15 pm (UTC)Yay!
*pets him*
(no subject)
3/25/08 04:53 am (UTC)*pets you*
*G*
(no subject)
3/25/08 03:43 pm (UTC)Clark's becoming a hero. This will be fun.
I SO, SO love the language you use in this fic. It just really makes me feel "in tune" with the story.
(no subject)
4/7/08 03:30 am (UTC)(no subject)
4/7/08 03:41 am (UTC)Yes! He thought he was doing something good for Clark, but basically he abandoned him.
And yeah, that's basically what should happen, lol!!
(no subject)
4/24/08 01:31 am (UTC)God, that's gorgeous. I love your writing.
And I'm enjoying this fic very much. *hugs Clark* ... *and you*
(no subject)
4/24/08 01:42 am (UTC)