Part 5
Lana spurred her horse, a little too hard if the slight jump the
animal gave was any indication, urging it to go faster. She wanted
to go… somewhere… as fast as her horse could carry her. Away from
the house--where Whitney's letter lay re-read upon her pink bedspread
taunting her. Three times in the past week she'd picked it up,
determined to answer it, and three times she'd thrown the letter down
in disgust. They'd dated for years; he was her first and only
boyfriend. Yet, he still didn't trust her. Okay, sure she'd flirted
with Clark Kent a few times, but Clark was more like a reliable puppy
than boyfriend material. Not to mention the fact that Clark was
happy with Chloe right now.
Besides, flirting wasn't cheating and that's what Whitney seemed to
think her capable of--cheating on him.
The wind whipped across her face and she felt the first sprinkles of
the rain that had been threatening all day. She should go back, but
she didn't want to face Nell, who'd warned her not to go out with a
storm approaching. Instead, she pushed the horse a little faster,
letting the water splattering across her face cool her anger as it
began to fall harder. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting her
ride take her where it will and enjoying the way it felt to be blind
to the world in front of her.
Scary… and oddly enough… free.
Her eyes opened the instant the horse reared, lightning striking on
the horizon in front of them. As the animal bucked, Lana looked
around wildly in an attempt to get her bearings. They weren't on
Nell's property anymore, and she wasn't quite sure where she was.
Another bolt of lightning flickered in front of them, this time much
closer, and before Lana knew what was happening, she was sent sailing
from the saddle. She landed in the bushes a foot from where they'd
been when the storm began to pick up in strength. By the time she'd
struggled to her feet, the horse was nowhere in sight.
She was alone, stranded in the middle of an unfamiliar pasture, and
totally lost.
*&*&*&*
"Lana? Lana!"
Lana thought the voice was getting louder, but she couldn't quite
pin point where it was coming from. Howling wind sounded in her ears
as it blew sheets of heavy rain down on top of her.
"Lana!"
This time, the voice was right on top of her, and she whirled
around, turning in the direction she hoped it was coming from.
Stumbling, she found herself swept up into Bruce Wayne's arms.
"Are you alright?" he asked, shouting above the wind. He looked
and sounded genuinely concerned for her. Lana nodded mutely,
slumping against him as the rain assaulted them both, his body
shielding hers only a little. "Well, then, let's get you inside,
shall we?" At his words, the world tilted and Lana was lifted off
the ground and up into his arms.
Bruce Wayne was carrying her.
A part of Lana Lang that absolutely hated being the damsel in
distress protested--she could walk on her own. Another part of her
mind, however, launched a strong rebuttal in favor of staying in the
warm, strong arms and the safety they offered. Agreeing, Lana
snuggled closer while Bruce rushed them both towards the brightly-lit
farmhouse and she slid from his arms only when they were inside the
parlor.
The house was still pretty bare, she noted, looking about her while
Bruce went back outside. The only major change was that the painters
had been there since the last time she'd been out to the farm. The
parlor seemed cheerier now, what with the light from the crystal
ceiling light bouncing off the soft, apricot paint in beams of sunny
light. Quite a contrast from the storm raging outside.
Each room was meant to have a different color--a different mood, as
Bruce had articulated to François once their communication issues had
been resolved. Lana and Nell had consulted on most of it--helping
Bruce to find the right colors and patterns to convey the feelings he
was reaching for--and Lana had to admit that while the whole mood
thing was weird, it was definitely working. Now, despite the lack
of furnishing, she actually felt as if the room was welcoming her,
which had, of course, been the mood Bruce Wayne had wanted it to
convey to his guests.
"Here," he said, re-entering the house with an oddly convenient
suitcase. He opened it and rifled through the contents before
pulling out a pair of dark sweat pants and a matching shirt, which he
tossed at her unceremoniously. "Go change."
The simple yet polite order brought Lana back to herself and to the
situation at hand, forcing her to realize that she was soaked to the
bone and dripping rain, mud and who knows what else all over the
floor. God, how embarrassing, she thought, wondering how bad she
must look right now. Accepting the clothes, she wandered off to find
a room she could undress without compromising her modesty.
There was a mirror in the downstairs bathroom. She'd been right;
she looked awful. Her make up was streaked, hair a mass of tendrils,
and all of her was covered in mud and vegetation.
"You could have listened to Nell," she accused her reflection in the
mirror and reached for the roll of paper towels one of the workers
had brought in to use while on the job. Her reflection refused to
comment--although had Lana been the paranoid type, she might have
sworn it had smirked back at her briefly, before the paper towel
washed away the evidence.
*&*&*&*
Bruce was talking on his cell phone when Lana returned from the
bathroom. She dropped her wet things in a corner of the floor and
stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to do next.
"I see," he said to whomever he was speaking, his face clouding
over. "That is a problem, but I'm sure we'll be alright." He closed
the phone with a snap and pocketed it before giving her a sad smile.
"That was your aunt," he explained.
"Is she coming for me?" Lana partially hoped Nell wouldn't be
coming to pick up her, as she wanted nothing more to postpone the
lecture she knew her aunt must have waiting for her at home.
Bruce shook his had. "I'm sure she would, but the police have
closed roads because of the storm."
"Oh." They were trapped here.
While Lana processed this information, her savior walked over to the
opposite wall where a mattress meant for the master bedroom leaned as
it waited to be taken upstairs. He settled it on the ground and
motioned for Lana to sit down. She, however, just stood there,
feeling numb and more than a little stupid. They were stuck there,
in the empty house in a raging storm, and she was solely to blame.
"Nell was worried, wasn't she?" she asked. Bruce stopped pawing
through his suitcase to look at her. He shrugged.
"When your horse came back without a rider... yeah, I think she was
a little worried. She called the Kents."
She'd been hoping I was there, Lana realized, feeling even worse.
The Kent farm was close, so it made sense that she might turn up
there. She hadn't even realized that she and Nell shared a border
with Bruce's property… but if she had wandered there when the storm
made it hard for her to navigate, they must.
"She called you, too, then?"
He shook his head. "By pure chance, I had business with the Kents
this afternoon. I was there when the call came in, and when I left
them, I decided to check here, just in case you thought you look for
shelter from the storm."
"I'm glad you did." Her voice sounded small in her ears, and all
she could muster for him was a weak smile.
He smiled back, a much warmer and slightly comforting smile, and
returned his attention to the suitcase. He appeared totally
oblivious to Lana's growing discomfort. She already felt bad for
taking him away from whatever his busy schedule might entail--the
presence of the suitcase suggested he was headed out of town, which,
thanks to her, he could no longer do--and even more so for knowing
the Kents had likely searched for her, as well.
Sighing heavily, she sat down on the mattress and hugged her knees
to her chest. There was a reason, she realized, why she acted as
though her life was completely perfect. Even the results of a normal
temper tantrum were disastrous.
"Lana?" Bruce's voice cut through the gloom slowly spreading
through her. "Are you certain you're alright?" He closed the
suitcase and brought over what he'd been looking for--a lightweight,
dark gray thermal blanket, like the kind the military used. He sat
down beside her, ignoring her little head shake of self-denial and
covered them both. The blanket and arm that both slipped around her
shoulders were both warm and comforting, however, she pulled away,
all the same.
"Body heat is our friend, Lana," he said, gently reminding her that
the house was not yet equipped with central heat, and grudgingly, she
allowed him to draw her closer.
He didn't have to be so nice to her, not after how selfish she'd
been today. She didn't really understand why anyone was nice to her,
actually. What was she but a big waste of space? She didn't have
anything to offer anyone but a pretty face. Or so it felt to her
sometimes. Wasn't that what Whitney wanted? He'd asked her out
because she was pretty and a cheerleader, and shouldn't all
quarterbacks date pretty cheerleaders? She would make him a lovely,
obedient wife, too, no doubt. Nell wanted her to be the perfect
niece to show off to people in a "see how well she turned out without
parents" capacity. Clark and just about everyone else in town had
idealized her to the point where even she had started to believe in
that version of herself.
The only problem was, Lana was having trouble liking Ms Ideal
Perfection these days. That wasn't who she wanted to be anymore.
The only trouble was, she didn't know what else there was for her.
Lana spurred her horse, a little too hard if the slight jump the
animal gave was any indication, urging it to go faster. She wanted
to go… somewhere… as fast as her horse could carry her. Away from
the house--where Whitney's letter lay re-read upon her pink bedspread
taunting her. Three times in the past week she'd picked it up,
determined to answer it, and three times she'd thrown the letter down
in disgust. They'd dated for years; he was her first and only
boyfriend. Yet, he still didn't trust her. Okay, sure she'd flirted
with Clark Kent a few times, but Clark was more like a reliable puppy
than boyfriend material. Not to mention the fact that Clark was
happy with Chloe right now.
Besides, flirting wasn't cheating and that's what Whitney seemed to
think her capable of--cheating on him.
The wind whipped across her face and she felt the first sprinkles of
the rain that had been threatening all day. She should go back, but
she didn't want to face Nell, who'd warned her not to go out with a
storm approaching. Instead, she pushed the horse a little faster,
letting the water splattering across her face cool her anger as it
began to fall harder. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting her
ride take her where it will and enjoying the way it felt to be blind
to the world in front of her.
Scary… and oddly enough… free.
Her eyes opened the instant the horse reared, lightning striking on
the horizon in front of them. As the animal bucked, Lana looked
around wildly in an attempt to get her bearings. They weren't on
Nell's property anymore, and she wasn't quite sure where she was.
Another bolt of lightning flickered in front of them, this time much
closer, and before Lana knew what was happening, she was sent sailing
from the saddle. She landed in the bushes a foot from where they'd
been when the storm began to pick up in strength. By the time she'd
struggled to her feet, the horse was nowhere in sight.
She was alone, stranded in the middle of an unfamiliar pasture, and
totally lost.
*&*&*&*
"Lana? Lana!"
Lana thought the voice was getting louder, but she couldn't quite
pin point where it was coming from. Howling wind sounded in her ears
as it blew sheets of heavy rain down on top of her.
"Lana!"
This time, the voice was right on top of her, and she whirled
around, turning in the direction she hoped it was coming from.
Stumbling, she found herself swept up into Bruce Wayne's arms.
"Are you alright?" he asked, shouting above the wind. He looked
and sounded genuinely concerned for her. Lana nodded mutely,
slumping against him as the rain assaulted them both, his body
shielding hers only a little. "Well, then, let's get you inside,
shall we?" At his words, the world tilted and Lana was lifted off
the ground and up into his arms.
Bruce Wayne was carrying her.
A part of Lana Lang that absolutely hated being the damsel in
distress protested--she could walk on her own. Another part of her
mind, however, launched a strong rebuttal in favor of staying in the
warm, strong arms and the safety they offered. Agreeing, Lana
snuggled closer while Bruce rushed them both towards the brightly-lit
farmhouse and she slid from his arms only when they were inside the
parlor.
The house was still pretty bare, she noted, looking about her while
Bruce went back outside. The only major change was that the painters
had been there since the last time she'd been out to the farm. The
parlor seemed cheerier now, what with the light from the crystal
ceiling light bouncing off the soft, apricot paint in beams of sunny
light. Quite a contrast from the storm raging outside.
Each room was meant to have a different color--a different mood, as
Bruce had articulated to François once their communication issues had
been resolved. Lana and Nell had consulted on most of it--helping
Bruce to find the right colors and patterns to convey the feelings he
was reaching for--and Lana had to admit that while the whole mood
thing was weird, it was definitely working. Now, despite the lack
of furnishing, she actually felt as if the room was welcoming her,
which had, of course, been the mood Bruce Wayne had wanted it to
convey to his guests.
"Here," he said, re-entering the house with an oddly convenient
suitcase. He opened it and rifled through the contents before
pulling out a pair of dark sweat pants and a matching shirt, which he
tossed at her unceremoniously. "Go change."
The simple yet polite order brought Lana back to herself and to the
situation at hand, forcing her to realize that she was soaked to the
bone and dripping rain, mud and who knows what else all over the
floor. God, how embarrassing, she thought, wondering how bad she
must look right now. Accepting the clothes, she wandered off to find
a room she could undress without compromising her modesty.
There was a mirror in the downstairs bathroom. She'd been right;
she looked awful. Her make up was streaked, hair a mass of tendrils,
and all of her was covered in mud and vegetation.
"You could have listened to Nell," she accused her reflection in the
mirror and reached for the roll of paper towels one of the workers
had brought in to use while on the job. Her reflection refused to
comment--although had Lana been the paranoid type, she might have
sworn it had smirked back at her briefly, before the paper towel
washed away the evidence.
*&*&*&*
Bruce was talking on his cell phone when Lana returned from the
bathroom. She dropped her wet things in a corner of the floor and
stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to do next.
"I see," he said to whomever he was speaking, his face clouding
over. "That is a problem, but I'm sure we'll be alright." He closed
the phone with a snap and pocketed it before giving her a sad smile.
"That was your aunt," he explained.
"Is she coming for me?" Lana partially hoped Nell wouldn't be
coming to pick up her, as she wanted nothing more to postpone the
lecture she knew her aunt must have waiting for her at home.
Bruce shook his had. "I'm sure she would, but the police have
closed roads because of the storm."
"Oh." They were trapped here.
While Lana processed this information, her savior walked over to the
opposite wall where a mattress meant for the master bedroom leaned as
it waited to be taken upstairs. He settled it on the ground and
motioned for Lana to sit down. She, however, just stood there,
feeling numb and more than a little stupid. They were stuck there,
in the empty house in a raging storm, and she was solely to blame.
"Nell was worried, wasn't she?" she asked. Bruce stopped pawing
through his suitcase to look at her. He shrugged.
"When your horse came back without a rider... yeah, I think she was
a little worried. She called the Kents."
She'd been hoping I was there, Lana realized, feeling even worse.
The Kent farm was close, so it made sense that she might turn up
there. She hadn't even realized that she and Nell shared a border
with Bruce's property… but if she had wandered there when the storm
made it hard for her to navigate, they must.
"She called you, too, then?"
He shook his head. "By pure chance, I had business with the Kents
this afternoon. I was there when the call came in, and when I left
them, I decided to check here, just in case you thought you look for
shelter from the storm."
"I'm glad you did." Her voice sounded small in her ears, and all
she could muster for him was a weak smile.
He smiled back, a much warmer and slightly comforting smile, and
returned his attention to the suitcase. He appeared totally
oblivious to Lana's growing discomfort. She already felt bad for
taking him away from whatever his busy schedule might entail--the
presence of the suitcase suggested he was headed out of town, which,
thanks to her, he could no longer do--and even more so for knowing
the Kents had likely searched for her, as well.
Sighing heavily, she sat down on the mattress and hugged her knees
to her chest. There was a reason, she realized, why she acted as
though her life was completely perfect. Even the results of a normal
temper tantrum were disastrous.
"Lana?" Bruce's voice cut through the gloom slowly spreading
through her. "Are you certain you're alright?" He closed the
suitcase and brought over what he'd been looking for--a lightweight,
dark gray thermal blanket, like the kind the military used. He sat
down beside her, ignoring her little head shake of self-denial and
covered them both. The blanket and arm that both slipped around her
shoulders were both warm and comforting, however, she pulled away,
all the same.
"Body heat is our friend, Lana," he said, gently reminding her that
the house was not yet equipped with central heat, and grudgingly, she
allowed him to draw her closer.
He didn't have to be so nice to her, not after how selfish she'd
been today. She didn't really understand why anyone was nice to her,
actually. What was she but a big waste of space? She didn't have
anything to offer anyone but a pretty face. Or so it felt to her
sometimes. Wasn't that what Whitney wanted? He'd asked her out
because she was pretty and a cheerleader, and shouldn't all
quarterbacks date pretty cheerleaders? She would make him a lovely,
obedient wife, too, no doubt. Nell wanted her to be the perfect
niece to show off to people in a "see how well she turned out without
parents" capacity. Clark and just about everyone else in town had
idealized her to the point where even she had started to believe in
that version of herself.
The only problem was, Lana was having trouble liking Ms Ideal
Perfection these days. That wasn't who she wanted to be anymore.
The only trouble was, she didn't know what else there was for her.