Author: Zamelot PM
The question of 'why' she was there wasn't as pressing as the 'how long' she'd be there. But with an abnormally young Clark Kent, maybe it wouldn't be so bad.Rated: Fiction T - English - Drama/Romance - Chapters: 5 - Words: 11,371 - Reviews: 36 - Favs: 17 - Follows: 60 - Updated: 09-03-12 - Published: 05-06-09 - id: 5043859
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Whoa, there! Hello! Thank you so much for all of you who have stuck with this story so far! I appreciate your patience and your interest more than you know. If I have not responded to you for the last review you sent me, I apologize. But I promise to try to get to you this time! :D *hinthint* I've got a note at the bottom that will clear a few things with the story up so please read it! Thanks again! Enjoy!
Wish I may, wish I might
Make this wish come true tonight
Searched all over for a love
You're the one I'm thinking of
"Well look who's sneakin' back in after curfew,"
Lois jumped as she stepped back in the kitchen and into the twang of Pete's voice.
"You could go to hell fo' that, you know," he added.
Lois dragged a hand across the side of her face and leaned against the counter. "Jesus, Pete,"
"Uh-uh. You could go to hell fo' that, too," he grinned at her from over the back of the couch then swung to his feet, his body swaying backwards as he straightened up. At the annoyed look on her face, she wagged a finger at her. "No don't you go arguin' with the son o' a preacher," he said, scowling at her, appearing to be insulted.
Whether he was or he was not, Lois could not tell. And at that moment, she could care less. She shrugged her shoulders in surrender and turned toward the table where Mrs. Kent had left her a plate.
"So where is Buddy Holly?" Pete swung into the kitchen, his blonde hair a waterfall of waves hanging around his face and his thumbs hooked into his suspenders.
"He went to drive Miss Lana Lang back home before her boyfriend crashed his car," she uncovered the plate and settled down at the table, expecting Pete to join her. When he did not, and had not said anything for quite a while (or from what she was used to), she looked up to see him slumped against eh column separating the kitchen and living room.
His arms were crossed and his eyes, usually warm and playful, were hard. When she caught his eye, he shifted, gave her a careless grin and staggered over to the table, seeming to try to appear to be as drunk as he led Clark to believe. He dragged a chair out, the legs scrapping against the floor, making Lois wince, and flung himself down into the seat, starring into the table.
She watched Pete's face as she chewed, the crackles and snaps of the string beans between her teeth joining the silence and Roy Orbison's quiet crooning on some radio Pete had switched on before she had come in. 'Well, pick up your feet, we got a deadline to meet…' When Pete's face had not changed and Lois was getting sick of the sound of her own chewing, she pushed her plate aside.
"If there's something on your mind, Mr. Ross," she said. "I beg you to enlighten me."
Pete looked up at her. His head was resting against his hand with his forefinger stretching the skin near his eye, his elbow up on the table.
"Lemme ask someone from the outside," he said, straightening up and folding his hands onto the table. "Now answer truthfully, you know what God does to liars."
Lois rolled her eyes.
"When I say 'Clark Kent'… what do you say?"
Lois caught herself. If anyone were to say 'Clark Kent' she would say 'rookie,' 'farm boy,' 'klutz,' 'coke bottles.' But with Pete, well. With this Clark she had suddenly been exposed to, those words hardly described him.
"Clark…" Lois hesitated and glanced up at Pete from her plate, "is a nice guy."
Pete slapped his hands down on the table. "Exactly!" he said. "He's a nice guy."
When he received nothing but Lois's blank look and her move to return back to her dinner, Pete rose from his chair, shaking his hands and head. "Nobody seems to understand that," he sighed, hands on his hips. "No. Everybody just takes advantage o' him. Because Buddy Holly—he don't know how to say 'no'." Pete swept a hand through the waterfall of curls in his face and pushed them back, taking a deep breath.
"I don't know if you noticed, Miss Lane," he continued, "but Clark's got this special power—"
At the mention of power, Lois's mystery solving reporter instincts kicked in and she looked up at Pete who was now pacing the length of the dining room. A part of her hoped he would reveal something about Clark Kent's unusual persona while in his drunken stupor. The drastic differences in the Clark Kent she knew and the one who lent her his old tee shirt to use as a nightgown baffled her. It was as if they were two completely different people.
"—of making you feel like the most important person in the world."
Any thought or schemes of how to untangle the enigma that was Clark and perhaps someone else, dissolved as Lois looked eagerly into Pete Ross's face and saw all the worship and adoration one would expect of a preacher's son for his savior.
"Look at me," Pete said, shrugging his shoulders, his eyes glinting in the dim kitchen light. "I ain't nuthin' special: a trouble maker. A rebel without a cause. But Clark chose me." He jabbed his thumb into his chest as he spoke. "Clark chose to trust me. He picked me out of everyone else in this godforsaken town and made me feel like I was worth something." He lowered his hands and placed them down on the table so he was leaning over the chair and at eye level with her. "Do you know what it's like, Ms. Lane, to feel like you've got somethin' to offer?"
Lois had shifted so that her spine was pressed into the decorative backrest of the chair. She had not taken anything personal from Pete's ravings and accusations nor had she thought much of his lack of personal boundaries instead blaming it on his alcohol consumption. His question did prompt an image of Perry White, however but Lois did not feel the need to encourage any more of the hero-worshiping conversation.
"I can't say I do, Mr. Ross," she said. "At least not to the intensity that you seem to."
The fight and passion drained from Pete's face and he suddenly looked older than his 18 years. Deep lines under his eyes and around his mouth appeared with the shadows thrown into the kitchen from the dim overhead light as he straightened up, adjusting the cufflinks on the sleeves of his white shirt and made to walk away, perhaps out to the barn when Lois shot up and grabbed his wrist.
"Who is Lana Lang?"
It had not seemed possible at the time, but Pete appeared to look even older at the red haired girl's name. He shook his head and wiggled his arm free.
"No good," he said, his green eyes gleaming like a cat's as he turned his face away. "She's no good."
Over the arching fields of the Kent farm and across a small cluster of trees in between the next neighboring house, Clark and Lana stood gazing up at the twinkling sky. Lana had one hand clasping Clark's jacket around her shoulders while the other rested on the railing leading up to her blue and white house's gazebo. Clark often shifted his gaze from the sky to admire Lana's trim waist enveloped by the full yellow skirt or the slender dips and curves along her bare arms peaking out from his plaid jacket.
"The moon's beautiful," Lana said. "Just like that night we went fishing."
"I can almost hear the crickets and bullfrogs down by the lake as Pete's little boat struggled to remain afloat with all three of us,"
"Lana, I still— "
Lana turned, full yellow skirt twirling among fireflies and uncut grass as she walked out of Clark's approaching embrace. "Goodness, look at the time. Aunt Ruth will have a fit. Thank you for the ride. And the jacket. Good night, Clark,"
The door clicked shut, porch light switching off as Clark stood, hands stuffed into his pockets outside the truck, clouds floating over the moon.
1. Now, I know I've gotten a few messages regarding the time frame. Well, I've decided to officially disregard it. Time that is. It is no longer 1959 or 1963. It merely is. But feels like the 1950s to Lois. And everyone else. So we don't have to worry about Lois being older than Clark or Clark being in his 40s. It simply is.
2. I'm taking liberties with Pete. As you can see. I've seen different portrayals of him in different medias, but so far, there's really been no consistency. He's sort of similar to the Pete Ross of Superman for All Seasons with a mix of Jerry Lee Lewis thrown in. And if you have not read Superman for All Seasons, you really should. It's an excellent origins story.
3. I'm considering moving this story over to the comics section because, honestly, I'm holding nothing similar to the movies in this fic. I'm using a lot from different comics and some of the animated series as well as other television shows. So, if you have any interest in this story for further chapters (and I hope you do!) plus search for it under comics - Superman.
4. Just as a teaser, I've been wanting for quite a while to throw in a guest. I think I've found a good subplot to throw them in and I cannot wait to write their character.
So thank you so much for reaching the end of this page! I'm sorry for the wait, but I hope it was at least sort of worth it! Oh, fun note, my uncle works with one of the original members of The Elegants! I'm hoping for a cellphone recording and/or an autograph!