Note: This is a Clark/Lana story, told from Lana's point of view. A lot of people don't like her, I know, but I wanted to give her a fair shake since I think the writers aren't doing the right thing by her.
The Shell by Karen Rane
*
The only thing harder than living up to the ideals of others was living up to the ideals of the dead.
The dead were never wrong, they rested in perfection from the moment of their departure. Eternally they hover above the consciences of those they leave behind, somewhere beyond their feeble grasp forcing them to make little jumps through life as if to try and catch the dead's approval, like a child after an errant balloon.
It's a useless task because the dead are too perfect to speak. Too perfect to tell you exactly what you're doing wrong, even what you might be doing right, so it's better not to take too many chances. Too many risks.
Especially if the dead are your parents and they've been gone for the better part of your sixteen years of life.
Lana Lang knew her responsibility all too well and it weighed on her like kisses made of lead. Heavy and poisonous -- utterly irresistible.
Her mother was the soul of charity and compassion, her father the epitome of strength and goodness. As a couple, they alone knew true and perfect love, the kind of love that never argued, never disagreed, never looked at one another wished, not even for a single second, that someone else was standing in their spouse's place.
They were perfect parents, never hating the endless late nights with the baby, never crying as they rocked her while she screamed, never once wishing they hadn't had a child so young.
She was the product of their profound love and Lana wondered if she ever, in her little lisping baby whispers, told either one of her parents that she loved them. Worshiped them.
That she wanted them to love her back, every minute of every day, with everything she was.
But her parents were dead now and if Lana wanted the dead to love her, perfection was the only way.
So Lana Lang set boundaries within herself -- boundaries tied with ropes held by a pair of angels that flew in circles around her bed at night, pulling just a little bit tighter every time.
She would be as kind and charitable as her mother was. She would make her father proud of her. She'd be the perfect student, the ideal girlfriend ... the best of the best.
She would never, ever, be bad.
And she would wear her flawlessness like the shell of an oyster -- hard, impenetrable and shut against all intrusion.
So no one would ever see the crooked pearl that lay inside.
*
The Talon's afternoon crowd was an odd mix of people. From the local businessmen (Mr. Jackson liked to entertain prospective purchasers of his like-new used cars there) to the occasional unofficial teachers' meeting (Lana never knew that Mrs. Fischer smoked) to the students that had fewer restrictions at home than the others did.
She didn't know why Clark Kent would be one of those students, but there he was. Faithfully, every day at 3:15 PM -- he had to be the Talon's most loyal customer.
Even if he did nurse his single cup of coffee the entire time of his stay.
"No chores today?" Lana kidded Clark as she handed him a large red mug. It was a little joke between them, one of only a few. Their other bonds consisted of things more serious, not really lending themselves to casual conversation.
Bonds like saving her life and ... and ... other things.
"Yeah, but they don't take that long." Clark accepted the mug with a grin. "Mom and Dad are good like that. They don't care when it gets done as long as it gets done."
"That's just like working here." Lana leaned forward with her elbows against the counter. "I could let it go, but that's just more work for tomorrow."
Clark's eyes narrowed over the rim of his cup. "Do you need help with anything? I can ..."
Lana laughed. "No. I'm the soul of efficiency, didn't you know? The mugs are washed, the payroll's in Nell's hands, the espresso machine only explodes after closing ... I've got it -so- covered."
A little sarcasm there, but Clark didn't seem to notice. "Okay, but if you ever need help ..."
"You'll be there. I know." She tucked her fingers between his and squeezed lightly. "You always are, Clark."
He stared at her fingers as she slowly drew them away. Heat filled her cheeks and she looked to the door as it swung open. "Whitney," she called out and waved, grimacing to see half the football team troop in behind him, like soldiers following their general.
Whitney sauntered up to the counter and leaned over for his kiss. She dutifully provided it and felt her jaw clenched when he threw Clark a disdainful look before acknowledging his presence.
"Kent."
"Whitney." Clark took another slurp from his mug and slid down from the stool. "Excuse me."
Lana watched as Clark waved to Chloe Sullivan and Pete Ross who'd just entered as they always did, arguing loudly. The urge to run out from behind the counter and join them, maybe even start up a fun fight with them nagged at her, somewhere in the back of her mind, but she ignored it and concentrated on Whitney instead.
"So, how's your Dad?" she asked. "Did the test results come back yet?"
"Not yet," he said gruffly. He bit his lip and looked away and Lana knew that this topic was off-limits at this particular time. She was getting good at reading her boyfriend's moods, becoming more flexible by the moment.
Pretty soon she'd be able to twist herself into a pretzel, one that was perfectly made to Whitney's liking. "Okay," she replied amiably. She changed the subject. "I can't wait for this weekend. Two whole days off. Nell is a doll to cover for me, isn't she?"
Whitney blew out a long breath. "Yeah. That's what I wanted to talk to you about, babe."
Oh, she thought. The "babe" word had once again made its inevitable appearance. Lana knew what that meant and she inwardly steeled herself, the shell around her hardening to a point where to touch her would cause a crack -- just one more to add to the many.
She swallowed, nodded and kept smiling. "You have other plans?"
He shuffled guiltily. "I kind of promised the guys ..."
"The guys?" Lana interrupted. "Not your Dad?"
"No," he said, quickly becoming defensive. "But you know I need some downtime from all of that."
Lana didn't mention her own needs because that would have been something less than ... perfect. "Don't I qualify as downtime?" she asked quietly.
Whitney rolled his eyes, whether in helplessness or frustration, it was hard to tell. "You're much more than that, babe."
"Don't call me 'babe' ... please," she added quickly. "Just tell me what you're doing so I can make other plans. My schedule is really tight between school and the Talon, so I've got to make the best out of the free time I have. This weekend may be the last chance I get for a while."
Whitney blinked. "You're still going to take this weekend off. Even if I can't make it?"
"It's not like I have a choice." She snatched the receipts from the large upright nail used to keep them in place. "I'm depending on the kindness of my aunt, Whitney. I made a commitment to The Talon and I can't flake out in my first month."
"Why can't you ask for next weekend?"
"Because I shouldn't have even asked for THIS one!" she snapped, drawing in short breaths through her nose. "So just tell me what's up and maybe we can meet ..."
"Forget it." He waved her off. "I've got to go."
"Okay. Fine. Good," Lana said, keeping her breaths even. In ... out. In ... out. There was nothing she couldn't control, even if it were biology itself.
He stormed away and she counted the receipts, making a small notation in pencil at their corners. Slid out of her apron and quietly asked Amy to watch the counter for ten minutes.
Walked over to Clark's table where his head was bowed down between Chloe and Pete's, all three of them involved in their usual secret meeting of the minds.
"Mind if I join you?" she asked, smiling.
All three of them jumped, as if caught in a conspiracy. Clark quickly shook his head. "No," he said immediately, pulling out the remaining chair for her. "Please."
Chloe didn't seem quite as welcoming, from the suddenly crossed arms and pinched look on her face but Lana cheerfully ignored it.
She was good at ignoring things. "So what are you guys doing this weekend? And more importantly, can I come?"
Chloe shrugged. "The paper, " she said shortly.
"The lawn," Pete rejoined sadly. "And grandma's birthday party."
Lana turned to Clark. "And you?"
"Nothing," he replied and both his friends' heads whirled around to stare at him. "Not doing a blessed thing."
"But, Clark ... " Chloe began, somewhat angrily.
"Um, Clark, I thought that you ..." Pete interjected weakly.
Clark shook his head. Smiled at Lana and she wondered why she'd never noticed just how straight and white his teeth were. "Nope. Not doing a thing. What did you have in mind, Lana?"
"Not sure yet. Something," she replied, trying not to giggle at the giddy feeling whirling through her stomach. "Something fun."
"I like fun," said Clark cheerfully. "Maybe I can borrow my Dad's truck."
"That would be fantastic. But even if you can't, we'll figure something out." She grinned and marveled at how Clark's face lit up when she did. "As long as it's not school and not here, I'm good to go."
"So am I."
His smile even reaches his eyes, Lana thought. "Then it's a date," she said.
Said somewhat thoughtlessly since Whitney was on the other side of the room after all. But he didn't seem to notice. Or care.
"A date it is then," Clark answered firmly, shaking her hand with exaggerated formality.
Lana laughed then made her way back to the counter, turning her back on Chloe's scowl, Pete's smirk and Clark's brilliant smile while the shell surrounding her settled comfortably back in place, soothed and placated, no longer straining against its natural boundaries.
She had her weekend off and she wouldn't be alone. She would be with Clark -- her erstwhile friend, protector and the boy with hazel eyes that smiled with the rest of him.
What pretty eyes they were.
*
tbc ...
Clark and Lana have their weekend together. Not all is perfect however, much to everyone's distress.
Notes: Comments are welcome, if you care to share them.