Fic: Past Time (G, gen-Clex) 1/1
Feb. 2nd, 2014 03:16 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
seagull2eagle.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
tallihensiaTitle: Past Time
Fandom: Smallville - Pairing: None. Gen-Clex
Rating: G - Words: 1,000
Type: drama, future fic
Warnings: none
Spoilers: end of S2, Exodus
Summary: Sixty years after his life changed, Clark gets a note that returns him to his past – and his future.
Notes: For the community A Picture is Worth A Thousand Words. The challenge was to write a story exactly 1000 words inspired by a picture. My pic was a door with goat knocker (on Flickr, all rights reserved). We didn't have to be literal, just inspirational. I like a little bit of literal with my inspiration. ^^ I took it and went with this. AU after end Season 2, Exodus. Future Fic.
Cross-posted to Archive of our Own.
Disclaimer: Only mine in my dreams. ^^ This story was written for free entertainment purposes only and may not be reproduced for profit or altered without permission.
Clark walked down rural lanes, looking at the countryside. The rolling green hills were dotted with sheep, with an occasional cow or goat.
It was quite different from America where if you were in pastoral areas, the land was mostly flat, fairly brown, and primarily cows with only sometimes a lama or sheep.
The region was quiet, with birds and wind through the trees the predominate sounds. Clark had left cars and other industrial noises a few miles back in the town that had been on the address he'd been sent. It had taken him a while to figure out the actual location he was supposed to go to, with the townspeople suspicious and reluctant to help him. Only the note with the handwriting and the address persuaded them to give him directions.
"It's time, or past time. I'm at .... If you want, come to me."
The note had been delivered like all the others through the years – quietly, without fanfare, and with little to no evidence of where it had come from. Clark still didn't know how they got there. He hadn't inquired too hard, truth be told, for fear that they would come no more. Sixty-odd years of notes, and never a sign of the sender.
Looking at a footpath that split to the right, Clark wondered if it was enough of a road to be his next turn. After some hesitation, he decided not and continued on. Little wooden fences lined the lane. Simple poles strung together barely enough to restrain the sheep. Similar to what he'd done with cows back home.
The first note had come a month after his high school graduation. It had come with a package, and had simply said, "Congratulations. Go far, and don't forget yourself while you're saving others." The package had been a watch, simple yet sturdy, with a horse behind the hands. It would take some research, or have spent time with an obsessed friend, to realize the horse depicted was Bucephalos, Alexander's famous steed.
It had been the first indication that his friend may not have been dead after all. Clark had clutched the package and the note to himself and gone up to the loft and shuddered in shock for hours through the night. Two years gone, a plane crash over the ocean and no body to retrieve. They had all mourned, Clark trying not to think of his grief more than others. And then this. It didn't need the shortness of the note and the vagueness of the gift to tell him not to tell others. If this was from Lex, then his friend didn't want to come back. He hid the knowledge the same as he hid his own secrets, and hoped for his friend.
He'd worn that watch for almost sixteen years before it was destroyed in an accident that Clark Kent shouldn't have survived either. It had taken some work to bring the Clark Kent identity back after that. There had been no retrieving the watch.
Clark paused and looked across the field. There in the distance was a house. It was a traditional English cottage, with a thatched roof and country lines. There were chickens in the yard. It didn't look like someplace his once-elegant friend would have settled. But sixty years was a long time.
The notes had been sparse through the years, with never a signature or identification. Clark didn't even know for certain that they were from Lex. The only indications were the watch and the occasional wry turn of phrase. That, and the notes themselves. The notes had come when Superman needed assistance, or when Clark had needed comfort. He'd received a note when he'd frantically been trying to find a way to negotiate with an alien fleet. He'd received a note when his wife had died.
It had been six years since his wife, and Clark had considered disappearing from the world. He'd outlived his family and friends, and had lived lies for too many years. Something needed to change. He'd been waiting for he didn't know what, and then he'd gotten this note.
Lex was right. It was time, and time past.
Clark put his hand upon the gate and opened it. He got in quickly and closed it before the chickens could get out. He spent a moment petting the farm dog, an Australian sheep dog with striking blue eyes and a mottled face and friendly attitude.
He looked at the cottage door, but it stayed firmly shut. Clark thought there might have been movement behind the curtains. He could have used his powers to know for certain, but time would be soon enough.
For this trip, he'd left off the disguises he'd used through the years. From the different identities to the aged appearance he'd modified through his marriage. It wasn't like whoever was inside didn't know – the notes had found him no matter where or who he'd been.
He'd found a store that still sold jeans and flannel shirts. Something he hadn't worn for nearly half a century. It took him back to that time, and the memories of then.
He wondered what Lex looked like now. If it was Lex. It had to be Lex. Two years of friendship, and memories ages old. Photographs were his main knowledge of the times back then, and they didn't tell the whole story.
Gathering his nerve, Clark walked to the door. He looked at the stylized goat head knocker and slowly reached to grasp the iron ring. His knock wasn't as firm as it should have been, and he wondered if he should try again. Before he could, the door opened.
"Hello Clark."
Clark swallowed as he looked at his friend. As old as Clark, and as young. Somehow, time had passed both of them by while they lived separate lives. Now they were here again.
"Hi Lex."
They looked at each other for several long moments more, then Lex stepped back. "Come in."
END
[Poll #1954799]
Fandom: Smallville - Pairing: None. Gen-Clex
Rating: G - Words: 1,000
Type: drama, future fic
Warnings: none
Spoilers: end of S2, Exodus
Summary: Sixty years after his life changed, Clark gets a note that returns him to his past – and his future.
Notes: For the community A Picture is Worth A Thousand Words. The challenge was to write a story exactly 1000 words inspired by a picture. My pic was a door with goat knocker (on Flickr, all rights reserved). We didn't have to be literal, just inspirational. I like a little bit of literal with my inspiration. ^^ I took it and went with this. AU after end Season 2, Exodus. Future Fic.
Cross-posted to Archive of our Own.
Disclaimer: Only mine in my dreams. ^^ This story was written for free entertainment purposes only and may not be reproduced for profit or altered without permission.
Past Time
Clark walked down rural lanes, looking at the countryside. The rolling green hills were dotted with sheep, with an occasional cow or goat.
It was quite different from America where if you were in pastoral areas, the land was mostly flat, fairly brown, and primarily cows with only sometimes a lama or sheep.
The region was quiet, with birds and wind through the trees the predominate sounds. Clark had left cars and other industrial noises a few miles back in the town that had been on the address he'd been sent. It had taken him a while to figure out the actual location he was supposed to go to, with the townspeople suspicious and reluctant to help him. Only the note with the handwriting and the address persuaded them to give him directions.
"It's time, or past time. I'm at .... If you want, come to me."
The note had been delivered like all the others through the years – quietly, without fanfare, and with little to no evidence of where it had come from. Clark still didn't know how they got there. He hadn't inquired too hard, truth be told, for fear that they would come no more. Sixty-odd years of notes, and never a sign of the sender.
Looking at a footpath that split to the right, Clark wondered if it was enough of a road to be his next turn. After some hesitation, he decided not and continued on. Little wooden fences lined the lane. Simple poles strung together barely enough to restrain the sheep. Similar to what he'd done with cows back home.
The first note had come a month after his high school graduation. It had come with a package, and had simply said, "Congratulations. Go far, and don't forget yourself while you're saving others." The package had been a watch, simple yet sturdy, with a horse behind the hands. It would take some research, or have spent time with an obsessed friend, to realize the horse depicted was Bucephalos, Alexander's famous steed.
It had been the first indication that his friend may not have been dead after all. Clark had clutched the package and the note to himself and gone up to the loft and shuddered in shock for hours through the night. Two years gone, a plane crash over the ocean and no body to retrieve. They had all mourned, Clark trying not to think of his grief more than others. And then this. It didn't need the shortness of the note and the vagueness of the gift to tell him not to tell others. If this was from Lex, then his friend didn't want to come back. He hid the knowledge the same as he hid his own secrets, and hoped for his friend.
He'd worn that watch for almost sixteen years before it was destroyed in an accident that Clark Kent shouldn't have survived either. It had taken some work to bring the Clark Kent identity back after that. There had been no retrieving the watch.
Clark paused and looked across the field. There in the distance was a house. It was a traditional English cottage, with a thatched roof and country lines. There were chickens in the yard. It didn't look like someplace his once-elegant friend would have settled. But sixty years was a long time.
The notes had been sparse through the years, with never a signature or identification. Clark didn't even know for certain that they were from Lex. The only indications were the watch and the occasional wry turn of phrase. That, and the notes themselves. The notes had come when Superman needed assistance, or when Clark had needed comfort. He'd received a note when he'd frantically been trying to find a way to negotiate with an alien fleet. He'd received a note when his wife had died.
It had been six years since his wife, and Clark had considered disappearing from the world. He'd outlived his family and friends, and had lived lies for too many years. Something needed to change. He'd been waiting for he didn't know what, and then he'd gotten this note.
Lex was right. It was time, and time past.
Clark put his hand upon the gate and opened it. He got in quickly and closed it before the chickens could get out. He spent a moment petting the farm dog, an Australian sheep dog with striking blue eyes and a mottled face and friendly attitude.
He looked at the cottage door, but it stayed firmly shut. Clark thought there might have been movement behind the curtains. He could have used his powers to know for certain, but time would be soon enough.
For this trip, he'd left off the disguises he'd used through the years. From the different identities to the aged appearance he'd modified through his marriage. It wasn't like whoever was inside didn't know – the notes had found him no matter where or who he'd been.
He'd found a store that still sold jeans and flannel shirts. Something he hadn't worn for nearly half a century. It took him back to that time, and the memories of then.
He wondered what Lex looked like now. If it was Lex. It had to be Lex. Two years of friendship, and memories ages old. Photographs were his main knowledge of the times back then, and they didn't tell the whole story.
Gathering his nerve, Clark walked to the door. He looked at the stylized goat head knocker and slowly reached to grasp the iron ring. His knock wasn't as firm as it should have been, and he wondered if he should try again. Before he could, the door opened.
"Hello Clark."
Clark swallowed as he looked at his friend. As old as Clark, and as young. Somehow, time had passed both of them by while they lived separate lives. Now they were here again.
"Hi Lex."
They looked at each other for several long moments more, then Lex stepped back. "Come in."
[Poll #1954799]
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