InsaneJournal

WHO: Clark & Darcy
WHAT Chatting!
WHEN: Afternoon.
WHERE: The apartment complex kitchen.
RATING: PG to start.



The complex kitchen wasn't a place that Clark spent much time in, considering he had his own kitchen in his own apartment (one that, finally, he could afford to stock with food, since he'd picked up a job at The Roadhouse thanks to Jo Harvelle), but there were circumstances that required his attention in the kitchen today. Circumstances that were, simply enough, based on a few things that needed to be repaired, between the cracked pipe that was underneath the sink and the two cabinet doors with the wobbly hinges on the right side of the room, just by the fridge. The hinges could be tightened easily enough, but the pipe below was going to have to go completely. Fortunately, Clark Kent had plenty of hands on experience with repair work. Between herding animals and helping tend to the crops back at the farm he'd been raised on, he and his dad had taken to a lot of property management. They didn't have much money -- the farm was always at risk of being taken away in some way or another for financial reasons -- so they couldn't afford to call in a professional when things went awry. Their farm practically ran off of ancient tractors and half-functioning pieces of equipment. Outside of the nice, homey touches that Martha Kent put into the home they shared, the story was practically the same as well. Leaky roof? Clark and his dad would have to climb up and fix it. Walls that needed replacing? They were on it. Broken windows? Taken care of by the father and son duo. They were boring, tedious tasks that Clark had often thrown his head back and complained about when he had been a kid, but now that he was older, with his earth father long gone for years now, Clark couldn't help but appreciate all that he had learned. More importantly, he couldn't help but appreciate all those little moments either. His parents had always said that the little moments were the best.

That didn't mean Clark wasn't allowed to be bitter about his father's death.

With a heavy hand, Clark dropped his toolbox onto the kitchen table, reached up, and dragged his red hoodie up and over his head. It found it's place along the back of one of the chairs sitting beside the table, leaving Clark in a pair of construction boots, blue jeans, and a slightly worn white t-shirt. Nothing fancy. Not that he owned anything too fancy, outside of his suit, but that was a different story. One that was currently tucked away upstairs, between rows of shirts in his closet. As proud as he was of the costume (no matter what Allana said), he wasn't wearing it as often as he used to. Sometimes when he'd go out to patrol (specifically at night), Clark would put it on, but for the most part, he was trying to stay quiet. Parading around as a well-known comic book character was only going to draw in unwanted attention to himself. If he drew in attention, the complex would wind up on the radar. If the complex got on the radar, they'd all be screwed.

Clark had to work carefully. He had to be quick and he definitely had to stay out of sight. That wasn't as hard as he had thought it would be. He had only started donning the costume a month before he had been brought here for the first time. Before that, Clark had only used his powers in the dark. Out of the way, where no one could expose him, put his family at risk, and land him in a science lab.

Back then, though, Clark really hadn't cared about using his powers for too much beyond jetting to classes at the last second and protecting his family. It wasn't until later, when his dad had planted the idea in his head, that Clark considered the possibility. It took moving out, attempting several other career paths, and a close call on the fate of the world for Clark to really understand what he had to do. He still sometimes wondered if taking those other routes would have been better. Those coaches had been so eager to scrape him up for their teams, with talk of money and success and fame...the farm had been going under. They had needed the money. Maybe he should have taken the job.

Clark reached for his wrench and pulled the cabinet doors open that led to the underside of the sink. It took a little work for him to cram his head and shoulders underneath it (admittedly, he was a pretty big guy), but determination was a powerful thing. With his mind on the Kent farm and Metropolis, Clark twisted the pipe and started turning it out of place.