Pocket Lint

Wendy Richards <wendy@lcfanfic.com

Rated: PG

Submitted: April 2002  ---------

I'll warn you right at the start: this is a weird idea  which came to me in the middle of the night last night and  simply demanded to be written. Blame staying up too late.  <g> Thanks to Missy, Phil and CarolM for some lovely  insults. ;)

Disclaimer: All rights in recognisable characters belong to  their respective owners. Don't sue me for what I do to  them! <g>

~ Pocket Lint ~

Clark Kent is lower than pocket lint.

I pace the living-room of my apartment, fists clenching and  unclenching, seeing his face before me in my imagination  and wanting to knock that smile of his right off his face.

Clark Kent is lower than pocket lint in the pocket of  *lawyers*.

And how I wish I'd had the presence of mind to yell that at  him just before he ran off and left me. Left me with that  *look* in his eyes. The pleading one. The one which says  'don't be mad, please.' The one which says 'I can't  explain, but please trust me.' The one which says 'I know  I'm lying to you, and you know I'm lying to you, but please  let's just pretend that neither of us know.'

Clark Kent is a liar.

And, no doubt, just like all the other occasions when he's  lied to me, he'll be turning up shortly to 'explain'. To  tell me that he's sorry. To tell me that he never wanted to  hurt me. To lie to me again.

Furious, I spin on my heel and march over to the phone,  yanking the cord from its socket. Looking around the room,  I spy my cellphone lying on the bureau. A second's furious  movement switches that off. My pager is in my purse; that  gets equally short shrift. The door is already locked and  triple-bolted. I am safe.

I notice that the window is open. Blinking back furious  tears, I close and bolt it.

Clark Kent is the lowest form of life imaginable, on *any*  planet.

********

So, I guess you want to know what happened, huh?

It was that afternoon that everything changed. I thought I  knew Clark, you know? We'd been best friends for well over  a year. We'd been practically inseparable for months - more  or less since I'd had the sense not to marry Lex, although  I don't think I ever told Clark that I said no. He'd just  been there when I needed him after the wedding collapsed  and Lex killed himself, and he'd been the unflagging  support I needed. I spent hours at his apartment. Sometimes  we talked about recent events, but he never pushed; if I  didn't want to talk about it, then we didn't. We watched  old movies and ate pizza, went for long walks together and  played stupid board games. And I felt safe and reassured  with him.

With him, I wasn't the crazy, *brainless* woman who'd been  so completely taken in by Lex Luthor. I never felt that  Clark was discussing me and laughing at me behind my back.  With him, I never had to worry that he was judging me. He  was just my friend.

And, actually, we spent more time together over the months  that followed than most married couples. Which was weird:  Clark was my friend, not my lover or my husband. And yet I  was far more comfortable with him - have *always* been far  more comfortable with him - than I ever was with Lex. Or  with Superman, the other man I loved. The man I begged to  love me back...

I never told Clark about that. *That* was just too  humiliating. And anyway, I suppose there was also some  element of guilt holding me back. After all, that was the  same day Clark had told me he'd loved me for as long as  he'd known me, and that he wanted us to be together.

And I turned him down.

As kindly as I could - but I still turned him down.

And there've been so many times since when I've wondered  whether I did the right thing. I mean, I'd have been spared  so much: the weeks of estrangement from Clark and from  everyone else; the misery of realising on the morning of my  wedding to Lex that I loved Clark after all; the  humiliation of realising that Lex really was the criminal  that Clark had said he was.

But would I have been spared the humiliation of having  Clark tell me, not long after, that he didn't really love  me after all?

Anyway, I guess none of that really matters. If you want to  know what happened today to change everything, to make me  see that Clark Kent is just *pocket lint*, we'll have to  skip forward to this afternoon.

But I suppose there is one other item of context you need  to know. This morning, Clark asked me out. Yes; after all  these months of being best friends, practically living in  each other's apartments, inseparable, he shifted the safe  ground of our relationship and asked me for a date.

I was shocked; but I have to confess that I wasn't sorry. I  mean, after all, I'd realised back on the morning of my  wedding that I had... well, *feelings* for Clark which  weren't the way I'd expect to feel about a friend. And even  though I pretended that I'd never felt them after he told  me he'd lied, I knew that the feelings were still there.  Not that I was going to do anything about them - after all,  I had him in my life in every other way that counted.

Until a lot of things started happening. First, Mayson  Drake appeared on the scene, and - *god*, that woman's so  *obvious*! - she was all over Clark. She asked him out  several times, and I know he dated her at least once. I  know he kissed her too. I thought I'd lost him then, but I  gradually realised that it all seemed to be on her side.  Clark liked her - he even found her a little attractive, I  guess, but he wasn't romantically interested in her.

So that was okay; I was able to ignore Mayson safely, apart  from teasing Clark about her sometimes and giving her the  cold shoulder. After all, I couldn't afford to let Clark  think that I really didn't care if he dated her. Not that I  would've admitted that to him - that would've meant telling  him something I didn't want to. But he knew anyway.

Clark was still mine; until he got killed. And, for those  horrible hours, almost twenty-four of them, I was  devastated. My life was in ruins; I'd lost the one person  who meant the world to me. Even Superman wouldn't have been  able to comfort me then, not that I saw him anyway apart  from just before he brought Clark back to me. And, apart  from crying over the loss of my best friend, all I could  think about was that one major regret: that I'd never told  him how I really felt about him. Even if he'd rejected me,  told me he wasn't in love with me, wouldn't it have been  more honest to try? To take the risk that I'd thought he  was taking that day in the park?

And so, when he was returned to me, I told him. Opened my  heart to him. Bared my soul to him. Made myself vulnerable  to him in a way I'd never done with a man since Claude; in  a way I'd sworn I would never do again with *any* man.

And he'd slept through it.

I retreated into the restricted security of our friendship  again after that, although I had to admit that we were  getting closer still. I mean, he even pretended to be  stranded in Metropolis so that I wouldn't have to spend  Christmas on my own; after he came over on Christmas Eve,  we spent the next day together too. And it was partly that  greater closeness, and partly what Superman said to me  after Clark was kidnapped by Metallo, that made me decide  to try again. To take the huge, scary step of telling Clark  that I wanted more from him.

But he never answered his phone. And I withdrew again.

So, no, I wasn't sorry when he made the move to deepen our  relationship. He asked me this morning. I knew he wanted  something; he had this nervous, skittish look on his face  and he kept shuffling his feet and looking at me and then  looking away. And I thought he wanted to borrow money! And  I was kind of hurt, because I thought that we were close  enough that he'd know he wouldn't even need to ask. If he  needed something, I'd give it to him in a heartbeat. So I  tried to steamroller him, telling him that I knew what he  wanted and asking him how much. I almost got out my  chequebook!

And then he asked me to go out with him, and I lost all my  wits, stammering at him and asking whether he meant a date.  Of course he meant a date! And then I temporised and  delayed responding, telling him that I was worried about  what it might do to our friendship. As if it wasn't what  I'd wanted myself all along! At least I had the good sense  to say yes in the end.

Good sense?!

Well... it seemed that way at the time. And then *this  afternoon* happened.

I clench my teeth and go to the kitchen, forcing myself to  do something normal like making coffee. This afternoon - I  spit the words out in my mind. When Clark Kent proved once  and for all that he is lower than a worm's belly. A swamp  worm, at that.

But I'm still getting distracted, and you want to know what  happened. Okay. Right. There was this big story halfway  across town - it doesn't matter what it was. That's not  important. But anyway, once we'd done what we do, we had to  get back to the Planet to write it up. We'd come by taxi,  so we tried to find a cab to get us back. Anyway, it seemed  like every taxi-driver in Metropolis had decided to go on  strike right at that moment, so Clark had his Good Idea For  The Day.

He does that sometimes - comes up with these suggestions as  if they were entirely the most sensible thing to do. And  sometimes he's right, I'll grant him that. But sometimes I  look at him and wonder where his brain - or at least, his  street-smarts - is. He still thinks he's back on the farm  some of the time, I swear it.

Anyway, this Good Idea of his was that we get the subway.  The subway! Nobody takes the subway in Metropolis! Not if  they want to arrive at their destination clean, on time and  unmolested. But Clark insisted, and in the end it was  easier not to argue with him, especially when he rolled his  eyes at me in that way he has and asked if I had any better  ideas.

So we took the subway. It wasn't too busy - and why was I  not surprised? - so we had seats. And all was fine for the  first few stops. Until suddenly there was a commotion from  further down the carriage. This guy had just got on. He was  tall, unkempt, with shaggy hair and a beard and clothes  that looked like he'd been wearing them for at least the  last month. He was yelling a spew of obscenities at anyone  who made the mistake of looking at him - don't these people  know that you *never* make eye contact with anyone on the  subway?

Just another druggie, that's all. I deliberately ignored  him, and assumed that Clark would do the same. That's just  simple survival strategy.

Wouldn't you know that things didn't work out that way. A  woman on the other side of the carriage was stupid enough  to have her purse on her lap. Shaggy Druggie went for it,  which was entirely to be expected. And the stupid woman  tried to fight him for it! Where was she from? some Podunk  town in the back of beyond?

Anyway, Shaggy Druggie hit her - he punched her and shoved  her back onto her seat. And that was when my partner  decided that he had to do his Boy Scout bit.

Don't get me wrong. It's at times like these that I'm proud  of Clark. And surprised too, if I'm honest - there've been  plenty of times when his first reaction in the face of  danger has been to run off in the other direction. Oh, he  usually says that he's going to call the police or  whatever, but it doesn't exactly make him look like the  face of courage, does it?

Today, though, for some weird reason he chose to be Mr Good  Guy.

My partner, the hero.

Clark Kent is sewer slime.

Right, right, you want to know what happened. Of course you  do.

Well, he got up and went over to tackle Shaggy Druggie.  And, okay, it looked like he'd have a pretty good chance of  overpowering the guy. I mean, he didn't seem to be on a  crack high or anything like that. He was looking for money  to get his next fix. And he was only about the same height  as Clark, and I know Clark's pretty strong. So shouldn't  have been a problem...

...until Druggie pulled a knife.

I think just about everyone in that carriage gasped at  once. But not one of them got up to help Clark. And  Lunkhead Clark, of course, didn't do the sensible thing.  Back off? Not him! He told Druggie to put the knife down  and give the lady her purse back. I couldn't believe it!  What did he think he was doing?

Anyway, surprise, surprise, Druggie turned on Clark then.  And he was mad. There was no way that Clark was gonna get  through to him, but did that stop my crazy partner? I was  on my feet by then too, pulling at Clark's arm and trying  to get him to sit down and leave the guy alone. I mean, the  train'd be stopping at the next station in a couple of  minutes. Someone would've called the cops and Druggie would  be dealt with. No need for us to get involved.

But did Clark see that? No, he darned well didn't! He tried  to get the knife away from Druggie, and then it all ended  the way I knew it would. He got stabbed.

One swipe of Druggie's hand, and he broke through Clark's  guard and stabbing at him, getting under his jacket and  knifing Clark in the shoulder. Hard. There was no way that  knife didn't connect.

I guess I yelled - it's a frightening sight, seeing your  almost-boyfriend stabbed by a drug-crazed thief. Clark  brought his arm down at the same time, smashing into  Druggie's arm and making the guy drop the knife. Druggie  howled - Clark must've caught him on the funny bone or  something - and he dropped the woman's purse too as he fell  to the floor.

Well, a couple of other people got up then, which surprised  me, and I think they came and stood over Druggie - not that  I really noticed; I was too worried about Clark. He was  still standing, looking confused, and I slipped my arm  around his waist, thinking that maybe he was in shock. He  leaned against me for a moment, but he didn't seem  particularly weak or unsteady on his feet.

Someone asked if Clark was okay. He *grinned*. He'd just  been stabbed... and he grinned and said he was fine. I  don't know what I was feeling... worried, frantic in case  he really was in shock and was bleeding to death underneath  that suit-jacket of his, confused because he wasn't acting  like he was hurt at all. Anyway, I needed to see how badly  he was hurt. So I pushed him into a seat and stood in front  of him, pulling open his jacket to see the damage.

And... oh, Clark Kent is lower than snail slime!

There wasn't any blood. I was beginning to think that  Druggie must have missed after all, but then I saw a  slashed hole in Clark's shirt. I parted the torn fabric and  looked at his shoulder underneath.

Unmarked.

I should have guessed it immediately, but I was trying to  process information which seemed completely contradictory,  and I just didn't understand what was going on. Clark was  sitting very still, but he reached up and pulled my hand  away from him, fastening the buttons on his jacket. I  remember noticing that his jaw was clenched and his eyes  seemed to be focused on some point on the ceiling.

I was still searching through what seemed like dense fog  for the answer which I felt was eluding me when my gaze  fell on the knife. It lay forgotten by Clark's feet. I  bent, searching in my pocket for a handkerchief to pick it  up with.

And then the final clue clicked into place, and the fog  cleared. The knife was ruined: the blade bent and buckled  completely out of shape.

I looked back up at Clark, remembering his unmarked  shoulder, and then looked back at the knife. Then, on  impulse, I checked to see that no-one was watching and  picked the knife up anyway, wrapping it in my handkerchief  and hiding it in my purse. Just because I'd worked it out  didn't mean I wanted anyone else to do the same.

Clark didn't say a word, though I know he saw me do it. And  that was when he gave me The Look. I was trying not to be  mad. Really, really trying. I told myself that the train  would be stopping any second now and we could get off at  the next station and, even if Clark had to give a statement  to the police, once he'd done that we'd be able to get away  together and talk. After all, I was sure that he'd want to  explain.

Why he'd been lying to me ever since he met me. Why he  pretended to be two people - well, okay, I could understand  that, but why couldn't he tell me? Why he acted as if he  didn't trust me. Why he'd let me think that he'd been  stabbed there, that he could have been bleeding to death.

Why he let me think he was dead.

Clark Kent was spawned by a leak from a toxic waste dump.

On Krypton.

********

I decide to forget about making coffee. I don't want any  anyway. Now, ice-cream... I go to investigate whether  there's any in the freezer. Oh good. Rocky Road - a gallon  tub. I grab a large spoon.

Oh yeah. Clark. Well, when the train pulled into the  station, a couple of people started asking whether he  needed medical help. He insisted that Druggie had missed -  I guess he'd had time in those few seconds to think up his  excuses. Anyway, the cops came in and arrested Druggie and  took some statements, and finally we were allowed to get  off. Clark was watching me pretty closely, and I was sure  that he was going to suggest that we go somewhere and talk.  I mean, of course he would! He had to know that I'd figured  it out - the way he was looking at me, it was pretty  obvious that he knew.

And I'd decided, very calmly, that I'd give him a chance to  explain. That I wouldn't get mad until he'd told me  everything, including why he'd lied for so long.

But then he gave me The Look again. This was a pathetic,  kind of helpless one - like I said, the 'pleading, don't be  mad and me and yes, I am lying to you' one. And he ran off.

Yes, you heard me. He just ran off. Straight into the  crowd, and then - because I was watching him carefully - he  vanished into the subway tunnel.

Now, I know what you're thinking. That I'm jumping to  conclusions and not seeing the obvious. Of course you are.  I know the way you guys are. And besides, you've known  about Clark Super-hero Kent a lot longer than I have. So,  yes, I gave him the benefit of the doubt. I went back to  the Planet and wrote up our story - I even put his name on  it! And I checked the wires and LNN for any reports of  Superman activity or any emergencies.

Nothing. Whatever he ran off for, it wasn't to be Superman.  The only conclusion I can come to is that he was avoiding  me.

Clark Kent is a walking waste of oxygen. He's an animated  lump of gangrene.

And I never want to see him again.

********

What? You guys are still here? Go away! You're interrupting  some major kissing and sucking up here! Haven't you ever  heard of the expression 'voyeur'?

Okay, okay; if I tell you what happened, will you take a  hike?

Right. Okay. Well, not long after I left you last, there  was this tapping on my window. You guessed it: it was  FlyBoy Wonder. And he was giving me yet another of those  Looks. This one was the 'if you'll only talk to me, I can  explain everything' look. Well, anyway, I wasn't going to  get suckered into that. No way.

He flew off after a couple of minutes, and I sighed with  relief to see him gone. Well, no; actually, I felt sick to  think that he didn't care enough to stick around and try to  make me change my mind. Not that I would have... but he  still should have tried. Shouldn't he?

But I was wrong, because he came back again. And this time  he was holding flowers and Godiva chocolates. And the  chocolates weren't the stuff you get in stores over here -  they were from Switzerland! I'm not kidding - I could see  the writing on the box, and there wasn't a word of English  in sight. And... well, I figured that it wouldn't do any  harm to let him in. Just for a minute. And I'd make it  clear to him that if I wanted him to leave, he had to go.

Did you know that there was an earthquake in Belize this  afternoon? I didn't. It didn't make the news until an hour  or so ago, and then it was only on LNN's international  summary. See, that's where he was. He heard a report on  someone's radio when we were at the subway station - it was  tuned to an international frequency, the BBC World Service,  I think. And Superman was needed pretty urgently. He was  very contrite, but he told me he simply didn't have the  time it would've taken to get out of the subway station,  tell me about it and then find somewhere to change and fly  off from.

I guess you could understand that he took the wind out of  my sails with that one. I mean, how could I still be that  mad at him after he'd told me what he'd been doing? Okay,  he was still pocket lint for lying to me all this time, but  at least I knew he wasn't avoiding me.

And then he explained all that too. And told me that he was  sorry, and that he'd wanted to tell me for so long, and  that he knew he was a lunkhead, but he loved me so much and  he wanted to know that I loved *him*. Clark Kent, not  Superman. And that he did trust me - if he hadn't, he'd  never have been able to run off this afternoon without  checking that I'd protect his secret. He wanted to know  what I'd done with the knife. Actually, I gave it to the  police. But I told them it had been bent all along, and  that it must've got worse when it fell to the floor. I knew  no-one else had seen it close up the way Clark and I had.  And who was going to believe Druggie over two respected  reporters?

Anyway, I guess you're thinking that I gave Clark a hard  time for lying to me. And for assuming that I'd only want  him for his powers if I'd known. Of course I did. Well...  sort of. I mean, I started to. But he just gave me another  of his Looks - this time, the one which says 'I'm really,  really sorry and if you'll only give me another chance I'll  never do it again'. And... well, when he offered to take me  flying as well, who could blame me for forgiving him?

So, okay, he's not pocket lint any more. And yes, the  date's still on. This Saturday, in fact. But I'm not  worried any more about the transition from friend to lover  - when a guy can kiss as well as Clark can, what girl would  hesitate?

And speaking of kissing... would you mind giving us some  privacy here?!

~ The End ~

(c) Wendy Richards wendy@lcfanfic.com

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