At Home with Clark and Jim

[stands_for_hope]

[continued from here]

They'd fallen into a routine pretty easily.

Clark had managed to write up something about the church bust without incriminating either of them, which meant that his Perry had been pleased enough with his work for the day and had only yelled at him for five minutes about his failure to show up in the office the whole day. Lois had ribbed him a little, which had been remarked upon as she usually gave the new guy hell if he did anything remotely out of the line, and then she'd ribbed him a lot. He hadn't minded too terribly much since he had visited her afterwards at her apartment and she'd done plenty of kissing to make it better.

With a second person in the apartment, he'd started to fix it up a little, bringing home new linens, keeping the fridge stocked more regularly, and he'd even managed to find a new couch for them through a very kindly older woman and Craigslist.

True to his word, he'd gotten some rudimentary identification for Jim and he walked through the door with a spring in his step, closing the door behind him and plopping it down on the kitchen table with a smile.

Comments

[kolodnoykovki]

The answer came swiftly. "The Dodgers." Dodgers. When he scraped up all the money he could and bought tickets for him and Steve--

Finally. A memory that wasn't terrible. One he didn't resent, even with its connection to someone he barely knew.

"They were the home team. Sometimes... Sometimes we'd sneak in when we were boys, staying close to adults as they went in, pretending we were with them. Nobody would ask anything until they caught us unaccompanied later."

He sat as he thought about it, remembering running from the people in charge, laughing when they got back onto the street and stealing time listening to the radio later so they could hear the final score.

[stands_for_hope]

Hearing Jim talk about his memories happily has a smile slowly growing across his face until it almost looks like it might break apart. He ducks his head and shoves some food into his mouth, chewing it up and swallowing before speaking again.

"If you ever want to go see a game, I can get us there without having to deal with the TSA."

[kolodnoykovki]

"To Brooklyn?" he asked, slightly confused, though he understood what it was Clark meant. But to go all the way to Brooklyn from Metropolis just for a game?

But then, it would be nice to see a baseball game again, he thought. He hadn't heard much of it - he hadn't thought to listen or check. The idea of doing it... that actually made him feel better. "All right."

[stands_for_hope]

Now Clark is conflicted. Because damn, but how do you tell a man that the Dodgers are, in fact, located in Los Angeles now when it's the one thing he seems to have any definitive feelings on so far (other than the price of things and the best way to cook a roast).

"They might have a game around here. And I'll never turn down the chance to go to a Monarchs game" as they were in fact Clark's team, as some of the pennants in the apartment show, "but I figure we'll figure out a good day and go from there as needed."

Does he tell him? Oh man, he's not sure what it says about the strange little arrangement they have, but this is literally the first time Clark's felt awkward about something.

"Though... I should let you know. And I am... really really sorry."

Clark breathes in.

"The Dodgers got sold to Los Angeles."

[kolodnoykovki]

He started confused, but after those last words, Jim looked like a kicked puppy. The positive was that he didn't look like Clark had kicked him. "Los Angeles? ...When? What about Ebbets Field?"

He couldn't, he reminded himself, have expected things to be the same forever. He remembered things from different decades, though the year had never mattered before - and seven decades meant seventy years of change. His memories, no matter what they were of, likely wouldn't be accurate.

But after that good memory, he had... hoped.

[stands_for_hope]

Clark still feels like he took a shot to the gut courtesy of General Zod.

"They... pulled it down. Put up apartments. People fought it, but it went through eventually."

He puts his fork down, because this deserves his proper attention.

"The team got sold in the early fifties and there was some shifting around until they finally got pulled to LA in 1958. Suffice to say it was a pretty big deal."

His lips are tight.

"Most of the fans shifted over to the Mets, from what I understand. Given I've been a Monarchs fan since I was at my Pa's hip, I don't know if I could ever switch to the Meteors but... there's that. They play at Shea Stadium in Queens."

[kolodnoykovki]

At least the kicked expression faded a little as he asked, "The Mets? Who are they?" That was a team he knew he'd never heard of. And he wasn't sure if he could support a team that was so far from where he ...

Where he was from. Where his heart was from, anyway.

He shook his head a little and speared a carrot with his fork. "I might have to pick a new team." Unless he could be loyal to the Dodgers from states away.

[stands_for_hope]

"I could probably snag us tickets to a Monarchs game for this weekend," he offers, and makes a plan to fly to New York tomorrow morning to grab them bagels for breakfast. A couple of the folks at the paper were New York transplants and they always complained about the bagels in Metropolis, that they didn't taste quite right. Apparently, it was something about the water.

"Brooklyn's still got a minors team, though. You could always root for the Cyclones."

[kolodnoykovki]

The thought of going to a baseball game, any baseball game, sat surprisingly well with him, he found, and he nodded. "Sounds good," he said, and then, with the news of the Cyclones, his brows rose. "...Named after the roller coaster." He knew. He remembered... midways and rides and games, wandering around with a girl on his arm--

"I could cheer for them." He was certain of it. That was a team that had suddenly found its way into what was left of his heart.

[stands_for_hope]

"I'll look into tickets," he says, "and I'll see if the Trojans are hosting them anytime soon."

Metropolis, being the massive city that it was, had a few different minor league teams. He'd seen a couple of Trojans games, mostly at the insistence of Lombard, but as the man was a Meteors fan, his judgement was obviously subpar on the subject of sports, regardless of his current employment, Clark had taken his suggestions with a healthy dose of salt. Now, though, he'd be willing to give it a shot.

"I know there's a Cyclones vs Mammoths game in a couple of weeks, if you don't mind a short trip down to Gotham."

[kolodnoykovki]

"Has it been quiet in Gotham lately?" That was always a concern when going to Gotham. Who knew if it was worse to happen by after a quiet period or during one - because the quiet could stop at any time, with absolutely no warning. For a criminal facility, the Arkham Asylum seemed to have very loose security. He'd read enough lately to know all about that.

[stands_for_hope]

"Gotham isn't nearly as bad as people make it out to be," he says with a wave before finally starting to put roast into his mouth again. He gets it swallowed before he continues.

"It's mostly quiet. It's just that when something blows up, literally or figuratively, it has a tendency to go big and loud. Not that Metropolis is doing much better at the moment."

He leans back, sips on his beer, and scratches absently at his jaw.

"Last time I went through, it was quiet. But we can wait for a Trojans game, if you'd rather."

[kolodnoykovki]

But Jim shook his head. "No, it's all right. I'll go to Gotham." It wasn't like he couldn't defend himself, after all. He was missing his weaponry, but he could make do without it. Even if he did intend to replace some of his weapons eventually.

Eventually. He thought that having a fighting knife on hand would ease a part of him that was still jumpy. He wasn't sure if Clark would approve, but he had kept larger secrets than having a knife.

[stands_for_hope]

"I'll ask Lombard tomorrow at work, see if he can get us a deal on some tickets. If not, I'll get them online."

And bagels. He's still buying Jim bagels.

He eats more of the roast.

And tonight, he's buying ice cream. And asking his mother if Miss Henderson down the way with the sheep had done her shearing yet to beg for a roommate scarf for Jim.

[kolodnoykovki]

He nodded. "I'll try to find a job to help pay for it," he said. "That's... only fair."

And fair was fair. That seemed important now. Now that he remembered scraping up money for tickets, and making food. So far, Clark had been paying for everything. It was time he put in his fair share.

[stands_for_hope]

"It'll all even out," he says, obviously not worried about it but not refusing the money either. He wasn't Bruce Wayne, after all.

"Once you've got a job, we'll hash out bills more, but we're eating all right and we've got a roof over our head, so we're doing all right."

He yawns a little before turning back to his dinner and going quiet as he worked on the food.

[kolodnoykovki]

It settled a different something inside him to see Clark eat. Though he didn't doubt Clark's health, it spoke to that part of him that had apparently taken care of Steve so long ago. That distant past was becoming clearer, and that was fine. The distant past was less worrisome than the part in the middle. He tended to avoid it, reject it outright.

He had also learned the skill of putting some thoughts out of his mind and focusing on the present instead. And in the present, he had good food - even if he had cooked it himself - and company that, for some reason, didn't judge him. That made life easier. "I... am glad you like the food."

[stands_for_hope]

He looks up after a particularly large bite.

"Oh yeah," he says, the words somewhat garbled around the food. Blushing a little at his poor table manners, he swallows and shakes it off.

"It's really good. My mother would approve."

He offers Jim a smile.

"I certainly do."

[kolodnoykovki]

It amused him, and for once, he actually smiled. Clark liked his food and was eating well. He'd done something worthwhile. It was a reason to stay alive, to find life again. The moment of knowing that, unlike before, he mattered.

He could live.

"Good."

[stands_for_hope]

"If you really like cooking," Clark finally says as he finishes up the rest of his food, "I'm happy to pick up whatever ingredients you might need. If you feel like experimenting with anything."

He stood up, plate in hand, and went to the sink to start washing it off.

[kolodnoykovki]

"I just... get the feeling that I used to cook. Or share cooking. I don't know if I know how to do anything special. Just normal food." And what 'normal food' meant, he wasn't sure, either. The only things that occurred to him were, "Soup beans, maybe chicken dumplings." He thought that he could do those, anyway.

[stands_for_hope]

"I enjoy all those things," he says, washing the dish off absently.

"But what I mean is," and he turns to Jim a little as he speaks, "if you like doing it, it makes you feel good, there's plenty of recipes out there to try out. Normal, not normal, twists on old ideas, whole brand new ones... and you're welcome to use my laptop while I'm not home."

He shifts back to start working on the fork.

"Mention it to my Ma and you'll get more recipes in your ear than you care to."

It's said with a smile but some degree of seriousness. Martha Kent's kitchen was something of an institution.

"I'll do dinner tomorrow, though. It's only fair."

[kolodnoykovki]

"With any luck, I'll have a job tomorrow." Construction. Construction, he could do. That wasn't even a question. He just had to convince someone to give him a job. "So you might be the only one here in time to make dinner."

He could only hope. He was tired of not feeling like he was contributing. That was worse than the memories that kept him tossing and turning through the nights.

[stands_for_hope]

"What time are you thinking of heading out tomorrow?" he asks, trying to figure out the timing for breakfast.

[kolodnoykovki]

He shrugged, finishing off his plate and bringing it to the sink. "Eight or nine." And he picked up a towel to dry what Clark had already washed. Chores were shared. Period.