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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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."

He politely pretends she's talking about her injuries instead of her mental state. "Your hands are pretty bad."

"'S not what I meant."

"No, but they wouldn't be like that if you weren't so hard on yourself. You are not to blame for this, Victor."

"I know," she says. She swallows. "I think I know. I'm angry. I'm angry at myself, but... I'm usually angry at myself. I'm more angry at life. Or God. Or whatever."

"And the Furies?"

"Them too, I guess. I think they're idiotic and manipulative, but the focus of my anger isn't on them."

"I'm not going to say that you don't have a right to be mad, because you do," Clark tells her.

All the fight is out of her, and she nods, tears springing up fresh again, stinging her eyes and nose. "Why can't we make everyone better?"

All he can offer her are tissues. "I ask myself that a lot. The hard truth is that it's just the way it is, sometimes. We do what we can to make things right, to keep the peace, and improve things as best we can. But even Superman can't do everything."

She gingerly wipes her eyes, maneuvering with difficulty with her swollen fingers. "I know that in my head, but my head's not the one calling the shots right now. Which I don't like. I miss being able to... detach." She doesn't realize she still does it, but to a lesser extent, and usually when she's angry.

"For what it's worth... I think you're coping pretty well." Even with broken hands. To an extent, part of Clark envies people who can let out their frustrations through beating a punching bag. He has never really been able to let loose in the same way, and keeping stuff bottled up is hard in the long run.

A sharp, self-deprecating laugh. "I don't feel like I am. I'm a mess. If you weren't here keepin' me in line I'd probably be wasted and picking fights with folks."

"But I am here, and so are you." He feels that it's significant that she came here, instead of the second option she just mentioned. She could have easily gone and done that, rather than come knocking on his door in the middle of the night. But she didn't.

"Gosh, if I'd gone to James... I can't even imagine what he'd've let me do."

"What about Cole?" Clark asks. He doesn't know if she's even been home since it happened.

"I haven't been home yet. I... I don't know why not."

"You don't want him to see you like this," is his guess. It's understandable. Clark's own defense mechanism has often been isolation, even from the people he loves.

"Yeah. And the kids. The girls are big now, and Jude's old enough that he'd know something's wrong right away. I could fake it and pull it together if your little ones woke up, but I don't think I could for mine. Is that awful?"

"Well whenever I was upset in the past, I would sort of run away to the arctic... so I'd have to say no, not really. I think it's good to sometimes take the time to pull yourself back together without worrying your loved ones."

"Thanks. Sometimes I feel like a doctor on call, and I just... need a little bit of solitude. And sleep. You don't happen to have splints, do you?"

He'd been waiting for a sign from her that she'd be willing to try to patch herself up instead of hurt herself some more, so it's a welcome question. "Stay put, I'll get one of the first aid kits."

"Thanks." She keeps talking, quietly, because she knows he can still hear her even if he's not right next to her. "First time I had a broken bone, it was a guy with a bat who did it. I never thought I'd do it to myself. Lost track of how many I've had broken now."

The Kents have several medical kits stashed in the apartment, and it doesn't take him long to find one and bring it out to the living room. "At least this time it's only hairline fractures." Clark sets the kit down on the table next to the cold coffee, and opens it up to get at what he needs. "No need to set anything."

"Thank you. And thank heavens for that. Cole's gonna be grumpy, I think. He doesn't like when I'm damaged." 'Damaged.' She says it like she's mechanical.