dovelike | (no subject)

Entry tags:

futureverse,
kal

(no subject)

Six months ago, Eirene became engaged to an alien.

Fix months ago, she returned to her own world for almost two months, to make arrangements with Time himself so that she could pass through the Bar into Clark's world without things falling apart in her homeland without her presence.

Three months ago, the goddess returned to Clark's world with an agreement to go home twice a month to keep abreast of things and never leave her realm without a symbol of peace, barring any childbearing in which it would not be safe to travel.

Two month ago, she met with Senator Kent (and her future mother in law) and agreed to take cooking lessons when Martha had time.

An hour ago, Eirene completed her first solo dinner preparations, an early Halloween meal for herself and Clark. Except he's not returned from the office yet. Being late is generally an assumed thing with her fiance, and she's used to it. Really, it would just be nice if he called.

So she doesn't start panicking.

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He snorts and rolls his eyes again.

"If you honestly think me getting a little enthusiastic about fucking you makes you a whore or a 'bed slave', then you seriously need to catch up with the times, sweetheart."

"What you did wasn't being enthusiastic. I sleep with you almost every night, remember? I know what that sort of bed-play feels like. This? Was you getting off and using me to do so. There is a big difference."

Beat.

"And since when do you ever use language like that."

"And I'm not supposed involve you when I want to get off? Make up your mind, here."

He's going to ignore her question about his vocabulary, because it's just not important to him right now. "So it wasn't all rainbows and roses. Sometimes sex is just sex. What's wrong with that?"

"Obviously, we see sleeping together differently. I thought each time was special." She presses her lips together in an attempt to ward off even further embarassing herself in public, "Tonight is Halloween. You like holidays and I wanted to--"

Something occurs to her right about then, prompting a string of cursing in Greek. Then, "Oh, dear Zeus. The food." A quick glance around proves no one is paying attention, allowing Eirene to float up above the treeline and figure out where she is.

And blurs towards home a moment later without another word.

There's a very loud sigh, even if there isn't anyone to hear it anymore, and then he follows.

"I turned it all off," he says, once he's inside the apartment. He's not stupid.

Eirene doesn't respond right away; she's too busy carefully pulling the bakeware from the oven and staring down at the ruined meatloaf.

"Thank you. It would've been my fault if the building caught fire and people died."

"Yeah, it would have." That's said fairly casually, as he toes off his shoes and flops on the sofa. "What got you in a domestic mood?"

Eirene scraps the burnt offering into the trash before setting the pan in the sink and filling it halfway with water to soak. "That was the first dinner I made by myself. I was going to surprise you."

She heads into the bedroom a few minutes later, when the kitchen is clean again, and removes a duffel bag from her collection. Several pairs of underwear, two pants, and two shirts go in.

When she turns around, he'll be in the doorway. "Well, I guess neither of our surprises went over very well, did they?" He eyes the bag. "Where are you going?"

"No, I guess they didn't." She adds a folder and a notebook to the pile before zipping everything inside, and then looks around for her sandals.

"Headquarters. I'm going to spend the night there and see if I can help out with anything."

He leans against the doorframe. "Like what, handing out some of your 'home cooking'?"

Her chin lifts. "Like healing anyone who might be recently returned from a mission." The sandals are slid onto her feet, and the bag across her shoulders, before she even considers moving to the doorway. "Please move. I would like to go."

"You're not leaving." And he's not moving.

"Yes, I am. Please move out of the doorway." Said quietly, each word enunciated within an inch of it's life. Clark, she isn't kidding.

"No, you're not." Clark, it seems, doesn't care. He takes a step toward her. "You're mine and you're staying here."

"Yes, I'm yours. No, I'm not staying." There is a few inch wide gap between Clark and the frame now, prompting Eirene to try and slip around him into the hallway.

Her arm is caught yet again, and he pulls her back in front of him. "I said you're not leaving."

Its pure instinct, honed over the last few years of working directly with superheroes, including a caped crusader who taught Eirene how to harness her inate abilities for self protection without resorting to harm, that spurs the goddess to plant her free hand against Clark's chest and unleash what he teasingly calls her 'whammy', a steady, powerful transfer of pure contentment or peace.

The moment his grip loosens, she tugs away and flees out of the apartment, and doesn't stop running until she finds herself in a park several blocks away.

It takes a few minutes for Clark to figure out what happened. And when he does, his only course of action is simple.

He hones in on Eirene's heartbeat and follows it in a beeline.

"Eirene?"

She's seated on a bench, the bag at her feet, trying to light a cigarette with still-shaking hands. She's been there for a while, watching the children and their parents go past in search of the few remaining bits of candy to be had before the youngsters get taken home and all the adult parties start.

He'll probably notice her tense when she hears his voice.

He stops a few feet away from where she's sitting, and really, the expression on his face should be indication enough that something's different. Or back to normal. Whichever.

The point is, he looks devastated.

"Eirene," more softly this time. "Eirene, I'm so sorry."

She concentrates on the cigarette until the damn thing is lit, and, for once, could care less about his views on smoking. It's not like she's done this in decades, evidenced by the brief coughing fit that follows the first drag, and remains silent for almost ten minutes.

(It takes that long to look up at him without crying.)

"You hurt me."

Clark will just stand there, awkwardly stuffing his hands in his jeans pockets and trying not to stare at her the entire time.

"I know. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

She scoots over to the other end of the bench after a thoughtful pause and gestures to the empty half with her cigarette.

"You can sit down, but if you start going off on me again, I'll be at HQ faster than you can sneeze."

The cigarette is given a brief but distasteful glance and then he does sit down, but at the very far end.

"I won't. It's gone now. Whatever you did, it got rid of it."

Beat.

"And the last thing we want is me sneezing. Trust me."