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[personal profile] solarcore 2021-04-11 08:45 am (UTC)(link)
It's twee as hell, he knows, giving a shrug that is not quite as self-deprecating as it could be at flat look. Giving Martha something to either laugh at or shake her head about. It'll go on the fridge, probably, pinned in place with the Meteors magnet that came with his last care package. Not a lot of letters or postcards, but he calls pretty frequently, these days. For some reason.

Returning to his message, Clark adds, PS: Bruce says hello & stay safe (he can have a Shelby hug too). before deftly scribbling out an address permanently locked into muscle memory, attaching a stamp, and slotting the card into the box.

Is it possible to have mixed feelings, about a thing he feels wholly good about at, at the same time? That being that little spot in Kansas and the person who lives there, home and not-home, a place of safety and crippling vulnerability. How much heartache can you cause a person you love that you wonder if you've made up for it, yet, if there's any making up to do, and knowing exactly what they'd say to something like that.

At least the Barry and Vic card is pretty uncomplicated. He presses a smile at Bruce, lower key than bright grins but not lesser for it, and heads back for the car.
Edited 2021-04-11 08:49 (UTC)
solarcore: <user name="oslo" site="insanejournal.com"> (216)

[personal profile] solarcore 2021-04-12 07:23 am (UTC)(link)
Clark's own glasses have been rescued from his breastpocket and are back on his face, pulling out from the post office parking space, out into the city. He has his phone set up to check where he's going, this time, mostly for his own peace of mind than minding Bruce's directions. Even if he'd memorised a bird's eye view of the sprawling city that is Gotham, which he has not, it's a different task behind the wheel.

"She'll probably be pulling out her hair right about now," he says. "Planting's not for a month but it's always a whole—"

His fingers splay off the wheel. Don't ask.

"I said I'd help out, so, I'll be away a couple weeks, being judged by the neighbours about how little I remember about this stuff, these days. But it'll be nice. And she's great," he adds, with a glance. "I think she likes it when the farm gets busy, people around to feed and tell off."
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[personal profile] solarcore 2021-04-12 10:59 am (UTC)(link)
Clark immediately smiles at the thought, mostly because watching Martha Kent interact with her son's new friends has been extremely good, and even better, she's getting used to it.

He's had Diana round by now, too, and the memory of her being on her best behaviour, as though Martha were the intimidating force in the room, had been pretty endearing. And Clark can't say Martha isn't, who'd probably found Diana being as European as she is probably just as alien as the rest, but quicker to adapt than the Amazonian had been. Equalised with the inevitable bonding over photo albums dug out of the staircase cupboard, which had been Clark's cue to go do the dishes.

He almost recounts this before the conversation diverts. Some other time. Instead, he says, "Uh huh?"
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[personal profile] solarcore 2021-04-12 11:28 am (UTC)(link)
There's a pause. It's a near silent pause, with the sound of traffic muffled within the car, and the car itself very expensively quiet.

Instead of saying 'what' or 'no' or 'absolutely not', Clark repeats, querying, "A tracking implant?"

Beg pardon.
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[personal profile] solarcore 2021-04-13 05:20 am (UTC)(link)
If Clark focused his attention, he could identify that right now, Lois Lane's heartrate implies she's probably in the gym across the street from the Planet, the sound of each dual-thump elevated but steady. He could confirm that by tuning in specifically to hear the soft and consistent thump of her trainers hitting the tread, and music funnelled tinnily into her ears.

And when something happens, and doesn't something always happen, Clark doesn't have to focus his attention at all. So Bruce's comment gets a glance, and some silence.

The thoughtful kind, anyway, until he says, "And I guess the red lamp would make that possible," like thoughtful silence has also been used to figure out how that's meant to work, more than whether or not he's comfortable with it.
solarcore: <user name="oslo" site="insanejournal.com"> (024)

[personal profile] solarcore 2021-04-13 07:02 am (UTC)(link)
"It could be externally deactivated, somehow," Clark says, thoughtfully, though not drumming up an argument either way, just—probably far too used to talking about the oddities of himself with Bruce, the obstacles, the benefits. It's a contrast to having had no one to discuss such things.

No, that's not entirely true. His parents, and Martha in particular, who'd been there through the growing pains, who never looked at him in shock or dismay at each new thing, just worry, sometimes something else. He thinks he learned all of these invasive biometric readings from her own intuitive guidance, long before he learned how to fly.

"Whatever works," he says. "No, I don't mind. I think it's..." Practical? Necessary? "Probably fair," he settles on, more good humour than anything pensive.
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[personal profile] solarcore 2021-04-13 09:42 am (UTC)(link)
There have been moments when Clark has done something like settled in to sleep next to Lois, in blue shadows through the blinds, and closed his eyes and listened to the clockwork steadiness of a heartbeat across the river. Not because he's worried, but just because.

So Bruce says that, and then quiet that unfurls between them, and Clark smiles a little to himself. Easily seen, still, at a profile angle. I understand it's an invasive ask, he says. I just want to, the follow up.

"Okay," he says, simply. It feels more appropriate, somehow, than a weightier I trust you.