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Darcy Rhone is a total MILF (total_milf) wrote in wariscoming,

Darcy watched Clark putting groceries away in silence. She'd noticed the strawberries and her cheeks had gone pink, wondering if he'd gotten them because he liked them...or because he knew she did. It seemed strange to watch him doing something so mundane. He was Superman, for Christ's sake, but...she liked the way it humanized him that much more. To everybody else, he might be Superman, but to Darcy, he was Clark Kent, the cute guy who'd offered to bring her ice cream after she'd bitched about sore boobs. Even Superman had to go grocery shopping. She closed her eyes to shake away a thought when he looked, for a flash of a second, more like Dexter to her than Superman.

Her eyes opened again when his voice sounded, stalling somewhat. She made the effort to give him a smile, but when he went on to say he'd sleep on the couch, the smile faded again and she nodded, looking down for a moment. "Oh. Yeah, okay, that's fine...thanks," she said softly. When her eyes moved upward again, Clark was making his way over to her. Darcy dropped her bag down on the floor and took a deep breath, letting it out in a soft sigh. "Want me to make us more tea...?" she offered half-heartedly. She wasn't really sure where this conversation was supposed to go.

Yeah. Darcy was stalling. She didn't really want to be making funeral arrangements for Kon, because that meant accepting that it really was over. She knew he was dead and that meant forever, but she wasn't ready to admit it out loud, so to speak, by setting it in stone with a coffin and a funeral. Plus...Darcy didn't really know where to begin, if she was honest. Her mother had done all of the work for her grandfather's funeral and even if she hadn't, Darcy had only been nine. She hadn't bothered to pay any attention to it all. Now, she wished she had.

"Um...listen, Clark, I..." she started slowly, her brow knitting with concentration as she tried to determine how to position her statement. "I'm really sorry. About everything that happened," she said. "I know it wasn't my fault," she tacked on quickly to prevent him trying to interrupt to tell her just that, "but...I don't know, I knew, I guess, that he could take care of himself for the most part. I mean, he was taking care of me...but I still sort of felt like it was my job to keep an eye out... I'm just, you know, sorry there wasn't anything more I could do," she finished, trailing off awkwardly and looking down again, pained. In her own way, she felt almost as responsible as Clark probably did and neither of them was to blame. Neither of them had any control over the situation. Neither of them could have stopped it. Plus, she felt terrible that she couldn't make herself say his name out loud. Writing it was one thing. Saying it was another entirely.

Keen to change the subject, even if just for a second, Darcy looked back up at Clark towering over her. "Thanks for letting me stay. I think I needed this as much as you do," she admitted, blushing slightly as she gave him a sheepish sort of half-smile that didn't reach her eyes.