Smallville Fic: Meet and Greet
Meet and Greet
Two women met up in a bar. There should be a punch line. There isn't. Tess, Lois. Pg. Future. Au (not a happy au). 1537 words.
a/n: This ended up miles from what I envisioned when I started writing. It mostly definitely doesn't fit in with canon (not like that has ever stopped me).
&
The bar is on 12th. It’s tucked away, two trees heavy with spring blossoms hiding its windows and its sign. The entrance requires a person to descend a short stairway, three concrete stairs.
Tess enters the bar on a Tuesday. It’s a bit past ten. Outside it is cold and dark, the moon a sliver and the city lights blocking the stars, and inside the bar it’s warm and dim, miles from plum blackness of the night sky. The counter is in the middle, booths along two walls, tables in the middle on the scratched wooden floor. Low music. She heads towards the counter, garnering no looks. It’s slightly odd for her to be so anonymous. No one cares that she’s Tess Mercer.
Maybe a bit of her is sad about this. Maybe a bit of her likes this anonymity. And maybe it just simply doesn’t matter.
Idly Tess takes note of who is in the bar. Two tables occupied by couples, both middle-aged. A younger couple sits in a booth to her left. To her right a booth is filled with three older men, not elderly but old, grey-haired. Beers in front of them and muted laughter erupts suddenly. At the counter Two men and a female. The serious drinkers, Tess thinks. She leaves them alone just as she wishes to be left. Fair is fair.
Tess takes a seat at the counter. The stool isn’t cushioned, just plain wood. Her fingers on the smooth wood of the bar counter, rubbing indiscriminate patterns. The bartender turns to her and her fingers still.
“Scotch. On the rocks,” Tess orders. The bartender nods, a male in his late twenties, maybe early thirties. He places her drink on the counter, she hands him a ten. He nods again. No change given. Fair enough.
There is a television. It’s off. Tess looks at its black screen as she swallows the amber-colored liquid. It burns, fire in her throat, just what she wants.
Setting the glass on the counter she orders another. This time she hands over a five, earns a nod from the bartender. It’s a system.
Tess picks up the glass. She doesn’t drink right away, instead holds the glass and contemplates it. She doesn’t want to rush, although the urge to drink fast is there, the urge to find oblivion sooner rather than later. But she’d rather enjoy herself, pace herself, enjoy the gradual loosening that will accompany each drink. The process, Tess thinks, take it.
Likely this won’t be the first night she does this. It will continue, on and on. Do it right. Get into the habit.
“So, what’s the plan?”
Tess turns her head, looking at the speaker. It is the woman who had been sitting at the opposite end of the bar, her long dark hair obscuring her face. Now the woman has moved, one stool between them, and Tess easily recognizes the woman.
“Lois,” Tess says flatly.
“Fancy meeting you here. I wouldn’t think this was your kind of place. Too low-key.”
Tess shrugs.
Lois shrugs herself. Her hair falls in her face again, loose curls everywhere. She’s wearing jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt, fitting in with the bar. Tess would have expected her to say more but Lois doesn’t. Neither of them does.
They drink in silence for a long while. Tess isn’t sure how long: she isn’t wearing a watch and she isn’t carrying a cell phone anymore. That life is gone, that life of hers, just gone, lost. She wasn’t the type of person who sat in a bar, alone, in a bar on the east side. She would have been a downtown girl, in a stylish bar. The Ace of Clubs most likely. Before.
It’s all before. Before. Before. Before.
“I thought you liked The Ace of Clubs,” Tess says, vaguely remembering Lois being found in that bar more than once.
Now Lois is here. So is Tess. Maybe it should be odd. Mostly it’s not, mostly it’s sad that they are both here, away from where their lives should be; mostly she’s tired. She isn’t where she should be.
Lois’s voice disrupts Tess’s thoughts.
“It’s too close to the Planet.”
“Oh.” Not a question, as it could have been.
“I was fired,” Lois says. Her gaze is on the counter, the varnished wood gleaming dully in the dim light. “Fired. Me. Lois Lane. Fired.”
Tess says nothing. What is there to say?
Lois looks at her. Her voice, when she speaks, is bitter. “My cousin took my job. It was mine and now it’s not. New ownership. New editor is one result. Perry White. He hired Chloe. Then he fired me. He said there wasn’t room at the paper for my type of journalism.”
Tess swallows her fourth scotch. The burn isn’t what it was. Lois takes a swing of her beer, emptying the bottle. Tess isn’t sure what beer Lois is on, doesn’t care. Lois’s voice is slightly slurred and she’s rambling.
In the dim light Tess can’t see if Lois’s eyes are dilated. Lois is probably at least tipsy. She’d have to be. Otherwise she’d still be sitting on the other side of the bar, pretending Tess hadn’t entered this particular bar on 12th on a Tuesday evening.
Then again maybe Lois is lonely. Just lonely perhaps.
Tess could sympathize, if Lois was. She’s lonely after all. Doesn’t mean she wants to make Lois her bar-buddy. That’s the last thing she wants.
At some point Lois has moved to the stool next to Tess. It happened and Tess only notices afterwards. She notices and then notices the way Lois’s fingers fidget, twisting and turning.
“Too bad,” Tess says belatedly. Her voice has an odd tone to it. A long moment has passed since Lois was talking. “Unfortunate,” she adds.
Lois nods and at the same time attempts to push strands of hair behind her ear. The attempt fails miserably, the hair falling forward.
Tess drinks.
“Why are you drinking?”
Tess opens her mouth, shuts it. Her fingers do their own fidgeting, dancing around the edge of her glass. The glass is smooth. She thinks of what to say, ultimately settles on some words.
“Different story, same reason for the drinking.”
She lost it all. All of it. No one is on her side; she’s alone, once again. Tess should have expected it. It stings regardless, this losing, this loss. What she had filtered through her fingers like sand, Tess thinks to herself. She was left without even a few specks.
Not that Tess volunteers any of this. She doesn’t say anything else, just orders another drink. The bartender sighs softly and fills her glass. He replaces Lois’s beer.
“Cut off, next drink. Make it count,” he says. A firm voice: he knows what he’s doing.
“I’m not drunk yet,” Lois says.
Tess says, “I think that’s the point.”
“Still.”
Tess shakes her head and shrugs. She swishes the contents of her drink, staring at the liquid as if it will offer her answers. It doesn’t, of course not, and she’s not drunk either. Buzzed maybe. Not drunk. Getting to the cozy feeling but not at the point where nothing hurts.
That moment where it all ceases to matter: this is what she wants. This is her goal and she won’t get it here. There’s a liquor store down the street, she can stop off there. Load up before she goes to the motel where she’s staying. The sheets are too starched and the duvet is questionable at the motel; it’s what she has.
“I named him the Red-Blue Blur,” Lois says suddenly.
Tess turns her head to look at Lois again, having almost forgotten the brunette. Lois’s eyes are dark, pupils dilated for sure.
“What?”
“Now he’s Superman. Now he wears blue tights and a red cape and Chloe is the one who gets to tell his story.”
Tess doesn’t say anything. Lois is looking at her, expectant. Tess has nothing to offer. She could unload herself on Lois and it wouldn’t matter because Lois has no power anymore, nothing. But it wouldn’t change anything and what happened isn’t important, not really. Being in the bar tells the story, the few words she has said form the epilogue of that story. It’s all said and done. Tess doesn’t need to revisit it with Lois; she does it enough in her own head.
Tess moves gracefully from her stool. “You lost. I lost. This is the how the story ends.”
“That’s depressing.”
“I could lie to you. Tell you everyone lives happily ever after.”
Lois sighs, shaking her head slightly. Her shoulders are slumped; her curls are falling flat around her face. Her fingers are wrapped loosely around her beer bottle.
“Yeah, I thought so,” Tess says softly. No lies then. Truth isn’t pretty always but at least it’s the truth, that’s something.
Tess reaches out, lays a hand on Lois’s shoulder. Lois’s eyes land on Tess’s hand. Under her fingers Lois’s shirt is warm, the skin beneath the source of the warmth. Her fingers squeeze slightly.
A heartbeat passes. Two.
Tess withdraws her hand. She turns and makes her way across the scratched wooden floor.
&
The End
Two women met up in a bar. There should be a punch line. There isn't. Tess, Lois. Pg. Future. Au (not a happy au). 1537 words.
a/n: This ended up miles from what I envisioned when I started writing. It mostly definitely doesn't fit in with canon (not like that has ever stopped me).
&
The bar is on 12th. It’s tucked away, two trees heavy with spring blossoms hiding its windows and its sign. The entrance requires a person to descend a short stairway, three concrete stairs.
Tess enters the bar on a Tuesday. It’s a bit past ten. Outside it is cold and dark, the moon a sliver and the city lights blocking the stars, and inside the bar it’s warm and dim, miles from plum blackness of the night sky. The counter is in the middle, booths along two walls, tables in the middle on the scratched wooden floor. Low music. She heads towards the counter, garnering no looks. It’s slightly odd for her to be so anonymous. No one cares that she’s Tess Mercer.
Maybe a bit of her is sad about this. Maybe a bit of her likes this anonymity. And maybe it just simply doesn’t matter.
Idly Tess takes note of who is in the bar. Two tables occupied by couples, both middle-aged. A younger couple sits in a booth to her left. To her right a booth is filled with three older men, not elderly but old, grey-haired. Beers in front of them and muted laughter erupts suddenly. At the counter Two men and a female. The serious drinkers, Tess thinks. She leaves them alone just as she wishes to be left. Fair is fair.
Tess takes a seat at the counter. The stool isn’t cushioned, just plain wood. Her fingers on the smooth wood of the bar counter, rubbing indiscriminate patterns. The bartender turns to her and her fingers still.
“Scotch. On the rocks,” Tess orders. The bartender nods, a male in his late twenties, maybe early thirties. He places her drink on the counter, she hands him a ten. He nods again. No change given. Fair enough.
There is a television. It’s off. Tess looks at its black screen as she swallows the amber-colored liquid. It burns, fire in her throat, just what she wants.
Setting the glass on the counter she orders another. This time she hands over a five, earns a nod from the bartender. It’s a system.
Tess picks up the glass. She doesn’t drink right away, instead holds the glass and contemplates it. She doesn’t want to rush, although the urge to drink fast is there, the urge to find oblivion sooner rather than later. But she’d rather enjoy herself, pace herself, enjoy the gradual loosening that will accompany each drink. The process, Tess thinks, take it.
Likely this won’t be the first night she does this. It will continue, on and on. Do it right. Get into the habit.
“So, what’s the plan?”
Tess turns her head, looking at the speaker. It is the woman who had been sitting at the opposite end of the bar, her long dark hair obscuring her face. Now the woman has moved, one stool between them, and Tess easily recognizes the woman.
“Lois,” Tess says flatly.
“Fancy meeting you here. I wouldn’t think this was your kind of place. Too low-key.”
Tess shrugs.
Lois shrugs herself. Her hair falls in her face again, loose curls everywhere. She’s wearing jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt, fitting in with the bar. Tess would have expected her to say more but Lois doesn’t. Neither of them does.
They drink in silence for a long while. Tess isn’t sure how long: she isn’t wearing a watch and she isn’t carrying a cell phone anymore. That life is gone, that life of hers, just gone, lost. She wasn’t the type of person who sat in a bar, alone, in a bar on the east side. She would have been a downtown girl, in a stylish bar. The Ace of Clubs most likely. Before.
It’s all before. Before. Before. Before.
“I thought you liked The Ace of Clubs,” Tess says, vaguely remembering Lois being found in that bar more than once.
Now Lois is here. So is Tess. Maybe it should be odd. Mostly it’s not, mostly it’s sad that they are both here, away from where their lives should be; mostly she’s tired. She isn’t where she should be.
Lois’s voice disrupts Tess’s thoughts.
“It’s too close to the Planet.”
“Oh.” Not a question, as it could have been.
“I was fired,” Lois says. Her gaze is on the counter, the varnished wood gleaming dully in the dim light. “Fired. Me. Lois Lane. Fired.”
Tess says nothing. What is there to say?
Lois looks at her. Her voice, when she speaks, is bitter. “My cousin took my job. It was mine and now it’s not. New ownership. New editor is one result. Perry White. He hired Chloe. Then he fired me. He said there wasn’t room at the paper for my type of journalism.”
Tess swallows her fourth scotch. The burn isn’t what it was. Lois takes a swing of her beer, emptying the bottle. Tess isn’t sure what beer Lois is on, doesn’t care. Lois’s voice is slightly slurred and she’s rambling.
In the dim light Tess can’t see if Lois’s eyes are dilated. Lois is probably at least tipsy. She’d have to be. Otherwise she’d still be sitting on the other side of the bar, pretending Tess hadn’t entered this particular bar on 12th on a Tuesday evening.
Then again maybe Lois is lonely. Just lonely perhaps.
Tess could sympathize, if Lois was. She’s lonely after all. Doesn’t mean she wants to make Lois her bar-buddy. That’s the last thing she wants.
At some point Lois has moved to the stool next to Tess. It happened and Tess only notices afterwards. She notices and then notices the way Lois’s fingers fidget, twisting and turning.
“Too bad,” Tess says belatedly. Her voice has an odd tone to it. A long moment has passed since Lois was talking. “Unfortunate,” she adds.
Lois nods and at the same time attempts to push strands of hair behind her ear. The attempt fails miserably, the hair falling forward.
Tess drinks.
“Why are you drinking?”
Tess opens her mouth, shuts it. Her fingers do their own fidgeting, dancing around the edge of her glass. The glass is smooth. She thinks of what to say, ultimately settles on some words.
“Different story, same reason for the drinking.”
She lost it all. All of it. No one is on her side; she’s alone, once again. Tess should have expected it. It stings regardless, this losing, this loss. What she had filtered through her fingers like sand, Tess thinks to herself. She was left without even a few specks.
Not that Tess volunteers any of this. She doesn’t say anything else, just orders another drink. The bartender sighs softly and fills her glass. He replaces Lois’s beer.
“Cut off, next drink. Make it count,” he says. A firm voice: he knows what he’s doing.
“I’m not drunk yet,” Lois says.
Tess says, “I think that’s the point.”
“Still.”
Tess shakes her head and shrugs. She swishes the contents of her drink, staring at the liquid as if it will offer her answers. It doesn’t, of course not, and she’s not drunk either. Buzzed maybe. Not drunk. Getting to the cozy feeling but not at the point where nothing hurts.
That moment where it all ceases to matter: this is what she wants. This is her goal and she won’t get it here. There’s a liquor store down the street, she can stop off there. Load up before she goes to the motel where she’s staying. The sheets are too starched and the duvet is questionable at the motel; it’s what she has.
“I named him the Red-Blue Blur,” Lois says suddenly.
Tess turns her head to look at Lois again, having almost forgotten the brunette. Lois’s eyes are dark, pupils dilated for sure.
“What?”
“Now he’s Superman. Now he wears blue tights and a red cape and Chloe is the one who gets to tell his story.”
Tess doesn’t say anything. Lois is looking at her, expectant. Tess has nothing to offer. She could unload herself on Lois and it wouldn’t matter because Lois has no power anymore, nothing. But it wouldn’t change anything and what happened isn’t important, not really. Being in the bar tells the story, the few words she has said form the epilogue of that story. It’s all said and done. Tess doesn’t need to revisit it with Lois; she does it enough in her own head.
Tess moves gracefully from her stool. “You lost. I lost. This is the how the story ends.”
“That’s depressing.”
“I could lie to you. Tell you everyone lives happily ever after.”
Lois sighs, shaking her head slightly. Her shoulders are slumped; her curls are falling flat around her face. Her fingers are wrapped loosely around her beer bottle.
“Yeah, I thought so,” Tess says softly. No lies then. Truth isn’t pretty always but at least it’s the truth, that’s something.
Tess reaches out, lays a hand on Lois’s shoulder. Lois’s eyes land on Tess’s hand. Under her fingers Lois’s shirt is warm, the skin beneath the source of the warmth. Her fingers squeeze slightly.
A heartbeat passes. Two.
Tess withdraws her hand. She turns and makes her way across the scratched wooden floor.
&
The End