There's a knock on her door. If Anna can't hear it, that's not Clark's fault. He doesn't really wait to be let in this time, though. The knock was just polite.
He winces when he steps inside, however.
"You know, I'm beginning to think you and Lois might just get along after all."
Since not even Anna is masochistic enough to turn on superhearing while listening to Van Halen - and since with that racket there's no other earthly way she could hear something as quiet and unobtrusive as a knock - she jumps a little when he speaks.
"Hey, cheri," she greets, turning off the music and putting her book down to give him a hug. (The ice cream stays. She can hug and hold ice cream simultaneously, dammit.) "What, does she have a thing for extraordinary guitar work paired with loud, blatantly sexual lyrics?"
Clark shrugs and gives her an odd look. "Well, she likes that kind of... music. She's a little stuck in the 80's even though she was barely alive in them."
Orbiting, almost - testing the limits of how far, how high, how sharp the turns, how responsive the decelerations.
It's beautiful.
Glorious.
Impermanent, and she knows it.
The rushing wind of a steadily thickening atmosphere draws tears from her eyes and steals the breath from her lungs. She would have wept and gasped regardless; to lose this, and lose it forever, is one of the gravest disappointments Anna can imagine.
Clark is leaning against the back of his truck, not really paying that much attention to Anna flying in favour of seeing how far he can toss rock into the lake. (For the record, it's further than he can see land without cheating.)
Unless Anna shouts, or otherwise makes a louder than usual sound, chances are he's not going to notice anything's amiss until it's too late.
It takes a surprisingly long time to fall from such a height.
Long enough for her to close her eyes and lose track of the seconds as they tick by.
Long enough for the whistle of air past her chilled, stinging arms to seem like the background noise of the universe.
Long enough that she's startled into a yelp when she twists her head around to look below her and sees Clark and a lake, approaching rapidly from fifty feet below.
When things get comfortable, there's a routine that settles in. Clark works the farm. On the days Anna's working, he visits Chloe for lunch, or whenever he just gets bored in those few hours in the afternoon when occasionally, there's nothing to do. Most nights are spent with Anna, either going out or just hanging around her place.
Tonight is one of those nights and as is now usual, he lets himself in to her apartment and greets her with a kiss on top of her head, where she's reading on the couch.
She holds up the book. "Larry Niven. Other than that, not much. The usual. Viv cut her hair again - at this rate it's going to end up shorter than yours, at which point I will have to laugh."
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He winces when he steps inside, however.
"You know, I'm beginning to think you and Lois might just get along after all."
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"Hey, cheri," she greets, turning off the music and putting her book down to give him a hug. (The ice cream stays. She can hug and hold ice cream simultaneously, dammit.) "What, does she have a thing for extraordinary guitar work paired with loud, blatantly sexual lyrics?"
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"Honey, I know you're not the biggest classic rock fan in the world, but don't be condescending to those of us who appreciate the oldies."
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Orbiting, almost - testing the limits of how far, how high, how sharp the turns, how responsive the decelerations.
It's beautiful.
Glorious.
Impermanent, and she knows it.
The rushing wind of a steadily thickening atmosphere draws tears from her eyes and steals the breath from her lungs. She would have wept and gasped regardless; to lose this, and lose it forever, is one of the gravest disappointments Anna can imagine.
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Unless Anna shouts, or otherwise makes a louder than usual sound, chances are he's not going to notice anything's amiss until it's too late.
Of course, his reflexes are pretty damn good.
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Long enough for her to close her eyes and lose track of the seconds as they tick by.
Long enough for the whistle of air past her chilled, stinging arms to seem like the background noise of the universe.
Long enough that she's startled into a yelp when she twists her head around to look below her and sees Clark and a lake, approaching rapidly from fifty feet below.
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...problem is he isn't really that much softer.
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Tonight is one of those nights and as is now usual, he lets himself in to her apartment and greets her with a kiss on top of her head, where she's reading on the couch.
As usual.
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"It's good to see you, cheri."
It always is, but saying it can't possibly hurt, right?
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"What's up?"
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