Spoilers: Forsaken, Covenant
Description: I wonder what they're doing?
Notes: If you want the lyrics to the White Stripes "Seven Nation Army" you can...google them.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Not mine.
Feedback: I fiend for it.
Pete looked at the new key as he turned the lock. He had been out all morning, somehow ending up at the worst car show he had ever crossed paths with. It hadn't helped that he had been by himself and in a crappy mood. His mother had mentioned that she had a few meetings beginning at 4:00. He looked at his watch; it was 4:17 - the place was his. He walked in the door.
"Pete," his mother called to him. She was in bummy clothes and was sprawled out on the couch. She looked like she was taking a break from a cleaning marathon. "My meetings were postponed until tomorrow. Where've you been?"
"I went to the car show." Pete mumbled, already walking towards the steps.
"Your sister's coming later tonight, around 7," she added. Pete started up the stairs without a word. "Pete," his mother called to him. He took his chances and kept walking. "Peter," she called again, yelling this time and he could hear her voice growing closer. He stopped in his tracks and turned around. His mother was at the bottom of the steps.
"I figured you needed a week," she started. She was sounding like a judge. "I had no problem giving you two. But I'm not going to tolerate this forever. Do you have something to tell me?"
Pete sighed and rolled his eyes. He didn't have anything to say. How could he possibly articulate that he thought his mother was being a selfish prick, and the only reason he didn't stay in Smallville was because the only thing worse than your parents getting a divorce before senior year was having a closet alien for a best friend. So he said nothing.
"Pete, come here," she said, walking back towards the living room, and expecting him to follow. The last thing Pete wanted to do was talk.
"Mom!" he yelled in frustration. "Can't you just leave it alone?"
"No, Pete, I can't. Because regardless of your opinions on recent events, I've done too much for you for you to start treating me like the redheaded stepchild. And if your attitude doesn't get any better, you're going back with your father."
The statement stunned Pete. He had heard other kids and other families have conversations like that, but...would it kill his mother to say "Bill?" Besides, when did he become the dispensable variable in the equation? She noticed his facial expression and gingerly moved forward, wrapping an arm around him. Her voice grew tenderer.
"I know this is hard for you. It's not fair to you...at all. You're the baby and got the worst of it. And your father and I have to take responsibility for that. But that's just it, this marriage was our load, and if you take it on, you're not being fair to me, you're not being fair to Bill, and," she paused. "You're not being fair to yourself."
On some levels Pete knew she was right, but it was too much to process right now, and this wasn't some family dramedy on the WB. He gave his mother a nod, before heading back upstairs. He could feel her looking at him as he ascended the stairs. Sometimes he wondered if he would ever have a sane moment again.
Collapsing onto his bed, he looked at his phone, and realized that maybe he had some messages. He called his voice box and entered the pin number.
"Hey, this is Pete - " he skipped the nauseatingly pleasant blurp and went to the messages.
"Hey Pete, this is your dad. Call me later." He sounded...happy. Pete wondered what he wanted to say. He went on to the next message.
The speaker erupted with a serenade of the White Stripes playing "Seven Nation Army" in his ear. If this was Clark's idea of a joke, he'd failed. "Hey Pete. I heard a song and thought about you. Anyway, how you settling in? I'll probably call you again later." Pete was actually pretty glad to hear from him. Clark had a habit of...neglecting people. "Oh and another thing, I can't find my Evanescence CD. If you still have it...," there was a pensive pause, "you can keep it."
Next message. "Hi Pete." It was Lana. "This is Lana. I guess we're both going through some big changes, and in the madness, I managed not to give you a proper good-bye." He could picture one of her trademark grins that always punctuated her greetings and good-byes. "Anyway, I'm not getting you but I just wanted to say that I'm Paris bound in a few minutes, and I hope things work out for your in Wichita. Don't be a stranger."
Funny. Pete hadn't thought about Lana in the thick of all his own raging thoughts of change. Well, to be honest, he had. But only that Helen-of-Troy, should-he-or-shouldn't-he Lana that Clark waxed poetry about and that Pete had spent more his life analyzing than he cared to think about. He hadn't managed to get around to the night-before-cram-sessions, patron-saint-of-caffeine Lana that he had come to know and actually regard as a friend. And despite all, thoughts of her were a silver lining in his otherwise dismal existence. He couldn't help but wonder what she was doing at this exact moment.