Fic: Shattered Picket Fence | STM/SIII/SR | Lana/Brad, Lana/Richard | PG-13 | 1/1
Title: With Fortune's Hand II: Four Relationships They Wished They Could Forget: Shattered Picket Fence
Fandom: Superman Movieverse (STM, SIII, SR)
Pairing: Lana/Brad, Lana/Richard, (side Clark/Lois, past Lana/Don & Lana/Clark)
Rating: PG-13 (R if you count a single f-bomb)
Word Count: 1,443
Prompt: For the Superman Movieverse Pairings Challenge: Smallville, Shatter, Mistake
Summary: On the way to Jenny McCoy's party, Lana gets a rude awakening.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own it all. I own nothing. Darnit!
Author's Notes/Warning: Potentially triggery for stupid, verbally abusive boyfriends. First fic in the second part of the series. Set during Lana's senior year of HS, and twenty years later.
Shattered Picket Fence
“I thought you said we were going to Jenny McCoy's party?” Lana started, sitting up straight in her seat as Brad parked his Firebird on the dirt pull-off next to the stream that skirted several farms on the outskirts of town. As far as make-out points went, it left a lot to be desired, but it was secluded enough for the purposes of overzealous teenagers, and the hair on the back of Lana's neck stood on end at the mere thought of it; despite expectations befitting her status head of the squad, she just wasn't that kind of girl.
Brad only pouted at her. “It's just a little detour. Come on. We've got plenty of time. Maybe show up fashionably late?” he finished with a suggestively raised eyebrow.
Lana blew a breath out her nose and scowled at him in return, crossing her arms over her chest. “I'd really just rather go to the party.”
An incredulous look passed over her boyfriend's face as he turned to face her fully, a knee up on the seat and his hand gripping her headrest. “Geez, it's not like I'm gonna force you or anything. I just thought we could fool around a little while we have the chance,” he finished with a shrug. “Nothin' serious.”
Nothin' serious.
“Right. Come on, we've been down this road before, Brad.” God, but they'd been down that road enough for Lana to know all her lines by heart. She'd made her wishes clear as crystal from the get-go: slow and steady, nothing serious until college. She didn't want to wind up like Cyndi Dalton, knocked up, kicked out, married, working for just over minimum wage at the Buy-n-Bag at seventeen, pregnant again and living with hepatitis at eighteen. No way. Not when she had her whole life ahead of her, a career. And not unless she wanted to keep tinkering in her mom's sewing room for the rest of her life rather than do something real. It just wasn't worth it. She wasn't stupid, and Brad darn well knew it.
At least, she'd hoped he'd have gotten the message by now, but it was starting to look like she'd wasted her efforts.
Shaking his head, he placed a heavy hand on her jeans-clad thigh. “I know, I know. But can you blame me for wanting to make out with my girlfriend a little? I mean, it's been a long year, and we're almost graduated already.” Shifting close, he weaseled his way into her space and kissed her, nuzzling until she let her arms uncross and wrapped them around him.
Of course he had a point, but... but Lana's own brain was turning to jell-o at his deepening kiss. He knew just how to push all her buttons, damn him, the golden god of the football team seducing the head cheerleader. She'd never admit that the idea was, deep down, kind of a fantasy of hers, and she'd certainly never let it become a reality.
Not... not tonight. And not with-
Withdrawing enough to get her hands between them even as Brad slipped his fingers beneath the hem of her sweater, his fingers hot on her skin, she fought for a breath of fresh air. “Brad, c'mon. We've got all summer, and college after that.”
Brad's hand stilled in its path, and he sat back heavily. “And how exactly is college gonna be any different? Huh?” he whined, raking his fingers through his pale blonde hair. “I mean, I'm not some kinda sex-crazed idiot, but, I dunno, don't you think it's about time we got on with things?”
Lana straightened and smoothed down her sweater, tucked her hair behind an ear, and looked out the passenger side window at the darkness. “You know I don't want this yet, Brad. You know I don't want-”
“What, me?” he spat, cutting her off.
Sucking in a gasp at the accusation, she whirled on him. “I never said that,” she shot back in protest, even as everything they'd shared and everything she'd dreamed of flashed before her eyes. Their crowning as King and Queen of the Prom, their victories at the state football and cheerleading championships. Their plans for the fall at KSU, her fashion degree, an estate in upstate New York, two kids, and a dog.
“Please,” he rolled his eyes, leveling a dark look at her. “I've been toeing the line all damn year for you, and you won't even let me cop a feel.”
Alarm bells went off in Lana's head at that, all those illusions shattering as sure as they'd been hammered to death.
“I'm not as dumb as you seem to think I am, Lana. Anyone with eyes could see the way you look at Donald fucking White and Clark goddamn Kent.”
“Is that what you seriously think?” she gaped. “God, I can't believe you!”
Poof, all those dreams gone. All her-
A hot spike of shame shot up her spine as she realized that after a point, all those dreams really didn't involve anyone but her, her eventual husband a faceless blur.
“Well, it's true, isn't it?” he sneered, looking away and turning the key into the ignition, the night obviously a bust as far as he was concerned.
“You know what?” she found herself snapping. “Forget it. Forget it all.” Pulling the necklace with his class ring off over her head, she flung it at him, then grabbed the door handle and wrenched it open. “Goodnight, Brad.”
A hard slam of the door behind her as she stepped out to meet the fresh night air, and Lana shivered, turning to head up the road on foot, three miles to go feeling like nothing with her convictions powering her steps. She should've known, should've listened to her friends way back last fall when they insisted she was better than him, told her he gave them the creeps, and wondered why she hadn't gone out with Don instead. How his true colors had completely escaped her was a total mystery.
But hindsight was pretty useless now, with Brad getting out of the car behind her to shout after her, “Fine then! You just walk all the way back to town! See if I care! And you can forget about this summer and the fall and all that other crap. Ungrateful bitch.”
Another slam, and the Firebird roared past her on the road, kicking up dust in its wake.
Coughing and waving the cloud away, she squinted as the taillights disappeared into the distance, leaving her in the semi-darkness. A breeze swept over her face, and she lifted her chin, silently cursing Brad, Don, the whole lot of them. Righteous anger was her best friend, and all she needed to carry her home.
~*~*~
Walking into the Smallville High gymnasium twenty years later, her second husband on her arm and their very good friends, Clark and Lois, just behind them, Lana scanned the room. Their class's twenty-year reunion looked to be about as tacky as expected, cheap decorations and hand-painted banner all present, and most of their classmates looked about as aged as she suddenly felt in the room where she'd won Prom Queen and danced the spotlight dance with-
Brad.
A spike of seething hatred ran up her spine at the sight of him hanging out by the punchbowl, 'jack-ass' seemingly written all over him in his moth-eaten suit and stained tie, the anger and shame of that night suddenly as clear as if it was yesterday, and she couldn't stop herself from moving an inch closer to her husband, stopping short and reaching for his hand instinctively.
Richard gripped back back reassuringly, and Clark's hand clasped over her shoulder for a brief squeeze of understanding.
But that horrible break-up was so long ago, a lifetime away, and where Brad had stagnated in his go-nowhere, do-nothing life, Lana had made a name and a career for herself, had helped build a family with two sons and three unofficial step-children. Sure, she'd made mistakes along the way, but those hadn't stopped her. She hadn't taken her business to the top of the fashion world by letting a few stumbles hold her back, hadn't built her second marriage out of deference to somebody else's wishes, and she wasn't about to wilt at the first glimpse of the selfish jerk she'd once been naïve enough to call her boyfriend. She was better, smarter, and stronger than that.
Straightening and gathering herself up, she pushed forward, head held high, and breezed past the garbage to the center of the room. She might not ever be able to forget the way he'd treated her in the end-and in a way, she was grateful for the wake-up call-but damned if she would let him steal her dignity. Not then, not now, not ever.
~*~*~
Fandom: Superman Movieverse (STM, SIII, SR)
Pairing: Lana/Brad, Lana/Richard, (side Clark/Lois, past Lana/Don & Lana/Clark)
Rating: PG-13 (R if you count a single f-bomb)
Word Count: 1,443
Prompt: For the Superman Movieverse Pairings Challenge: Smallville, Shatter, Mistake
Summary: On the way to Jenny McCoy's party, Lana gets a rude awakening.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own it all. I own nothing. Darnit!
Author's Notes/Warning: Potentially triggery for stupid, verbally abusive boyfriends. First fic in the second part of the series. Set during Lana's senior year of HS, and twenty years later.
Shattered Picket Fence
“I thought you said we were going to Jenny McCoy's party?” Lana started, sitting up straight in her seat as Brad parked his Firebird on the dirt pull-off next to the stream that skirted several farms on the outskirts of town. As far as make-out points went, it left a lot to be desired, but it was secluded enough for the purposes of overzealous teenagers, and the hair on the back of Lana's neck stood on end at the mere thought of it; despite expectations befitting her status head of the squad, she just wasn't that kind of girl.
Brad only pouted at her. “It's just a little detour. Come on. We've got plenty of time. Maybe show up fashionably late?” he finished with a suggestively raised eyebrow.
Lana blew a breath out her nose and scowled at him in return, crossing her arms over her chest. “I'd really just rather go to the party.”
An incredulous look passed over her boyfriend's face as he turned to face her fully, a knee up on the seat and his hand gripping her headrest. “Geez, it's not like I'm gonna force you or anything. I just thought we could fool around a little while we have the chance,” he finished with a shrug. “Nothin' serious.”
Nothin' serious.
“Right. Come on, we've been down this road before, Brad.” God, but they'd been down that road enough for Lana to know all her lines by heart. She'd made her wishes clear as crystal from the get-go: slow and steady, nothing serious until college. She didn't want to wind up like Cyndi Dalton, knocked up, kicked out, married, working for just over minimum wage at the Buy-n-Bag at seventeen, pregnant again and living with hepatitis at eighteen. No way. Not when she had her whole life ahead of her, a career. And not unless she wanted to keep tinkering in her mom's sewing room for the rest of her life rather than do something real. It just wasn't worth it. She wasn't stupid, and Brad darn well knew it.
At least, she'd hoped he'd have gotten the message by now, but it was starting to look like she'd wasted her efforts.
Shaking his head, he placed a heavy hand on her jeans-clad thigh. “I know, I know. But can you blame me for wanting to make out with my girlfriend a little? I mean, it's been a long year, and we're almost graduated already.” Shifting close, he weaseled his way into her space and kissed her, nuzzling until she let her arms uncross and wrapped them around him.
Of course he had a point, but... but Lana's own brain was turning to jell-o at his deepening kiss. He knew just how to push all her buttons, damn him, the golden god of the football team seducing the head cheerleader. She'd never admit that the idea was, deep down, kind of a fantasy of hers, and she'd certainly never let it become a reality.
Not... not tonight. And not with-
Withdrawing enough to get her hands between them even as Brad slipped his fingers beneath the hem of her sweater, his fingers hot on her skin, she fought for a breath of fresh air. “Brad, c'mon. We've got all summer, and college after that.”
Brad's hand stilled in its path, and he sat back heavily. “And how exactly is college gonna be any different? Huh?” he whined, raking his fingers through his pale blonde hair. “I mean, I'm not some kinda sex-crazed idiot, but, I dunno, don't you think it's about time we got on with things?”
Lana straightened and smoothed down her sweater, tucked her hair behind an ear, and looked out the passenger side window at the darkness. “You know I don't want this yet, Brad. You know I don't want-”
“What, me?” he spat, cutting her off.
Sucking in a gasp at the accusation, she whirled on him. “I never said that,” she shot back in protest, even as everything they'd shared and everything she'd dreamed of flashed before her eyes. Their crowning as King and Queen of the Prom, their victories at the state football and cheerleading championships. Their plans for the fall at KSU, her fashion degree, an estate in upstate New York, two kids, and a dog.
“Please,” he rolled his eyes, leveling a dark look at her. “I've been toeing the line all damn year for you, and you won't even let me cop a feel.”
Alarm bells went off in Lana's head at that, all those illusions shattering as sure as they'd been hammered to death.
“I'm not as dumb as you seem to think I am, Lana. Anyone with eyes could see the way you look at Donald fucking White and Clark goddamn Kent.”
“Is that what you seriously think?” she gaped. “God, I can't believe you!”
Poof, all those dreams gone. All her-
A hot spike of shame shot up her spine as she realized that after a point, all those dreams really didn't involve anyone but her, her eventual husband a faceless blur.
“Well, it's true, isn't it?” he sneered, looking away and turning the key into the ignition, the night obviously a bust as far as he was concerned.
“You know what?” she found herself snapping. “Forget it. Forget it all.” Pulling the necklace with his class ring off over her head, she flung it at him, then grabbed the door handle and wrenched it open. “Goodnight, Brad.”
A hard slam of the door behind her as she stepped out to meet the fresh night air, and Lana shivered, turning to head up the road on foot, three miles to go feeling like nothing with her convictions powering her steps. She should've known, should've listened to her friends way back last fall when they insisted she was better than him, told her he gave them the creeps, and wondered why she hadn't gone out with Don instead. How his true colors had completely escaped her was a total mystery.
But hindsight was pretty useless now, with Brad getting out of the car behind her to shout after her, “Fine then! You just walk all the way back to town! See if I care! And you can forget about this summer and the fall and all that other crap. Ungrateful bitch.”
Another slam, and the Firebird roared past her on the road, kicking up dust in its wake.
Coughing and waving the cloud away, she squinted as the taillights disappeared into the distance, leaving her in the semi-darkness. A breeze swept over her face, and she lifted her chin, silently cursing Brad, Don, the whole lot of them. Righteous anger was her best friend, and all she needed to carry her home.
~*~*~
Walking into the Smallville High gymnasium twenty years later, her second husband on her arm and their very good friends, Clark and Lois, just behind them, Lana scanned the room. Their class's twenty-year reunion looked to be about as tacky as expected, cheap decorations and hand-painted banner all present, and most of their classmates looked about as aged as she suddenly felt in the room where she'd won Prom Queen and danced the spotlight dance with-
Brad.
A spike of seething hatred ran up her spine at the sight of him hanging out by the punchbowl, 'jack-ass' seemingly written all over him in his moth-eaten suit and stained tie, the anger and shame of that night suddenly as clear as if it was yesterday, and she couldn't stop herself from moving an inch closer to her husband, stopping short and reaching for his hand instinctively.
Richard gripped back back reassuringly, and Clark's hand clasped over her shoulder for a brief squeeze of understanding.
But that horrible break-up was so long ago, a lifetime away, and where Brad had stagnated in his go-nowhere, do-nothing life, Lana had made a name and a career for herself, had helped build a family with two sons and three unofficial step-children. Sure, she'd made mistakes along the way, but those hadn't stopped her. She hadn't taken her business to the top of the fashion world by letting a few stumbles hold her back, hadn't built her second marriage out of deference to somebody else's wishes, and she wasn't about to wilt at the first glimpse of the selfish jerk she'd once been naïve enough to call her boyfriend. She was better, smarter, and stronger than that.
Straightening and gathering herself up, she pushed forward, head held high, and breezed past the garbage to the center of the room. She might not ever be able to forget the way he'd treated her in the end-and in a way, she was grateful for the wake-up call-but damned if she would let him steal her dignity. Not then, not now, not ever.
~*~*~