victormakesart | (no subject)

(no subject)

She can't go anywhere else. It's too late at night and the kids are sleeping and she can't go to Cole like this and she wanted to go to James with this because she knows he'd let her go off the deep end. He'd let her break. He's been waiting for her to break for years. And maybe that's why she presses Clark's number and not James'. Or maybe it's because her finger slips off of James' speed dial. Either way, there she is, outside the door.

She tries to make a fist to knock, but her knuckles are bruised and her swollen fingers won't close. So she whispers, "Clark," knowing that he'll hear her.

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"It doesn't matter."

"It does to me. And the more bones you break, the less stuff besides yourself you'll be able to smash."

Edited 2014-09-23 02:11 (UTC)

"I'll heal," she says gruffly, unconcerned.

"You will," he agrees. Though he'd prefer it if she didn't have to.

"I'd anything, except the health of my friends and family, to heal Lorne. I'd give to any one of you. I know it doesn't work like that. But in a world of magic and mysteries, why can't it? Why can't I pay a price?"

"I don't know." Clark has to answer her honestly, because he doesn't have a good answer. There isn't even anything he could say that he knows she wants to hear. And it's a heartless cliche to say that life just isn't fair, even when it's true.

"How do you stop being angry?" she asks, after a long silence. "I... I want to hurt something, and that scares me. I'm not a very good person."

((Oops. Meant "I'd give anything."))

"Sometimes you don't." He wants to tell her that she is a good person, but he doesn't believe either of them is in a fit state to argue that particular point right now. "There are things I struggled to accept for years. And sometimes breaking things did make me feel better... but only for a moment."

"Sometimes I think about how much better it woulda been if I were more like the other Clark's Victor."

It's been a while since Clark has thought about his Luthor-raised counterpart. "Why's that?"

"She's... better than me. Stronger. She's willing to do what's necessary without feeling guilty. She'd've kicked the Three's butts from across space-time and made them comply. I just freaked out and had a crying jag."

"She might've tried," Clark is willing to concede. "But it probably wouldn't have helped. She'd be in the same position you are now. And you know what... I'm glad you aren't like that."

"Why?" she asks, morose. What she wouldn't give to do what is necessary without guilt.

"If they tricked you like that for helping them, what do you think they might've done if you threatened them?"

"Nothing. They can't interact with the universe beyond talk. I could've resummoned the demon and sacrificed their strength."

"If they can't interact with the universe, then how were they going to grant a favor in the first place?"

"I dunno. They can do some stuff, but they were a hundred percent unhelpful about anything to do with their predicament."

"Then isn't is possible that they might have just plain lied to you about being able to give you anything?" Clark points out. He doesn't know if that's the case, but if their power is limited... it's not impossible.

"Then they should've said. And never offered. If they've worked with Lorne, they know that sometimes people do freebies. All I do is freebies. All they had to do was ask and... how can something be so advanced and so stupid?"

Her energy is running low, and she limps to the kitchen table to sit down... not wanting to ruin the upholstery on the couch. At least with wood you can wipe it down and sanitize it. Her legs and hands and back are agony. She'd take pills but reasonable dosages don't work on her anymore and she doesn't want to kill her liver.

"You're right. They should've." He follows, trying not to look like he's trying to hover around her or whatever. She really does look like crap, and he knows she hates it when people fuss about it. "Just being advanced doesn't mean people are smart, or make all the right choices."

"When I was hitting the punching bags," she confesses, "even though I could turn them into anyone... I couldn't turn it into them. I couldn't bear to hurt them, even in my own mind. My nonviolence is a weakness. It's born of fear, not nobility."

"Not hurting people is not a weakness," Clark tells her firmly.

"That's not even the worst part, though," she says. "I did turn the bag into someone."

"Yourself?" he guesses. That's the only person that Clark knows she would hurt willingly, terrible though it is.

She nods her head, though the movement makes a stab of pain shoot through her skull, and she winces. Dehydration. "I'm so messed up."