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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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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.

Clark reluctantly removes his arms from around her and steps back a little. "Then thank you for not trying." Because she really would only hurt herself.

And she knows that, hence the refraining from violence that does not involve smacking his chest repeatedly. Which has already been done. There are a few slow, deep breathes before Eirene looks back up at him - her features somewhat composed, aside from the reddened eyes and tear tracks.

"Sorry for the hitting."

"It's all right," he shrugs. It would have been even if he wasn't invulnerable. "You needed to get it out."

There's a nod, followed shortly after by a wince. "Ow." Eirene reaches up to pinch the bridge of her nose, having read about how it's supposed to fend off head pain.

"My head feels like it's going to explode."

"Maybe you should go lie down?" Clark suggests uncertainly. "You're really talking to the wrong person about how to deal with pain, I should add."

"Yeah, I know." Grumpy much? She sighs after a few moments. "It's good advice. Think a proper bath, and a nap would do winders before I try and sort any of this out."

Eirene's gaze flicks back up toward his face.

"I'd like to talk to you again, soon. If that's okay?"

"That sounds like a good idea," he agrees. Something his mom would suggest, probably. "And yeah. We can talk again soon, if you want."

"I do." She takes a few steps towards the bar, then turns. "I don't hate you, Clark. I'm hurt and I'm upset, but I don't hate you. Thought you should know that."

He nods. "Thank you. For that." But he'll wait until she's had time to think about it. Minds change.

"You're welcome."

She's gone in the next few seconds, making her way back to the bar in the moonlight.

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