~Disclaimer; you know it. I know it. So not mine...~
~What Chloe did during 'Nighthawks'. The middle-eight to 'Bedtime Story'. I don't do songfics, but rather a lot of David Gray was playing while I wrote this.~
Someone to Watch Over Me
1.Pictures of You
With the whole world to choose from, I found myself heading for this cold, damp, small country. There are places that I want to see, but I don't want to see them alone. And I am alone.
I wasn't always. Back home, I left a man. I needed to find my feet, find out who I was. And he withdrew, didn't try and dissuade me. We had drifted, couldn't find a way back. Somehow, we ended up saying good-bye, and I flew away.
~picture 1# a young woman sits at table, looking a little small and lost. an airport? somewhere busy. she has a guide-book in one hand, a cardboard cup in the other.~
Our first fight.
"I -can't- take the LNN job. I'll never know if I got it as Lex Luthor's girlfriend or not."
Now Lex thinks I'm ashamed of him. Can't explain to him that I feel my identity has been swallowed up in his.
Dream job...on the other side of the world. Overseas desk of the Planet, in London. Life sucks. But Lex has been so quiet lately.
What did I expect him to do? Beg me not to go? Say something, at least. Instead, his face closes in on itself, in a way it hasn't done for years.
"You can't turn this down." Looks into my eyes. "Take it. I'm happy for you." And that is the only time he's ever lied to me.
Patch the fight. There's a desperation to his love-making that is so unlike the tender Lex that I know. And in the morning, he's already gone to work.
I'm set to drive to the air-port, when the car screeches up. We barely say two dozen words to each other. And when I look back from the gate, he's already walking for the car-park.
It wasn't until I landed that I found that I had lost the little ring that he gave me. It wasn't an engagement ring, just a little worn silver band that we found in a second-hand store one weekend. I loved it nearly as much as I loved him. I tore the room apart looking for it, and then when I realised that it had gone, I cried for about three hours.
Days pass, and it goes beyond the point where we can call each other.
***
~picture 2# intent at a screen, busy office around her.~
~picture 3# buying a magazine from a kiosk. anonymous glass and steel of the docklands behind her.~
~picture 4# in a bookshop, browsing in the crime fiction.~
~picture 5# walking along a street, looking up at a big gothic building, instantly recognisable from newscasts, clock-tower and all.~
~picture 6# being a tourist at the tower of london. freaked out by a raven.~
Ravens were the messengers of the Norse god, Odin. Thought and Memory, who flew the world to bring him news. I wonder if news of me ever makes its way back to that office? I suspect so.
I don't know what makes me think this. Paranoia? Or knowing him as I do?
I love Charing Cross Road. All the bookshops. And Covent Garden. And Leicester Square...
***
~picture 7# spinning round on the top of primrose hill, arms outstretched, with the london skyline behind her. silly woman.~
Spinning round on top of the highest ground I can find. I miss the open sky of home. Everything here is on a smaller scale, fields, buildings, even the sky. Five t.v channels, and paying for your local calls. They drive on the wrong side of the road, the beer tastes wrong, and it never seems to stop raining. Their sports are bizarre - cricket? Yet, somehow, I like it. One little anonymous American.
***
Another clipping for the wall; "A breakthrough in nerve regeneration technology at Cadmus - Dr Bernard Klein had this to say to reporters today..."
Not quite the Wall of Weird. I tell myself it's because my Dad is Regional Executive for the Mid-West. All sorts of clippings - medical research, financial reports, a few society pieces. Pieces of home, pulled out of newspapers and magazines, covering the old paint of my living-room wall. Letters up there, too, and photos, and postcards from round the world. (One from Whitney, of all people, who ran into Clark in some out of the way spot.) Clark outside some office block, somewhere hot - he's been world-hopping, working on different papers, building up a portfolio. A letter with this one - been taught to dance properly, now, so he doesn't look 'like a frog on a hotplate' anymore.
I used to find that telescope of Clark's creepy. Lana going about her life with his eyes on her. Then we had the whole spycam horror. This isn't tacky or intrusive, just a suspicion. A hope.
~picture 8# staring up at the stars out of her window, smiling softly.~
It becomes a game.
Looking out into the night. Smile at the sky. Blow a kiss to the stars. Just in case.
***
~picture 9# the underground, stalking through the crowds like a small menacing bat.~
A picture in a magazine from home - two rich socialites at a charity function. Little gossipy piece on who was seeing who, speculation on who would get diamonds soon. I buy the magazine, simply so that I can amuse myself by defacing said picture. Leave the ripped up pieces in a bin.
I hate the Underground. I am in no mood to be messed about tonight. When the man grabs my bag, I react on instinct. Shriek abuse at him so loudly that he stops in surprise, and I grab my property back, stalk off before my brain catches up with what I just did.
***
Mad frenzy of destruction - every picture down off the wall. Time to move on with my life.
Possessive bastard. Just because he couldn't control me...
***
~ picture 10# coming out of the cinema, arm in arm with a man. (this photo is rather creased, as if it had been gripped violently.)~
~picture 11# (held together with tape.) kissing in a doorway.~
~What Chloe did during 'Nighthawks'. The middle-eight to 'Bedtime Story'. I don't do songfics, but rather a lot of David Gray was playing while I wrote this.~
Someone to Watch Over Me
1.Pictures of You
With the whole world to choose from, I found myself heading for this cold, damp, small country. There are places that I want to see, but I don't want to see them alone. And I am alone.
I wasn't always. Back home, I left a man. I needed to find my feet, find out who I was. And he withdrew, didn't try and dissuade me. We had drifted, couldn't find a way back. Somehow, we ended up saying good-bye, and I flew away.
~picture 1# a young woman sits at table, looking a little small and lost. an airport? somewhere busy. she has a guide-book in one hand, a cardboard cup in the other.~
Our first fight.
"I -can't- take the LNN job. I'll never know if I got it as Lex Luthor's girlfriend or not."
Now Lex thinks I'm ashamed of him. Can't explain to him that I feel my identity has been swallowed up in his.
Dream job...on the other side of the world. Overseas desk of the Planet, in London. Life sucks. But Lex has been so quiet lately.
What did I expect him to do? Beg me not to go? Say something, at least. Instead, his face closes in on itself, in a way it hasn't done for years.
"You can't turn this down." Looks into my eyes. "Take it. I'm happy for you." And that is the only time he's ever lied to me.
Patch the fight. There's a desperation to his love-making that is so unlike the tender Lex that I know. And in the morning, he's already gone to work.
I'm set to drive to the air-port, when the car screeches up. We barely say two dozen words to each other. And when I look back from the gate, he's already walking for the car-park.
It wasn't until I landed that I found that I had lost the little ring that he gave me. It wasn't an engagement ring, just a little worn silver band that we found in a second-hand store one weekend. I loved it nearly as much as I loved him. I tore the room apart looking for it, and then when I realised that it had gone, I cried for about three hours.
Days pass, and it goes beyond the point where we can call each other.
***
~picture 2# intent at a screen, busy office around her.~
~picture 3# buying a magazine from a kiosk. anonymous glass and steel of the docklands behind her.~
~picture 4# in a bookshop, browsing in the crime fiction.~
~picture 5# walking along a street, looking up at a big gothic building, instantly recognisable from newscasts, clock-tower and all.~
~picture 6# being a tourist at the tower of london. freaked out by a raven.~
Ravens were the messengers of the Norse god, Odin. Thought and Memory, who flew the world to bring him news. I wonder if news of me ever makes its way back to that office? I suspect so.
I don't know what makes me think this. Paranoia? Or knowing him as I do?
I love Charing Cross Road. All the bookshops. And Covent Garden. And Leicester Square...
***
~picture 7# spinning round on the top of primrose hill, arms outstretched, with the london skyline behind her. silly woman.~
Spinning round on top of the highest ground I can find. I miss the open sky of home. Everything here is on a smaller scale, fields, buildings, even the sky. Five t.v channels, and paying for your local calls. They drive on the wrong side of the road, the beer tastes wrong, and it never seems to stop raining. Their sports are bizarre - cricket? Yet, somehow, I like it. One little anonymous American.
***
Another clipping for the wall; "A breakthrough in nerve regeneration technology at Cadmus - Dr Bernard Klein had this to say to reporters today..."
Not quite the Wall of Weird. I tell myself it's because my Dad is Regional Executive for the Mid-West. All sorts of clippings - medical research, financial reports, a few society pieces. Pieces of home, pulled out of newspapers and magazines, covering the old paint of my living-room wall. Letters up there, too, and photos, and postcards from round the world. (One from Whitney, of all people, who ran into Clark in some out of the way spot.) Clark outside some office block, somewhere hot - he's been world-hopping, working on different papers, building up a portfolio. A letter with this one - been taught to dance properly, now, so he doesn't look 'like a frog on a hotplate' anymore.
I used to find that telescope of Clark's creepy. Lana going about her life with his eyes on her. Then we had the whole spycam horror. This isn't tacky or intrusive, just a suspicion. A hope.
~picture 8# staring up at the stars out of her window, smiling softly.~
It becomes a game.
Looking out into the night. Smile at the sky. Blow a kiss to the stars. Just in case.
***
~picture 9# the underground, stalking through the crowds like a small menacing bat.~
A picture in a magazine from home - two rich socialites at a charity function. Little gossipy piece on who was seeing who, speculation on who would get diamonds soon. I buy the magazine, simply so that I can amuse myself by defacing said picture. Leave the ripped up pieces in a bin.
I hate the Underground. I am in no mood to be messed about tonight. When the man grabs my bag, I react on instinct. Shriek abuse at him so loudly that he stops in surprise, and I grab my property back, stalk off before my brain catches up with what I just did.
***
Mad frenzy of destruction - every picture down off the wall. Time to move on with my life.
Possessive bastard. Just because he couldn't control me...
***
~ picture 10# coming out of the cinema, arm in arm with a man. (this photo is rather creased, as if it had been gripped violently.)~
~picture 11# (held together with tape.) kissing in a doorway.~