I am overcome with many of the feelings on the soon-coming end of my show, (Smallville). So to help myself (and maybe some of you) through this, I propose a.........
gathering sand, lois (and clark), pg Part 6+7ladygawainApril 30 2011, 20:30:21 UTC
Part 6 She’s lost Clark before. She can think about it now.
She watched him fall to what she thought was death - over forty storeys down from the top of a building. She’d been so scared, and couldn’t tell the difference between wet rain and warm, wet blood. She kept calling his name, slapping at his cheek to wake him up - nothing. She finally did pull the dagger out, and just let her head rest on his chest. Until a beat - the echo of a heartbeat - vibrated against her ear. She thought she was dreaming. Or hallucinating. But then his chest moved and moved again. He came back.
Then there was the three weeks, nearly four, just before they got married. She hadn’t been able to think straight or see straight that time - the first real time perhaps. She’d even pulled a gun on Tess. The cold, hard steel was an anchor in a world that seemed to be slipping very quickly into chaos.
She had stood alone in their first apartment - the boxes strewn all over the floor; paint swatches pinned to the fridge; walls that were as bare and empty as she felt. It had nearly driven her crazy. So she’d started unpacking, feverishly, marshalling herself with a dedication that would have made her dad proud. There was something comforting in getting her hands to do. No feelings, no thoughts - just do. Lift the box and put it on the table, pin the painting to the wall, shove the couch in a corner, make the bed, position the pillow, plug in the coffee machine.
She hadn’t been able to sleep in their bed then either. Just the thought of it had made her sick. So instead, she would lie down in the living room, sinking her face into that Whitesnake pillow, muffling her tears with it until it was wet. She’d wrap herself in his shirts, any shirt, just let his smell - him - surround her. And it was like playing a trick on yourself - like little kids who ran from their shadows. If she didn’t turn her head or look down, she might think, for a moment that he was there with her.
She didn’t call off the wedding. She didn't tell anyone. The people at the Planet figured he’d taken a leave of absence or come down with some deadly illness - she didn’t confirm anything. She told her dad that he got sent on assignment and he’d said something about how refreshing it was to see ‘the boy’ applying himself to his career for once. It had been a joke; she hadn’t been able to laugh at it. Martha knew, and she’d offered to come to Metropolis to wait with her but thankfully changed her mind. Lois wasn’t sure she’d have been able to keep the seams from tearing open if she’d shown up.
She spent nights in Watchtower. Her eyes stung from staring at the monitor so hard, her fingers turning the crystal in her hand over and over, thinking maybe she could uncover its secrets and bring him back. Tess brought her coffee laced with whiskey or something. They sat side-by-side for hours and hours, fell asleep, woke up and started all over again.
She remembers cracking once, sitting by the stained glass window in the dark at 4AM, trying hard to keep herself quiet. And Tess sinking down beside her, her arms resting on her shoulder while she cried and cried, “It’s going to be okay,” she’d said. Both were too scared to not believe it. And for her, there really wasn't any other option.
When the apartment was ready, every surface gleaming from the three times she’d cleaned and polished and washed and rinsed, she’d wandered aimlessly, in one of Clark’s shirts again, not sure what to do with herself and scared to contemplate even an hour with absolutely nothing to do. She’d startled at the sound of the key turning in the door and then him - like a dream, just standing there, his mouth turned up at the corners. He’d come back that time.
She’s lost Clark before. She can think about it now.
She watched him fall to what she thought was death - over forty storeys down from the top of a building. She’d been so scared, and couldn’t tell the difference between wet rain and warm, wet blood. She kept calling his name, slapping at his cheek to wake him up - nothing. She finally did pull the dagger out, and just let her head rest on his chest. Until a beat - the echo of a heartbeat - vibrated against her ear. She thought she was dreaming. Or hallucinating. But then his chest moved and moved again. He came back.
Then there was the three weeks, nearly four, just before they got married. She hadn’t been able to think straight or see straight that time - the first real time perhaps. She’d even pulled a gun on Tess. The cold, hard steel was an anchor in a world that seemed to be slipping very quickly into chaos.
She had stood alone in their first apartment - the boxes strewn all over the floor; paint swatches pinned to the fridge; walls that were as bare and empty as she felt. It had nearly driven her crazy. So she’d started unpacking, feverishly, marshalling herself with a dedication that would have made her dad proud. There was something comforting in getting her hands to do. No feelings, no thoughts - just do. Lift the box and put it on the table, pin the painting to the wall, shove the couch in a corner, make the bed, position the pillow, plug in the coffee machine.
She hadn’t been able to sleep in their bed then either. Just the thought of it had made her sick. So instead, she would lie down in the living room, sinking her face into that Whitesnake pillow, muffling her tears with it until it was wet. She’d wrap herself in his shirts, any shirt, just let his smell - him - surround her. And it was like playing a trick on yourself - like little kids who ran from their shadows. If she didn’t turn her head or look down, she might think, for a moment that he was there with her.
She didn’t call off the wedding. She didn't tell anyone. The people at the Planet figured he’d taken a leave of absence or come down with some deadly illness - she didn’t confirm anything. She told her dad that he got sent on assignment and he’d said something about how refreshing it was to see ‘the boy’ applying himself to his career for once. It had been a joke; she hadn’t been able to laugh at it. Martha knew, and she’d offered to come to Metropolis to wait with her but thankfully changed her mind. Lois wasn’t sure she’d have been able to keep the seams from tearing open if she’d shown up.
She spent nights in Watchtower. Her eyes stung from staring at the monitor so hard, her fingers turning the crystal in her hand over and over, thinking maybe she could uncover its secrets and bring him back. Tess brought her coffee laced with whiskey or something. They sat side-by-side for hours and hours, fell asleep, woke up and started all over again.
She remembers cracking once, sitting by the stained glass window in the dark at 4AM, trying hard to keep herself quiet. And Tess sinking down beside her, her arms resting on her shoulder while she cried and cried, “It’s going to be okay,” she’d said. Both were too scared to not believe it. And for her, there really wasn't any other option.
When the apartment was ready, every surface gleaming from the three times she’d cleaned and polished and washed and rinsed, she’d wandered aimlessly, in one of Clark’s shirts again, not sure what to do with herself and scared to contemplate even an hour with absolutely nothing to do. She’d startled at the sound of the key turning in the door and then him - like a dream, just standing there, his mouth turned up at the corners. He’d come back that time.
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