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clark kent,
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There is a particular tree near the edge of the forest that Eirene has adopted in the few weeks since her transformation. It has low enough branches that she can reach and climb easily, and the foliage is close enough together to form a protective barrier when she wants to just watch life go by.

Her door has not returned yet but she had a wonderful few days in Smallville, so it seems to be a matter of balancing the good with the bad. This evening, she can be found in her tree watching the sun set and trying not to wish like hell that she had someone to hold her.

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Not for long. "What you just told me really hurt, Clark. I know we aren't together, and I've no right to feel this way."

Quietly, "But I do."

Yep, also staring at grass. Awkward rules.

There isn't anything he can think of to say to that. Other than that he's sorry, which he's already said. Instead, he starts to stand.

"I should let you be."

Out of habit, she rises as well, and leans against the tree for support whilst trying to sort out her skirts.

Softly: "The last thing I want to do is keep you here against your will, Clark."

"You're not I just figured you'd want some, I don't know." He shrugs. "Space."

"I've had enough space to last a lifetime." She steps away from the tree and starts feeling her way carefully in the dark in a half-hearted pace.

"Clark, what do friends talk about? I've only ever had any here, and I feel like I'm failing as a human. How-- how do you do it?"

That's not a laugh. Honest.

"Eirene, you're really not asking the right person. The only person I seem to have gotten this whole friend thing right with is Chloe and that's ... maybe not even accurate anymore."

She frowns.

"I trust you to give me the truth, so you are the right person."

Even if he thinks that truth might be misplaced - she's cottoning on to how his mind tends to work.

"Look, I don't know, okay?" This is a little more stern than he was intending, but it seems emotions are getting way with him. "The only friend I had growing up moved away because he couldn't handle being in my life anymore. Lex hates me now and like I just said, I don't even know what's going on with Chloe anymore. So no, Eirene, I'm no expert on how to make and keep friends."

"I meant how to you live as a human." Eirene blinks, tilting her head up to watch him. "But, if we are starting over, as much as you and I can, then you do have at least one friend. Me. Now, I understand that's probably not all that reassuring, but ... right."

Clark sighs.

"I don't know that, either. I was only human for a few weeks and then I got myself killed. And I wouldn't exactly call what I do now living as a human. Among them, yes, but I'm not one of them."

"Oh." There's a long pause.

"It's alright to not have all the answers, you know. Not even my father, or my grandfather, does, and most people assume their omnipotent."

After a moment, she reaches out gently to lace her fingers with his. She's still learning how to give comfort verbally, so this'll have to do for now.

And for some reason it feels wrong. He's just hurt her, and she's comforting him and that's just not right somehow.

Clark takes his hand back and steps away from her. "Don't."

Eirene freezes momentarily, and then hides her hand in the folds of her skirt. "I'm sorry."

She ducks her head so he won't see her suddenly watery eyes.

"That's what I'm talking about. Clark, I don't know anyway else to be. If I can't help people, to hold and hug them and ease their pain ... I don't know what to do."

"That's just who you are, Eirene," he replies quietly, after a moment. "A few weeks of being human isn't going to change however many centuries of who you were before."

That startles a low laugh out of her. "I guess that's true. Here I've been so worried about remembering the advice everyone's given me - don't fall, watch where you step, don't take candy from strangers.. that," Eirene frowns, glancing up at the sky again.

"Clark."

Pause.

"It's wrong to want to hug someone and sock them in the arm at the same time, right?"

Now that is a soft laugh from his direction.

"No. Actually, I think that's pretty human."

"Really?"

She actually brightens up, though it's probably hard to see in the dim light.

"Well, since I can't hug you, because I'm ... still a bit ticked off, and if I punch you, I'll just break my hand..."

She leans down and plucks a pinecone from the ground, lightly lobbing it in his direction.

Naturally, he doesn't move, and just watches the pinecone bounce off him harmlessly.

"Well," he says after it falls back to the ground, "that's a start."

Afterwards, Eirene won't be able to pin down the exact moment the anger flared, but it does: hot, and wild and deep.

One minute she's holding a second pinecone, and the next, it seems, though she had to have moved forward without realizing it, she's hiting his chest with her hands, over and over.

"You hurt me." That, too, is repeated three or four times through her tears.

This is more the reaction Clark's been expecting, although she's been so subdued, previous tears notwithstanding, that she does catch him a little off guard.

That's not to say he doesn't let her get in a few good shots that might even have hurt were he human. Eventually, though, when she seems to be wearing down, he takes her hands gently and then tugs her against his chest.

"I'm sorry."

It's a pile of weeks worth of stress and pain, some of it his fault, the rest brought on by the shock of mortality and the cold demeanor of her own father. And poor Clark is the recipient of all of it.

Eirene does indeed wind down, when her palms ache, and her throat becomes hoarse. She's grateful for the support, resting her flushed cheek against his now-damp shirt.

"Just--just want it to st--stop hurting." she mumbles through a round of hiccups.

"I know," he says softly, rubbing her back soothingly. "And I wish you weren't hurting. I wish I could just take it away for you, but I can't. No one can."

That might have been a groan of frustration issuing somewhere from the vicnity of his chest. Followed shortly by a word not normally heard outside a sailor's tavern.

Still mad.

But at least she's stopped pummeling him.

That might actually get a soft huff of laughter out of him, because there's just something funny about her using language like that, but he tries hard not to let her know that's exactly what it was.

"It'll get better," he says after a moment to compose himself.

"Yeah," she mutters after a few minutes, once she's in a calmer mood, and her head has stopped spinning. And the red haze has departed from her vision.

"Still want to throttle you," the former goddess adds quietly.