in memory of our fallen friend
I'm having trouble writing anything about recent events or any kind of eulogy but I do want to remember him in some way, so here's a start.
Those of you from our Blurty (pre-LJ) days will have read this already, but it's never been posted here so I figured why not archive.
Way back in the beginning of 2004, I fell in love. And despite not knowing much at all about Conner Kent/Kon-El/Superboy at the time, a very special fangirl/fictional character relationship began. This is the beginning. ETA: Actually, after checking, it was a few months before that, but this is his first fic without his daddies being the focus.
“What are you, gay or something?”
Conner ignored the voice from behind him and continued taking books out of his locker, angrily stuffing them in his backpack. Cramming the copy of Pride and Prejudice on top, he zipped the bag shut and threw it over his shoulder with a heavy sigh.
He laughed to himself when the guy behind him tapped him on the shoulder and sneered. ‘I asked you a question, geek.”
This jock had no idea who he was dealing with, but the really sucky part -- the part that made Conner’s insides heat up and his fists clench tightly at his side -- was that he never would. Conner closed his locker gently and turned to face him, ducking his head, never looking the kid in the eye, and stammered, “I-I-I have to get to English class. Sorry.” He kept his eyes on the ground and shuffled past.
Steve Taylor. Quarterback. It figured, Conner thought. Trust Superman to throw him in the middle of a teen movie cliché. If today ended with his head being flushed in a toilet, he was totally quitting the whole Smallville thing. Maybe he could move to Gotham, hang out with Tim; maybe even rekindle whatever it was between Cass-
It looked like Steve wasn’t ready to leave him alone, and Conner was suddenly pushed against the lockers, causing several to clang open with the force. “We weren’t done talking, Kent.”
“P-please.” Conner coughed a little, even though he could barely feel the hand tightening around his throat. “Let me go.”
“Just answer my question, and I’ll be on my way. Simple as that.”
“No.”
Steve growled and jabbed Conner’s stomach sharply with his elbow. “Answer me!”
Doubling over and gasping, Conner held out his hands to keep Steve from advancing. If he tried that again, Conner was likely to end up doing something stupid like hit back or something. And Superman would kill him. “Wait, I mean that was my answer. No, I’m not gay.”
“Yeah?” Steve said with a derisive snort. “Then why did I see that photo in your locker just then?”
“I have several photos in my locker. They’re my friends. From back home.” He pushed the middle of his glasses up the bridge of his nose and frowned when they slid right back down again.
“I meant the big one in the middle, farmboy. Of that guy.”
“Best friend. You got a problem with that?” Conner gulped. He probably shouldn’t have added the last part, but this guy was pushing every last nerve. It’d be so easy to just… No. ‘Cause then, again, Superman would kill him, and while he’s pretty sure he could take on Steve Taylor here, the Man of Steel was a totally different kettle of fish. And where did that saying come from anyway? Kettle of fish? What does that even mean?
“I’ve got a problem with you, period, Kent.
Oh, right, Conner thought he should probably concentrate on the Quarterback who had just knocked his backpack off his arm and sent books scattering across the linoleum. As he crouched down to collect the books, he heard slow, deliberate footsteps approaching from around the corner, walking like they owned the place, which meant they probably belonged to the Principal.
Steve noticed, too. He snarled at Conner and said, “We’re not done, here, Kent,” and skidded around the corner out of sight. Just in time for the Principal to find Conner shoving books into his backpack alone.
“Mr. Kent. Care to explain why you’re not in a classroom right at this moment?”
Conner stood and ducked his head. “Sorry, sir. I was on my way but I-“
“I don’t want your excuses. And stand up straight when you talk to me. Show some respect.”
Of all the… Conner fought the urge to knock the teacher flying. The guy had asked for an explanation and then had the nerve to yell when Conner complied. And he wasn’t *allowed* to stand up straight. It’d been one of Superman’s first lessons in Secret Identity 101. He mumbled an apology and dug his nails into his thigh to keep from just *pushing* the Principal through the wall.
“The records from your last school indicated that you were a model student, Mr. Kent. I expected you to live up to them here at Smallville High. Tardiness will not be accepted.” He gave Conner a once over and sniffed. “Get to class.”
“Yes, sir.” Conner sighed when he was far enough out of earshot and scuffed his toes along the linoleum as he headed down the hall.
~*~
“And so then he was like, “Are you gay?” and he’s pushing up against me real creepy-like and I’m like, “No, but I’m starting to think you might be”…okay, so I didn’t think of that at the time, but wouldn’t that have been so cool to say?” Conner paused, noticing the silence. “You still with me, buddy? Tim?”
He finally heard Tim sigh through the static. “Not that this story isn’t riveting, Conner, but how ‘bout we backtrack a little and you tell me exactly when and how you stole this commlink you’re currently talking to me on.”
Conner snorted. “The other day. Look, that’s not important. I can’t believe how many freaks are in this town. Really. It’s like a John Hughes movie inside that school. With flannel. I keep expecting to see Molly Ringwald sitting in the cafeteria. Judd Nelson probably smokes doobies behind the chem lab.”
“Aren’t we way too young to be talking about 80s movies, Conner?”
“That’s *another* thing about this town! All there is to do is watch old movies on TV. Well, that and milk cows, which is like, the most disgusting thing ever. Did you know that they crap right where you milk them? I will *never* drink chocolate milk again, I swear. Hey, maybe I *am* gay, cause let me tell ya, working with cow teats every morning really makes me queasy.
“It’s not the same, Conner. You’re not gay.” He yawned pointedly over the connection.
“Yeah, you’re probably right. I tell you who would be gay, though. Mr. Jenkins.”
Tim’s voice was resigned. “I’m going to regret this, but who’s Mr. Jenkins?”
“Guy a few farms down. He’s got this stud bull, and sometimes he, you know, *prepares* it for the lady-cows. That’s totally gay.”
“That’s animal husbandry, Conner.”
“See? *Marrying* your stud bull. Gay.”
“I know you’re purposefully being obtuse, Conner, so I’m leaving that one alone. So, why did this kid ask if you were gay?”
“Um, he kinda saw a photoofyouinmylocker.”
“Wait, you have a photo of me in your locker at school? Do we need to have the secret identity talk again?”
“It’s a civilian photo, Tim. When we were all at the cookout last month. I just tell people you’re a friend from my old school back home.”
“So my photo is stuck inside your locker. That’s sweet. Really. Did you sprinkle it with glitter and past little red hearts along the border, too?”
“Very funny. And it’s not like you’re the only one. I have all the gang. Kind of makes me feel…less lonely.”
“Ah.” Tim said, and Conner heard the change in his voice that Tim gets when he’s figured something out. “Which I assume is why you stole this commlink.”
“Borrowed.”
“Whatever. Look, things will get better out there if you give them a chance. You’ll make friends…”
“You sound like Superman, Tim. It’s kinda freaking me out.”
“Sorry. And hey, the gang will still see each other every weekend. Maybe it would be a good idea to save our little chats for then. I don’t think Batman would appreciate us using his equipment like this--”
“Hold on, he can’t listen in, can he?”
“No. You picked a secure channel. It’s just us.”
“Good.” Conner grinned at leaned back in the chair, resting his feet on the desk in front of him. “So, how’s Batgirl lately? Does she talk about me?”
“She barely talks at all. Why would Batgirl talk about *you*?”
“No reason.”
“Oookay. Look, Conner, I have to finish patrol and get home to Dad at a reasonable hour, so-“
“Wait, you’re out on patrol. I don’t get to patrol. This life sucks. Say, do you think Mr. Frowny could add one more superhero to the team? I could wear black and brood. I’d be, like, Superbat.”
“Batman doesn’t like you, Conner.”
“I grow on people.”
“Trust me. Not gonna happen. I really have to go. I’ll see you on the weekend.”
“Okay, fine, go beat up bad guys and have fun while I sit in a freakin’ barn all night. See if I care.”
“Conner,” Tim warned.
“No, really, go. The cows will keep me company. Ooh, but one more thing. Next time you see Batgirl, mention my name in conversation. Tell me what she says.”
The static from the commlink ended ubruptly and Conner blinked at the black box in his hand. “Little freak hung up on me,” he said to the desk lamp. It was probably just as well, though, because at that moment, footseps echoed on the loft stairs. Conner stuffed the commlink under a cushion and pushed off with his heels to wheel his chair to the window. He was staring out at the stars when Martha appeared at the top of the stairs holding a tray of milk and cookies. Conner tried not to look guilty, but Mrs. K. had a way of seeing through disguises like that.
“I thought these would help you study, dear, but I see you’ve already been distracted.” She placed the tray on the desk and joined Conner at the window, her hand softly gliding across the telescope. “Clark was exactly the same at your age. Always looking through this thing and dreaming of the stars.” She offered him a gentle smile and spun the telescope to the left. “And also the lovely girl next door.”
Conner looked through the telescope and sure enough, there was a pretty girl sitting on the porch. He recognised her from school, but couldn’t remember her name. “Mrs. K., I wasn’t-“
“No need to explain.” She kissed his cheek and left him, pausing at the stairs to add, “It’s good to dream, Conner, but sometimes we should get out there and just *live*.”
When he heard the farmhouse door open and close, Conner sighed and wheeled his chair back to the desk. If Mrs. K. thought he had a crush on the girl next door, maybe it was best to let her think that. All part of the disguise or something. Taking a cookie, he looked at the glass of milk and groaned. Chocolate.
Heh. I can't believe how much I still love that second part. Usually I cringe when reading over my fic, but this one still cracks me up. And I think it's a nice way to remember Tim and Conner today. Seriously, go over to Blurty and read through all our conversations from that time - it's so much fun.
Those of you from our Blurty (pre-LJ) days will have read this already, but it's never been posted here so I figured why not archive.
Way back in the beginning of 2004, I fell in love. And despite not knowing much at all about Conner Kent/Kon-El/Superboy at the time, a very special fangirl/fictional character relationship began. This is the beginning. ETA: Actually, after checking, it was a few months before that, but this is his first fic without his daddies being the focus.
“What are you, gay or something?”
Conner ignored the voice from behind him and continued taking books out of his locker, angrily stuffing them in his backpack. Cramming the copy of Pride and Prejudice on top, he zipped the bag shut and threw it over his shoulder with a heavy sigh.
He laughed to himself when the guy behind him tapped him on the shoulder and sneered. ‘I asked you a question, geek.”
This jock had no idea who he was dealing with, but the really sucky part -- the part that made Conner’s insides heat up and his fists clench tightly at his side -- was that he never would. Conner closed his locker gently and turned to face him, ducking his head, never looking the kid in the eye, and stammered, “I-I-I have to get to English class. Sorry.” He kept his eyes on the ground and shuffled past.
Steve Taylor. Quarterback. It figured, Conner thought. Trust Superman to throw him in the middle of a teen movie cliché. If today ended with his head being flushed in a toilet, he was totally quitting the whole Smallville thing. Maybe he could move to Gotham, hang out with Tim; maybe even rekindle whatever it was between Cass-
It looked like Steve wasn’t ready to leave him alone, and Conner was suddenly pushed against the lockers, causing several to clang open with the force. “We weren’t done talking, Kent.”
“P-please.” Conner coughed a little, even though he could barely feel the hand tightening around his throat. “Let me go.”
“Just answer my question, and I’ll be on my way. Simple as that.”
“No.”
Steve growled and jabbed Conner’s stomach sharply with his elbow. “Answer me!”
Doubling over and gasping, Conner held out his hands to keep Steve from advancing. If he tried that again, Conner was likely to end up doing something stupid like hit back or something. And Superman would kill him. “Wait, I mean that was my answer. No, I’m not gay.”
“Yeah?” Steve said with a derisive snort. “Then why did I see that photo in your locker just then?”
“I have several photos in my locker. They’re my friends. From back home.” He pushed the middle of his glasses up the bridge of his nose and frowned when they slid right back down again.
“I meant the big one in the middle, farmboy. Of that guy.”
“Best friend. You got a problem with that?” Conner gulped. He probably shouldn’t have added the last part, but this guy was pushing every last nerve. It’d be so easy to just… No. ‘Cause then, again, Superman would kill him, and while he’s pretty sure he could take on Steve Taylor here, the Man of Steel was a totally different kettle of fish. And where did that saying come from anyway? Kettle of fish? What does that even mean?
“I’ve got a problem with you, period, Kent.
Oh, right, Conner thought he should probably concentrate on the Quarterback who had just knocked his backpack off his arm and sent books scattering across the linoleum. As he crouched down to collect the books, he heard slow, deliberate footsteps approaching from around the corner, walking like they owned the place, which meant they probably belonged to the Principal.
Steve noticed, too. He snarled at Conner and said, “We’re not done, here, Kent,” and skidded around the corner out of sight. Just in time for the Principal to find Conner shoving books into his backpack alone.
“Mr. Kent. Care to explain why you’re not in a classroom right at this moment?”
Conner stood and ducked his head. “Sorry, sir. I was on my way but I-“
“I don’t want your excuses. And stand up straight when you talk to me. Show some respect.”
Of all the… Conner fought the urge to knock the teacher flying. The guy had asked for an explanation and then had the nerve to yell when Conner complied. And he wasn’t *allowed* to stand up straight. It’d been one of Superman’s first lessons in Secret Identity 101. He mumbled an apology and dug his nails into his thigh to keep from just *pushing* the Principal through the wall.
“The records from your last school indicated that you were a model student, Mr. Kent. I expected you to live up to them here at Smallville High. Tardiness will not be accepted.” He gave Conner a once over and sniffed. “Get to class.”
“Yes, sir.” Conner sighed when he was far enough out of earshot and scuffed his toes along the linoleum as he headed down the hall.
~*~
“And so then he was like, “Are you gay?” and he’s pushing up against me real creepy-like and I’m like, “No, but I’m starting to think you might be”…okay, so I didn’t think of that at the time, but wouldn’t that have been so cool to say?” Conner paused, noticing the silence. “You still with me, buddy? Tim?”
He finally heard Tim sigh through the static. “Not that this story isn’t riveting, Conner, but how ‘bout we backtrack a little and you tell me exactly when and how you stole this commlink you’re currently talking to me on.”
Conner snorted. “The other day. Look, that’s not important. I can’t believe how many freaks are in this town. Really. It’s like a John Hughes movie inside that school. With flannel. I keep expecting to see Molly Ringwald sitting in the cafeteria. Judd Nelson probably smokes doobies behind the chem lab.”
“Aren’t we way too young to be talking about 80s movies, Conner?”
“That’s *another* thing about this town! All there is to do is watch old movies on TV. Well, that and milk cows, which is like, the most disgusting thing ever. Did you know that they crap right where you milk them? I will *never* drink chocolate milk again, I swear. Hey, maybe I *am* gay, cause let me tell ya, working with cow teats every morning really makes me queasy.
“It’s not the same, Conner. You’re not gay.” He yawned pointedly over the connection.
“Yeah, you’re probably right. I tell you who would be gay, though. Mr. Jenkins.”
Tim’s voice was resigned. “I’m going to regret this, but who’s Mr. Jenkins?”
“Guy a few farms down. He’s got this stud bull, and sometimes he, you know, *prepares* it for the lady-cows. That’s totally gay.”
“That’s animal husbandry, Conner.”
“See? *Marrying* your stud bull. Gay.”
“I know you’re purposefully being obtuse, Conner, so I’m leaving that one alone. So, why did this kid ask if you were gay?”
“Um, he kinda saw a photoofyouinmylocker.”
“Wait, you have a photo of me in your locker at school? Do we need to have the secret identity talk again?”
“It’s a civilian photo, Tim. When we were all at the cookout last month. I just tell people you’re a friend from my old school back home.”
“So my photo is stuck inside your locker. That’s sweet. Really. Did you sprinkle it with glitter and past little red hearts along the border, too?”
“Very funny. And it’s not like you’re the only one. I have all the gang. Kind of makes me feel…less lonely.”
“Ah.” Tim said, and Conner heard the change in his voice that Tim gets when he’s figured something out. “Which I assume is why you stole this commlink.”
“Borrowed.”
“Whatever. Look, things will get better out there if you give them a chance. You’ll make friends…”
“You sound like Superman, Tim. It’s kinda freaking me out.”
“Sorry. And hey, the gang will still see each other every weekend. Maybe it would be a good idea to save our little chats for then. I don’t think Batman would appreciate us using his equipment like this--”
“Hold on, he can’t listen in, can he?”
“No. You picked a secure channel. It’s just us.”
“Good.” Conner grinned at leaned back in the chair, resting his feet on the desk in front of him. “So, how’s Batgirl lately? Does she talk about me?”
“She barely talks at all. Why would Batgirl talk about *you*?”
“No reason.”
“Oookay. Look, Conner, I have to finish patrol and get home to Dad at a reasonable hour, so-“
“Wait, you’re out on patrol. I don’t get to patrol. This life sucks. Say, do you think Mr. Frowny could add one more superhero to the team? I could wear black and brood. I’d be, like, Superbat.”
“Batman doesn’t like you, Conner.”
“I grow on people.”
“Trust me. Not gonna happen. I really have to go. I’ll see you on the weekend.”
“Okay, fine, go beat up bad guys and have fun while I sit in a freakin’ barn all night. See if I care.”
“Conner,” Tim warned.
“No, really, go. The cows will keep me company. Ooh, but one more thing. Next time you see Batgirl, mention my name in conversation. Tell me what she says.”
The static from the commlink ended ubruptly and Conner blinked at the black box in his hand. “Little freak hung up on me,” he said to the desk lamp. It was probably just as well, though, because at that moment, footseps echoed on the loft stairs. Conner stuffed the commlink under a cushion and pushed off with his heels to wheel his chair to the window. He was staring out at the stars when Martha appeared at the top of the stairs holding a tray of milk and cookies. Conner tried not to look guilty, but Mrs. K. had a way of seeing through disguises like that.
“I thought these would help you study, dear, but I see you’ve already been distracted.” She placed the tray on the desk and joined Conner at the window, her hand softly gliding across the telescope. “Clark was exactly the same at your age. Always looking through this thing and dreaming of the stars.” She offered him a gentle smile and spun the telescope to the left. “And also the lovely girl next door.”
Conner looked through the telescope and sure enough, there was a pretty girl sitting on the porch. He recognised her from school, but couldn’t remember her name. “Mrs. K., I wasn’t-“
“No need to explain.” She kissed his cheek and left him, pausing at the stairs to add, “It’s good to dream, Conner, but sometimes we should get out there and just *live*.”
When he heard the farmhouse door open and close, Conner sighed and wheeled his chair back to the desk. If Mrs. K. thought he had a crush on the girl next door, maybe it was best to let her think that. All part of the disguise or something. Taking a cookie, he looked at the glass of milk and groaned. Chocolate.
Heh. I can't believe how much I still love that second part. Usually I cringe when reading over my fic, but this one still cracks me up. And I think it's a nice way to remember Tim and Conner today. Seriously, go over to Blurty and read through all our conversations from that time - it's so much fun.