Title: Basketball Tuesdays (4/?)
Author: elgatoneun
Rating: PG-13 for slash, m/m interaction (no sex)
Pairing: Clark/Whitney
Summary: Whitney and Clark talk about things
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me, at all.
Spoilers: Everything up to and including Kinetic.
Feedback: Would be appreciated. Please let me know what you think. Should I continue?
Notes: The boys finally talk. Oh, such lovely, lovely angst. I know Whitney is a bit of a drama queen here, but the boy's been through a lot lately. Thanks to Maddie, my wonderful beta. Gotta fix those tenses.
Thunk ……..thunk…..thunk...thunk…clink clank whoosh. The sounds reverberated in Smallville High's cavernous gym. Clark has just seen Whitney Fordman complete an easy lay up. It was very relaxing to watch his lanky figure casually move down the basketball court. Now, Whitney crouched low, dribbling the ball – propelling it between his legs, switching from left hand to right hand and back again.
Hm, how ambidextrous, thought Clark.
Whitney's body unfolded as he sprang up into the air. The ball was released with a flick of the wrist and traveled in a perfect arc towards the basket … swoosh. It was a three-pointer.
"Nice shot."
"Oh, hey, Clark. Thanks." Whitney took a break and brushed the back of his arm against his forehead. While Clark approached him at the sidelines, Whitney bent down and grabbed his water bottle. He tugged the pull-top cap open with his teeth and took a long, deep drink. Clark's gaze focused on Whitney's throat as he swallowed the cool liquid. Suddenly his mouth was feeling a little dry and he wished for something to cool him down too.
"So, how are you Whitney? What have you been doing lately?" Clark asked, the concern evident in his manner.
"Oh, well let's see – last week I almost committed a felony, had my body physiologically altered, and nearly got smashed by an old Chevy" he responded in a wry tone.
Whitney was gifted with a brilliant 1000 mega-watt grin. Wow, his teeth are amazingly white. He could imagine Clark making a fortune as a game show host. Hell, he wouldn't even have to give out prizes, people would fork over money just to be in the studio audience.
"Seriously though, have you felt any side affects or anything? You don't know what those guys put into your body."
Oh, so you care about my body, Clark?
"Well, I've been feeling … I guess my body's felt kind of … squiggly."
"Squiggly?" Clark quirked an eyebrow at him.
"I don't know how to describe it, I feel kind of loose, like a slinky … or when your TV picture is shaky? You know how the vertical wiggles around? That's what it feels like."
"Ahh, "Squiggly", I know of what you speak, young grasshopper" Clark answered in a mock solemn voice, accompanied by the obligatory hand steeple under the chin.
"Funny, Kent. Not everyone has the pretentious vocabulary necessary to write for the Torch."
"Oh, I don't write, not really. I basically turn a story in to Chloe and she mutilates it with the Red Pen of Death. Then I type it up. I type for the paper." A self-deprecating smile appeared on Clark's face.
"Chloe does seem, um, overzealous about the Torch." Whitney offered diplomatically.
"It's her passion. Pete and I keep some of the drafts because you can make pictures out of the editing marks. My favorite is the 'Texas Chainsaw Massacre'. You can actually make out the chainsaw." Now Whitney was the one quirking an eyebrow at him.
"Well, with all that red, the pictures generally turn out to be pretty gruesome, body parts, dead people, stuff like that." Clark shrugged nonchalantly.
"I didn't realize you news types were so bloodthirsty."
"Well, not all of us, I guess, Lana managed to get a one legged duck with a baseball cap. She hasn't slipped over into the dark side yet." Whitney's face became completely devoid of expression. Clark mentally berated himself. Good going, Einstein. Mention the girl you're obsessed with to her boyfriend. Maybe he can give you tips on how to impress her. Maybe he'll just gallantly step aside – right after he tries running you over with his truck.
"I didn't know she was still helping with the paper." Whitney has barely had a chance to see her all week. Granted, he had been avoiding her. He was still ashamed of his behavior and trying to cope with all the drama in his life lately.
"Oh, she's not. She's been really busy trying to get the building up to code for the Grand Opening of the Talon." The words babbled out, as he tried to appease Whitney. He wanted to get back to the genial camaraderie they had before he had stupidly uttered Lana's name. See, I'm nice, "non-threatening-to-your-relationship" Clark. That it was the unfortunate truth galled him.
"Yeah, she mentioned how 'helpful' you've been with that, too." Whitney's penetrating gaze made him want to squirm. It wasn't accusatory, per se, more like a challenge recognized and accepted. The gloves were off.
"Well, I kinda encouraged her so … and it's a lot of responsibility, Lex expects …" Clark stammered out what he could, but there wasn't anything acceptable he could say. He was making time with Lana. He knew it; Whitney knew it.
"I see." Whitney looked thoughtful, as if he was contemplating something.
"Do you want to play some one-on-one?" The abrupt change in topic caught Clark off guard and he took a moment to process what had been said.
"Uh, sorry Whitney, I don't …"
"Fine, sure, forget it." Whitney knew the anger and, let's face it, disappointment that he felt was way out of proportion in light of the situation, but he couldn't help it. He didn't take rejection well. In fact, he sucked at it.
"Look, it's just …" Clark didn't know what to say.
"I said it's fine, Clark."
"Whitney …" He didn't want him to go like this. What do you want from me? Why do you even want to hang out with me, Whitney?
"I don't get it, Clark. You saved my life last week, you show all this concern with how I'm doing, but you can't stand to be around me? You want to be buddies, but you want to steal my girl? You blow hot and cold. Just tell me how you want it to be because all this back and forth is driving me insane!" Wow. Clark's a little stunned. He had no idea that Whitney felt this way.
"I want us to be – friends," Clark said slowly, hesitatingly. He didn't know what he wanted from Whitney. To be friends – or to not be enemies? Enemies was too strong a word. To not be rivals, adversaries. Was that it?
Whitney snorted. "Yeah, I can tell how eager you are to be my friend. Next time you use that line, you might want to try that sincere, earnest thing you usually do. It makes it more believable."
"Does it occur to you that maybe I just don't want to play basketball? It's not like you've asked me to do anything else with you." Clark was trying to read Whitney's expression, searching for some hint of understanding. All he saw was belligerence and exasperation, or maybe it was resignation.
"No, it doesn't. I know … " Whitney paused to take a deep breath, "I know I can't make up for Homecoming – the scarecrow – for what I did to you. You have every right to hate me, I just don't know what you want from me." I want to make it up to you Clark. I don't want you to hate me. He took another deep breath.
"Do you want Lana? Is that what it's going to take?" Whitney's voice had an urgent, ragged quality to it.
"Geez, Whitney! No – look, I let that scarecrow thing go already, okay? And Lana's not some toy to be traded off." Clark took a moment to organize his thoughts. The conversation had gotten too heated. Too many things were going through his mind; things he didn't want to delve into too deeply.
"I know that my friendship with Lana bothers you. And – I admit that sometimes, I wish it could be more , but I respect what you have with her. I'm not trying to take her away from you." Crystal blue eyes implored him. Whitney could let it go right now, take the olive branch. He could go on his merry way with Lana, and maybe he and Clark might eventually be friends, the type of friends that hung out and did stuff, but never talked. The kind of friends he has right now, the kind of friends he realized he didn't even like much. Because sometimes being with them made him feel even more isolated and alone.
"Clark, this has nothing to do with Lana. This is between us."
The look in Whitney's eyes made Clark want to turn away. This tension, the whole dynamic, between him and Whitney had been brewing for some time, but he wasn't ready to confront it yet. He didn't want to do any more questioning, any more soul searching. Why couldn't he be a normal teenager for once? He resented Whitney for pushing. Why couldn't he just leave it alone?
"Look Whitney, there isn't anything … I don't know what you're talking about, okay?" Just let it go. Please.
"Why did you save me, Clark? Why do you keep trying to help me? And then drop me? Is it like a game to you or something?" Whitney was trying hard to keep his voice neutral, but he felt desperate and pathetically hopeful all at once. Because any attention from Clark was, not wonderful exactly, but … validating. Clark was the one person who had every right to hate him, but ironically he was the only person Whitney could depend on, that he felt he could talk to.
"What are you talking about?" Clark was genuinely bewildered at the depth of emotion coming from Whitney.
"You save me, Clark, from my truck, from Wade and those guys, from myself even. You help me with Lana – God, she was ready to kick me to the curb. And I can talk to you … about my dad, the store, even the damn scholarship I lost." Whitney ran his hand through his hair, pushing his bangs off his forehead.
"But you also tried to take Lana to that concert. You attack me at the Tibbet place. And at the plant, I don't get it, we could have taken that shaky guy down. It's like you couldn't stand to help me. One day you want to be my best friend, the next day you're my worst enemy or something."
Clark was amazed. He'd never thought about how his actions might appear to Whitney, all he had ever been worried about was keeping his secret. What was even more amazing was how much Whitney seemed to have thought about their … relationship? It was puzzling. It's almost as if …
"Do you remember the night of the museum exhibition?" Whitney's wistful inquiry interrupted Clark's chain of thought. He's a little irritated, he needed time to work this out. But Whitney continued on without waiting for Clark's reply.
"I saw you talking to Lex Luthor, and it was so clear, you were just as uncomfortable as I was. Lana said she was going to bring you over so that we could stand tall in hick solidarity or something like that. I waited for you to come by the table, I wanted to apologize to you. I saw you leave out the front instead. Then when we heard the commotion and saw that mangled bus ... " Whitney's voice broke a little.
"I thought that you were … that you might be … but then you weren't. I don't know, but I thought, wow, you'd rather be almost hit by a bus than share a table with me. It kind of drove that point home." Whitney grimaced.
"That doesn't make any sense, there's no way I could have known that a bus …" the flow of words dried up as Clark looked into Whitney's face. Really looked … because it was there. Longing and desire. For him. All these little slights and perceptions, seemingly processed and analyzed over and over again. It was the type of thing he did with Lana, taking the smallest bits of conversation and replaying it in his mind trying to uncover any hint of interest on her part. That was what Whitney had done with him. Life just got weirder every day in this town.
Whitney realized the moment Clark got it. He could either face the truth or he could try to pretend he didn't feel the way he did about Clark. He could try to play it off, but, no, he won't – he wanted Clark, craved his presence. He'd rather know one way or the other.
Clark didn't know how to proceed. He was surprised – but not as much as he imagines he should be. On some level he must have known, must have recognized Whitney's interest in him. He's not repulsed … he was flattered and a little intrigued, maybe. Wow, Whitney, who had Lana, was interested him. He was Whitney's Lana, no that didn't make sense, he was Whitney's Clark, whoa, no, he's his own Clark. Argh!
"Did you just growl at me?" Whitney, who'd been prepared for any multitude of responses from Clark, did not expect that one.
"Um … no?" And Whitney had to laugh at Clark's sheepish, innocent "Who, me?" expression. It was too adorable, even though he would never, ever, under-threat-of-death-and-dismemberment say so to Clark. He was still a jock, for God's sake.
Somehow, the tension had dissipated. Clark didn't know how he felt about Whitney, or even how he felt about Whitney's feelings for him. But, he did know that he wanted Whitney as a friend at least.
"Hey Whitney, I've got some time, how about a game now?" Clark offered what he hoped was a friendly, but not too friendly, smile.
"Sure." It wasn't exactly the response he had hoped for but Whitney would take whatever he could get. For now.