It had taken about three hours to get to DC but it felt interminable. The quick drive to the high-speed train to Metropolis, a LexCorp DynamicJet from there, and now the ride to the White House. It was a trip Martha had often taken with Jonathan, but never with her heart beating in her throat like this, never seeing Jonathan unconsciously leaning forward, as if he could push the vehicle to be even a few seconds faster.
She wanted to be there, to see Clark, but a tiny, cowardly part of her wanted never to arrive. If Clark didn't even recognize Lex, what had been happening to him? The fears and worry that routine and time had only crushed down to a tiny space in her heart, rather than eliminating, because they rushed back in a flood, physically sickening in its intensity, carrying her back to those ravaging days after Clark had disappeared.
Those days were enough to draw them all together into the heart of a unit--not just Pete, but Lex as well. After the fear and worry had changed to misery, they needed each other and when resignation set in, all the aching emotions they had shared had woven the two young men so tightly into her life and Jonathan's, as well as each other's, that their lives continued to intertwine. When she had finally told herself that Clark was gone for good--missing for two months and clearly hadn't, as they had planned, used the ship's existence to bargain for his freedom or at least to be allowed to communicate with them--she even wondered if somehow God or the universe had been moved enough to give them even closer ties with Pete, who possessed so many of Clark's dearest qualities, and Lex, who though an adult, was as much in need of a family's love and as eager to return it as the toddler who had found them. Nothing filled the space that Clark had left, but the four of them somehow gave the space enough that it was merely empty, not a vacuum dragging everything else into it.
"Even if he's hurt, at least he's safe now." She realized she'd said it out loud only when she heard the tiny, pleading words, and her husband pulled her closer.
"Where there's life, there's hope," he said, firmly, conviction making it sound not like a cliche but a simple truth. For him, she realized, it was.
***
She hadn't imagined having to wait once they got to the White House; she'd steeled herself to see Clark during those minutes and waiting made her imagination fill with even worse visions. She and Jonathan weren't frequent visitors to the White House but were familiar to the staff and having to be polite, friendly, and calm chafed at her like sandpaper.
It wasn't going any easier for Jonathan, who was pacing up and down, wiping his hands on his jeans every few seconds, his restlessness crackling across the room like static.
By the time Lex, followed closely by Pete, entered, she was ready to scream. Though he automatically smiled in welcome, Pete's face was stiff as he came over to her and she wrapped her arms around him. "It's bad, Martha," he said, quietly. "It's real bad."
***
What frightened her as they followed Arkin down the tunnels was that his face changed from stern expressionlessness to deep pity when Lex explained who they were, though it changed back so quickly she wanted to tell herself she'd just imagined it. Jonathan's hand was as clammy as hers when she took it. The scientist unlocked one last door and she gasped, hand flying to her mouth, as she heard a dull grinding sound as they entered the apartment-like space. It was just a blender, she realized, when a woman who looked like a female counterpart of Arkin looked up and turned it off, a few pieces of fruit still lying on the counter.
"Mrs. Kent, Mr. Kent. He's in there." Pete must have sensed the apprehension that washed over her, as he squeezed her arm. "I was just finishing his dinner."
"That's his dinner?" Jonathan asked, pointing at the blender. His voice came out harshly but the woman ignored it.
"Yes. If we put liquids in his mouth, he swallows, but he won't chew solids." She added, "Yet," but with so little conviction that Martha felt her mouth go dry.
"I want to see him."
"This way." Lex, who had gravitated to Jonathan, was maintaining composure but the crevice from nose to mouth on his face deepened to harshness. A bitterness she hadn't heard for years scraped through his voice. "Any physical contact, by the way, seems to terrify him." He then faltered, "Maybe...maybe it will be different for you." Jonathan put a hand on the younger man's shoulder, and Lex walked, as resolutely as a condemned man, to the door he had indicated.
The familiar, still figure caught at her heart. "He's asleep," she whispered, "Do we...let him?"
"He's not asleep," Arkin answered. She looked at him in disbelief and then circled the bed to see Clark's face. As she knelt and Jonathan joined her, she put a hand to the floor to steady herself. Clark was awake, eyes open, but expressionless, not as though she and Jonathan were strangers, but as though they weren't there.
"Oh, sweetheart," she breathed, reaching out to stroke his cheek but pulling her hand back as she remembered Lex's warning. She turned to look up at the others. "What happened to him?"
***
*the sun shouldn't be so thin like somebody's whispering like water but water won't give life water is water and sun is sun they shouldn't take each other's places now they slip through my fingers like they were never there*
*pushing through the ground underneath and then the plowblade tears into them and before they can grow back the birds eat them but I do grow back and only the eagle so I'm not one of them I'm him I used to know his name*
*it's not there there's nothing there just the sounds of somebody else trying to scream before the next has to come*
*is this because the words said I was supposed to rule words are just shapes and I never wanted to hurt anybody never I didn't want to bring the meteors didn't want to bring death and fire but they came with me anyway*
*please no if I can slip like the water I can go away and be another whispering thing on the other side*
*or are they on this side now*
***
A/N: Well, actually, author's question.
For this, I decided to try to write a fic with a plot, but one in which only about ten percent of the plot action takes place in the present, the rest being flashbacks, narratives, minimally formed thoughts, etc..
Does it work or does it seem disproportionate? Maybe the revealing question is whether or not you were aware of it or if it felt like a normal story unfolding naturally.
And while I've got you here, I decided to aim for making the two Arkins a bit on the enigmatic side rather than fully developed, since he's just the plot device to get Clark where he is and she shares Basil Exposition duties with him (would that make her Basilica?) and they're out of the plot next chapter. Did that work or were they just flat?
She wanted to be there, to see Clark, but a tiny, cowardly part of her wanted never to arrive. If Clark didn't even recognize Lex, what had been happening to him? The fears and worry that routine and time had only crushed down to a tiny space in her heart, rather than eliminating, because they rushed back in a flood, physically sickening in its intensity, carrying her back to those ravaging days after Clark had disappeared.
Those days were enough to draw them all together into the heart of a unit--not just Pete, but Lex as well. After the fear and worry had changed to misery, they needed each other and when resignation set in, all the aching emotions they had shared had woven the two young men so tightly into her life and Jonathan's, as well as each other's, that their lives continued to intertwine. When she had finally told herself that Clark was gone for good--missing for two months and clearly hadn't, as they had planned, used the ship's existence to bargain for his freedom or at least to be allowed to communicate with them--she even wondered if somehow God or the universe had been moved enough to give them even closer ties with Pete, who possessed so many of Clark's dearest qualities, and Lex, who though an adult, was as much in need of a family's love and as eager to return it as the toddler who had found them. Nothing filled the space that Clark had left, but the four of them somehow gave the space enough that it was merely empty, not a vacuum dragging everything else into it.
"Even if he's hurt, at least he's safe now." She realized she'd said it out loud only when she heard the tiny, pleading words, and her husband pulled her closer.
"Where there's life, there's hope," he said, firmly, conviction making it sound not like a cliche but a simple truth. For him, she realized, it was.
***
She hadn't imagined having to wait once they got to the White House; she'd steeled herself to see Clark during those minutes and waiting made her imagination fill with even worse visions. She and Jonathan weren't frequent visitors to the White House but were familiar to the staff and having to be polite, friendly, and calm chafed at her like sandpaper.
It wasn't going any easier for Jonathan, who was pacing up and down, wiping his hands on his jeans every few seconds, his restlessness crackling across the room like static.
By the time Lex, followed closely by Pete, entered, she was ready to scream. Though he automatically smiled in welcome, Pete's face was stiff as he came over to her and she wrapped her arms around him. "It's bad, Martha," he said, quietly. "It's real bad."
***
What frightened her as they followed Arkin down the tunnels was that his face changed from stern expressionlessness to deep pity when Lex explained who they were, though it changed back so quickly she wanted to tell herself she'd just imagined it. Jonathan's hand was as clammy as hers when she took it. The scientist unlocked one last door and she gasped, hand flying to her mouth, as she heard a dull grinding sound as they entered the apartment-like space. It was just a blender, she realized, when a woman who looked like a female counterpart of Arkin looked up and turned it off, a few pieces of fruit still lying on the counter.
"Mrs. Kent, Mr. Kent. He's in there." Pete must have sensed the apprehension that washed over her, as he squeezed her arm. "I was just finishing his dinner."
"That's his dinner?" Jonathan asked, pointing at the blender. His voice came out harshly but the woman ignored it.
"Yes. If we put liquids in his mouth, he swallows, but he won't chew solids." She added, "Yet," but with so little conviction that Martha felt her mouth go dry.
"I want to see him."
"This way." Lex, who had gravitated to Jonathan, was maintaining composure but the crevice from nose to mouth on his face deepened to harshness. A bitterness she hadn't heard for years scraped through his voice. "Any physical contact, by the way, seems to terrify him." He then faltered, "Maybe...maybe it will be different for you." Jonathan put a hand on the younger man's shoulder, and Lex walked, as resolutely as a condemned man, to the door he had indicated.
The familiar, still figure caught at her heart. "He's asleep," she whispered, "Do we...let him?"
"He's not asleep," Arkin answered. She looked at him in disbelief and then circled the bed to see Clark's face. As she knelt and Jonathan joined her, she put a hand to the floor to steady herself. Clark was awake, eyes open, but expressionless, not as though she and Jonathan were strangers, but as though they weren't there.
"Oh, sweetheart," she breathed, reaching out to stroke his cheek but pulling her hand back as she remembered Lex's warning. She turned to look up at the others. "What happened to him?"
***
*the sun shouldn't be so thin like somebody's whispering like water but water won't give life water is water and sun is sun they shouldn't take each other's places now they slip through my fingers like they were never there*
*pushing through the ground underneath and then the plowblade tears into them and before they can grow back the birds eat them but I do grow back and only the eagle so I'm not one of them I'm him I used to know his name*
*it's not there there's nothing there just the sounds of somebody else trying to scream before the next has to come*
*is this because the words said I was supposed to rule words are just shapes and I never wanted to hurt anybody never I didn't want to bring the meteors didn't want to bring death and fire but they came with me anyway*
*please no if I can slip like the water I can go away and be another whispering thing on the other side*
*or are they on this side now*
***
A/N: Well, actually, author's question.
For this, I decided to try to write a fic with a plot, but one in which only about ten percent of the plot action takes place in the present, the rest being flashbacks, narratives, minimally formed thoughts, etc..
Does it work or does it seem disproportionate? Maybe the revealing question is whether or not you were aware of it or if it felt like a normal story unfolding naturally.
And while I've got you here, I decided to aim for making the two Arkins a bit on the enigmatic side rather than fully developed, since he's just the plot device to get Clark where he is and she shares Basil Exposition duties with him (would that make her Basilica?) and they're out of the plot next chapter. Did that work or were they just flat?