drabble

Dribble-drabble.... I don't usually do drabbles, but something compels me. *grins* Maybe it was James Marsden's crystal blue stare as Superman flew him up out of the broken ship. Or maybe I'm just too lazy/busy to write an entire fic. *laughs* Yeah, that would be it. ^_~



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He hadn't ever bothered locking the door before. There hadn't ever been anything in his tiny apartment worth stealing. Now there was something in there that mattered... and he forgot.

*CRAK!*

If Clark Kent had been the sort to swear, he would have done so in this moment.

Shifting the grocery bag he was carrying closer, being careful not to squeeze any of the packages in it too tightly, Clark entered. He pushed the door closed behind him, wiggling the knob, hoping that it would latch. It didn't. He was going to have to replace it.

Richard White was curled on the tatty sofa that had come with the place, head resting on a pillow. His hair was dark with dampness where it lay across his forehead, a shadow of stubble stroking the line of his jaw. He looked years younger wearing one of Clark's teeshirts and a pair of sweats he had brought with him from the farm on Smallville. Clark already knew, because of his disguise as a "mild mannered reporter", how much difference a suit and tie could make, but he was still a little startled by the change.

"You know, Clark," Richard spoke up sleepily, without raising his head from the pillow. Clark glanced over, catching a flash of blue-green beneath heavy lids. "If you want to pass for human, you really ought to have things like a toothbrush and toothpaste in your bathroom.... Shampoo, conditioner... even if you don't need them yourself."

Clark froze, shifting the groceries to his other arm. His free hand crept up to his collar, touching the knot of the tie that helped to lock Superman away from Clark Kent, away from everyone else.

"What are you...? Human?" He gave a nervous laugh, hoping that he could divert the recognition, while having a sinking feeling that this time it wasn't going to work. "What are you talking about, Richard? I just... uh," He turned away, toward the small, stained kitchen, pushing up his glasses with one finger. Another bit of the mask, and it suddenly seemed incredibly fragile and easily stripped away before the bright gleam in Richard's eyes. "I just ran out, that's all."

Richard pulled himself into a sitting position, more awake now. His gaze was fixed on Clark's face; he knew this even though he had his head averted.

"Ran out of everything all at once?"

Clark didn't answer and after several heartbeats of loaded silence, in which nothing was said but many things were communicated, Richard sighed gustily.

"Whatever you say, Clark," he mumbled, flopping back against the sofa back, running a hand through his drying hair. "Whatever you say."

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