A Christmas Chlark ficlet!
Merry Christmas to every one of my LJ friends who celebrate the day! I hope you're enjoying a relaxing holiday with plenty of fun times and gifts. :)
Here's a special Christmas gift from me to all my fellow Chlark fans. It's a post-"Gemini" ficlet that can be read as a sequel to my last piece, 'Twas the Night(mare), inspired by the song of the same name:
Home for Christmas
I’ll be home for Christmas,
You can plan on me...
His body was immobile, his mind caught somewhere between waking and sleeping, but in the back of his consciousness, Kal-El listened to a familiar voice singing, and tried to remember where “home” was. Home was a lifetime ago; his last clear memory was the sound of his father’s threats thundering in his ears, an instant before he’d been sealed in this prison. Nothing else existed for him anymore.
Please have snow, and mistletoe,
And presents on the tree...
Somewhere, an impossible distance away, a woman with smiling eyes hung ornaments on a tree while a tall man in a plaid shirt turned toward Kal-El, holding out something small, tree-shaped, and dripping with sugary frosting. “Cookie, Clark?”
Clark, Kal-El thought. That had been his name, once.
The cookie crumbled in his too-eager grasp, but the man only laughed and handed him another.
At the sound of the man’s laughter, the images shifted, and grew clearer. He saw a young blonde girl, ruddy-faced, and giggling, hurling a snowball in his direction while a dark-skinned boy yelled out encouragement. He dodged the missile easily and heard her scream in mock outrage when she was too slow to dodge his counterattack.
As he helped her up, he felt the warmth of her hand in his.
Christmas Eve will find me
Where the lovelight gleams
Another girl, dark-haired and lovely, smiled sweetly at him from behind the glass of a small picture frame, but as he held it, the glass cracked, obscuring her face. Disappointed, he set the frame down and the blonde girl appeared again, now a woman in a trim suit, seated at a desk and busily typing at a keyboard, her face aglow in the light of the screen into which she stared intently. He noticed how her eyes sparkled as she raised her head to smile at him. When she began to speak, the cheerful tone of her voice matched the one singing in his head.
Her name, he remembered now, was Chloe, and he realized, with a sense of relief, that her voice had been keeping him company for a long time now. He strained to hear more, glad that he was no longer alone in the dark.
I’ll be home for Christmas,
If only in my dreams.
He remembered dancing with Chloe under colored lights, her body pressed close to his. They seemed to fit together, and as they glided across the floor, a flood of memories crowded his mind: Chloe and him, working together at the Torch; Chloe, gasping for breath in an underground box as he ripped off the lid; the two of them making out in a place called the Talon; Chloe's first day as a full-fledged reporter at the Daily Planet.
Chloe, dead in a morgue.
Kal-El--no, Clark--realized that the terror of this frozen prison paled in comparison to the horror he'd felt at that moment. But Chloe, he reminded himself, was alive; he saw her again, laughing in his arms at the dance, and wished he could hold her again. As long as she was alive, then so was he.
He might not be able to go home just yet, but it didn’t matter. Home had come to him.
* * * * * * * *
I’ll be home for Christmas,
If only in my dreams
Chloe hummed the tune happily as she inspected the gifts under the tabletop tree in the apartment she shared with her cousin, while outside church bells pealed faintly in the morning air. Spinning gracefully on her toes, she turned toward the kitchen in search of her first cup of coffee, matching her pace to the music’s rhythm.
It was the first Christmas morning that she wouldn’t be visiting Clark, but somehow, neither that, nor the strange way he’d been acting lately, could shake her good mood. “Merry Christmas, Clark,” she whispered, as she crossed the floor.
In the kitchen doorway, she felt something brush against her lips. Pressing her fingers against her mouth, she glanced around curiously, shrugged, and continued on her way. It wasn’t until after she’d filled her mug and started to carry it back to the living room that she noticed that she’d been standing directly under the mistletoe.
Staring, Chloe took a sip of her coffee, and realized that she was still humming the song.
THE END
Here's a special Christmas gift from me to all my fellow Chlark fans. It's a post-"Gemini" ficlet that can be read as a sequel to my last piece, 'Twas the Night(mare), inspired by the song of the same name:
Home for Christmas
I’ll be home for Christmas,
You can plan on me...
His body was immobile, his mind caught somewhere between waking and sleeping, but in the back of his consciousness, Kal-El listened to a familiar voice singing, and tried to remember where “home” was. Home was a lifetime ago; his last clear memory was the sound of his father’s threats thundering in his ears, an instant before he’d been sealed in this prison. Nothing else existed for him anymore.
Please have snow, and mistletoe,
And presents on the tree...
Somewhere, an impossible distance away, a woman with smiling eyes hung ornaments on a tree while a tall man in a plaid shirt turned toward Kal-El, holding out something small, tree-shaped, and dripping with sugary frosting. “Cookie, Clark?”
Clark, Kal-El thought. That had been his name, once.
The cookie crumbled in his too-eager grasp, but the man only laughed and handed him another.
At the sound of the man’s laughter, the images shifted, and grew clearer. He saw a young blonde girl, ruddy-faced, and giggling, hurling a snowball in his direction while a dark-skinned boy yelled out encouragement. He dodged the missile easily and heard her scream in mock outrage when she was too slow to dodge his counterattack.
As he helped her up, he felt the warmth of her hand in his.
Christmas Eve will find me
Where the lovelight gleams
Another girl, dark-haired and lovely, smiled sweetly at him from behind the glass of a small picture frame, but as he held it, the glass cracked, obscuring her face. Disappointed, he set the frame down and the blonde girl appeared again, now a woman in a trim suit, seated at a desk and busily typing at a keyboard, her face aglow in the light of the screen into which she stared intently. He noticed how her eyes sparkled as she raised her head to smile at him. When she began to speak, the cheerful tone of her voice matched the one singing in his head.
Her name, he remembered now, was Chloe, and he realized, with a sense of relief, that her voice had been keeping him company for a long time now. He strained to hear more, glad that he was no longer alone in the dark.
I’ll be home for Christmas,
If only in my dreams.
He remembered dancing with Chloe under colored lights, her body pressed close to his. They seemed to fit together, and as they glided across the floor, a flood of memories crowded his mind: Chloe and him, working together at the Torch; Chloe, gasping for breath in an underground box as he ripped off the lid; the two of them making out in a place called the Talon; Chloe's first day as a full-fledged reporter at the Daily Planet.
Chloe, dead in a morgue.
Kal-El--no, Clark--realized that the terror of this frozen prison paled in comparison to the horror he'd felt at that moment. But Chloe, he reminded himself, was alive; he saw her again, laughing in his arms at the dance, and wished he could hold her again. As long as she was alive, then so was he.
He might not be able to go home just yet, but it didn’t matter. Home had come to him.
* * * * * * * *
I’ll be home for Christmas,
If only in my dreams
Chloe hummed the tune happily as she inspected the gifts under the tabletop tree in the apartment she shared with her cousin, while outside church bells pealed faintly in the morning air. Spinning gracefully on her toes, she turned toward the kitchen in search of her first cup of coffee, matching her pace to the music’s rhythm.
It was the first Christmas morning that she wouldn’t be visiting Clark, but somehow, neither that, nor the strange way he’d been acting lately, could shake her good mood. “Merry Christmas, Clark,” she whispered, as she crossed the floor.
In the kitchen doorway, she felt something brush against her lips. Pressing her fingers against her mouth, she glanced around curiously, shrugged, and continued on her way. It wasn’t until after she’d filled her mug and started to carry it back to the living room that she noticed that she’d been standing directly under the mistletoe.
Staring, Chloe took a sip of her coffee, and realized that she was still humming the song.
THE END