| You will jog for the master race...And always wear the happy face... |
[Sep. 18th, 2006|12:12 am] |
So…it's been about a year and a half since I did a good, solid MST. Then again, I haven’t had material so willing to slap me in the face with a fish and leave its stench behind, material that begged like a wholy inappropriate sexual metaphor. Source remaining nameless at the moment.
I love Clark. I really do. I couldn’t ask for more in a friend and there is nothing that I wouldn’t do for him. Within reason that is. I surely hope going out and buying you tampons isn’t out of the question. And I know that he would do the same for me.
But if he doesn’t stop hovering over me I’m going to have to kill him. Would you? It’d save me the cost of a good soda that’ll be wasted on a spit take.
I know that he’s excited over the prospect of being a father again, Yes, being on various different recreational dugs can have that effect. after thinking that the opportunity was lost when Lois was killed. I know that he still relives that moment in his nightmares, where sometimes it is my face he will see, and not hers. When you see the face of a middle-aged man on Lois Lane’s body, it’s really time to pass the pipe. So out of consideration of his feelings, and because he is the father of this child, I let things go. We just need the therapist to call for group hugs and we’ll be a happy family.
When he called me an obscene number of times during the day to check on me So…Batman has millions of dollars, his own secret cave, a giant computer, but no caller ID and answering machine?, I dealt with it with a studded Kryptonite baseball bat, thinking that the phone calls would eventually taper off due to the fact of emo!Clark being dead, no doubt. When he came by the mansion every night to see how his baby was doing Wait, so now we have zombie!emo!Clark?, I made time for him, letting him stay with me while I worked on various other methods of killing him. When he had members of the League keep an eye on me, having become suspicious of my true intentions, I gritted my teeth and tried to ignore them, knowing none of them clever enough to divine my murderous plan thinking that it would only be for a short period of time until I was able to kill him again.
But when he showed up one night two and a half months later with a suitcase, announcing his intention to move into the mansion. It’s all about Bruce’s nifty-keen sleepovers. They get to stay up and do each others’ hair!
I lost it and can’t seem to find it, either. I slammed the door in his face, engaged the emergency protocols for the mansion, and have avoided all contact with him for the past week as I build my Kryptonite boomstick.
I’m not known for being a very compassionate person Oh, I’m sure he’s just too busy organizing the Kumbaya song-meet at the Watchtower every weekend. so everyone was more surprised that I put up with his behavior for as long as I did than by my delayed and rather explosive reaction to it. I tried to be understanding of his insecurities and fears lest my plans for his death were to slip out. But dealing with them every day for two and a half months straight is more than anyone could ask for.
Clark just doesn’t seem to appreciate the sacrifices I’ve been forced to make or understand how much this pregnancy has affected me. Neither do I, but then again, I’m pretty sure the pod people have having lots of fun probing the real Batman right now.
I had to give up my mission. I vastly prefer Old El Paso tortillas, myself.
That was the first and the hardest thing that I had to give up and it still affects me even now. I never realized just how much my life revolved around the protection of Gotham until I could no longer do it. Even now I will still rush to the Batcave after my communicator goes off, before a gentle reminder from Alfred that I really do need to lay off those drugs, or my memory will kick in and it will hit me hard with the lead pipe of abused characterization. That I haven’t been on patrol in weeks. Followed quickly by the reason why. Assbabies: When no other guilt trip will do! To fill that hole in my life, I’ve taken on a position as a consultant for both Dick and Tim, who take turns patrolling the streets of Gotham, and the League whenever necessary.
I’m getting fat. World’s Greatest Detective on display. I have been thin all my life, and to see my waistline begin to expand with the growth of his child jars me every time I notice it. Well, that’s what having your brain replaced by a hormonal teenager does, yes. I’ll forget about the small bulge only to be forcefully reminded about it again when I lean against a table or counter or when a pair of pants that fit me perfectly the day before begin to pull a little tighter across my stomach. I have Alfred looking into clothing that will accommodate me through the months to come because it’s not something that I’m ready to deal with right now. I’m sure Arnold Schwarzenegger has some tips.
And that’s another adjustment I’ve had to make. I don’t think that I have been this emotional since I was a child, but I just can’t help it. I don’t see how women can do this more than once. At least not willingly. I’m curious as to how someone can make it through this work more than once as well, man or woman.
Between the morning sickness, that has thankfully passed, the mood swings, the food cravings, Marijuana is bad for the baby, Bruce and the exhaustion that never seems to go away, I have felt miserable and I’m sure that I have made the people around me just as miserable. Indeed you have. I just wish someone would make this a movie so I could demand money back This situation has made me appreciate Alfred even more than ever, as he is often the only one I can tolerate being one hundred percent of the time. He has an uncanny knack for being able to distract or mollify me that I would probably find a little more disturbing if I weren’t so grateful for it at the time. Aww, Alfred just wants some Bruce ass.
It’s a sentiment I’m sure that Dick and Tim probably share with me, as they are often on the receiving end of my tantrums. But then I get lollipops, which make it all better. And Clark…well he seems to be as immune to my mercurial moods as Alfred is. I can only assume that Lois gave him Hell at the beginning of her pregnancy so that he already knew to expect the same treatment from me. Or it could just be that he was so grateful that his child was alive Not for long, once the aliens return to claim their new overlord. that he was willing to put up with anything I could possibly dish out to him. And it was expensive china, too. No matter what I said or did, he never complained one bit, and if it wasn’t for how over-protective he’s been, I wouldn’t have cared about him moving into the mansion temporarily. He’s just so good at getting my hair to do the little spit-curl! If the way he has acted so far was any indication of what I could expect from him if he had full access to me, I truly would have killed him by the end of the day. Payment from the audience?
This week away from Clark has been nice. I really didn’t want to resort to shutting him out like that but he left me no other choice. Even after telling him to leave me alone, He is so not my BFF anymore! the phone was still ringing off the hook and he still stopped by several times a day until three days ago. Only then was I able to truly relax and become conscious of how much his stalker routine was really bothering me. Those campers never saw it coming either. I’m feeling much better now and in another day or two, I feel that I’ll be able to handle talking to him about some of the changes he needs to make.
I lay down to take a nap that has become part of the new routine I am slowly becoming accustomed to. And just when I finally manage to find a position that is comfortable for me, Murphy’s Law kicks in and my JLU communicator goes off.
*`*`*
I haven’t been to the Watchtower since I first found out I was pregnant. Again, World’s Greatest Detective, folks.
Clark, in his paranoia, didn’t want me to use the transporter to get there because he was deathly afraid that it would rematerialize the baby and I into a weird hodgepodge of parts I’m sure Jason Todd would have advice on handling that. and he didn’t want to take the chance that the villain of the week I think the Condiment King is penciled in, but I’ll have to check. would show up to shoot down any transport capable of getting me there, so I acquiesced to his request to stay away. Although I have to admit that my reasons weren’t entirely altruistic.
While I did agree to stay grounded in order to ease his mind, the real reason why I avoided coming to the Watchtower is because I didn’t want to be the focus of all the staring and awkward questions The pod people haven’t perfected everything, sadly. that I knew would make up a huge portion of any visit there. But this current situation is serious enough that it will be better to work on it from the Watchtower as opposed to the Batcave. Because I am no longer able to comfortably fit into the Batsuit, Alfred came up with a solution which just happened to involve a mace and a bit of radiation to my uniform and secrecy issues in the form of a rather tasteful black outfit consisting of a slightly oversized shirt to hide the roundness of my belly, pants, and a long black duster with enough pockets to store my small arsenal of weapons Clearly, Alfred is contacting Liefeld for tips., and a mask that is rather similar in style to Dick’s.
Upon arriving at the Watchtower, I am greeted by J’onn, a fact for which I’m grateful, as he is both tactful and respectful of another’s privacy. Because as good as it feels to step onboard the Watchtower, I am still not looking forward to being given the third degree Nah, the out of characterization’s more of a 180, I think. by anyone.
He accompanies me to the conference room where I see Clark for the first time in days and he looks like crap. After continued exposure to the Earth atmosphere, that happens to the pod-born. His face is unshaven, his uniform looks as if it has seen better days, and he has bags under his eyes. Cliché called. It wants its dignity back. But it is the expression on his face that speaks volumes to me. It also can read Shakespeare and play a mean harmonica, I’ve heard. He looks a lot like a kicked puppy I approve, being all about kicking puppies with his hangdog expression and my heart can’t help but go out to him, at which point my arteries attempt to choke him to death. And I almost do to until I remember why he’s in the doghouse in the first place He just couldn’t manage to keep up with those rent payments, and all the cardboard boxes were taken. and I harden my heart against him. Heart attack! Heart Attack! Another moment goes by before he notices my presence and I see his entire face light up like a garbage pile being set aflame at seeing me, as he forgets himself for a second and makes a move towards me. Tsk, tsk. Clark, you’re supposed to smack your wife! Then his memory kicks him in the crotch for being put through this awful tripe in as well and his expression quickly shifts to sullenness and depression. There is no opportunity to start a conversation with him as the last few stragglers show up and the meeting starts. At the end, Clark got an extra-stern lecture for not selling enough cookies that year.
^v^ ^v^ ^v^ ^v^ ^v^ ^v^ ^v^
I am onboard the Watchtower for 12 hours and they are the most exhausting and invigorating hours I have spent in the past few months. Having to restrict what I can physically do, for duties that I was used to doing on my own, has had an unexpected derogatory effect on my self-esteem Really now?. I like to think that I have a fairly healthy mental picture of myself No, that’d be the drugs talking. And they’re discussing cricket scores, if you’re wondering., no matter how many people may disagree with that Most of the planet count?, along with a healthy amount of self-confidence, although some would probably argue that it borders on the side arrogance, but being able to out-think and out-fight most humans, and a good portion of meta-humans, is a feat that I am extremely proud of But can you do it while lobotomized?and is as much a part of me as my mission. So the restrictions on what I can do feel almost like losing an arm or a leg.
It feels like being paralyzed. That would be what happens when someone takes a machete to your brain, yes.
And even though the boys and the League have sought my input on certain missions and cases, it often felt like an act of charity for the ‘crippled’ member of the group Sadly, someone had to play Tiny Tim in the annual Justice League Christmas Carol play, and Bruce drew the short straw., like they were humoring me. Being asked to help coordinate the efforts of various members of the League for several natural disasters that happened simultaneously has reminded me exactly *why* I am the best at what I do, and *why* they need me to be baking cookies in the kitchen like a good housewife. Unfortunately it’s also reminded me why I am no longer suited to work such long hours and that I really need to take a nap. I may also end up having to apologize to some of the members of the League for my snappish attitude towards the end, but I’ll tackle that issue The joke is so obvious I’m just going to insert a placeholder remark. *after* I get some sleep.
I leave J’onn and Mr. Terrific to handle the last of the clean up efforts and go to the quarters I still have onboard the Watchtower, falling asleep almost instantly.
^v^ ^v^ ^v^ ^v^ ^v^ ^v^ ^v^
Pregnancy has not dulled my instincts, but it has strengthened the hold sleep has on me, and sleep has one hell of a neck-breaker so it takes me a moment to register that I am no longer alone in my room. Thinking back, I cannot clearly recall if I locked the door on my way to bed Okay, no snark here. Just, seriously. Batman. Forgetting to lock a door. This is on a level akin to having Lex Luthor prancing through a field of daises singing “The Hills Are Alive.”, giving anyone access that wished to come inside. But it doesn’t matter because there is only one person who would dare to intrude on my privacy, and I open my eyes to glare at him as he sits in the chair directly across from me. Batglare! 6 Hit!
“What are you doing here?”, I growl, letting my irritation finally show in my voice. I think mine’s been showing for awhile longer.
“I just…I wanted to make sure that you were okay. What about me? I had to read this entire thing. You were up for hours helping us and I just wanted to make sure that you were okay. That you were taking care of yourself.” A short pause and then he adds, “I’ll go now.” I watch him stand up to leave and I feel guilty because I know how true his words are. He only wants the best for me Well, as Family Guy taught me, Diamonds: Then She’ll Practically Have To Do Whatever You Want and his baby and although that doesn’t excuse what he’s done, it does make me realize that he’s been punished enough. Can we fire the Kryptonite Boomstick? Please?
I open my mouth to say so, to let him know what the new terms and conditions of our interaction with each will be when I feel a weird fluttering in my abdomen. Month-old microwave burritos can do that to a person.I gasp as I place a protective hand on the spot.
Clark naturally hears me and instantly turns around in a panic, rushing back to my bedside with his hands already out to check for non-existent injuries.
I slap his hands away and sit up as he barrages me with a slew of questions, asking, “What happened? Are you hurt? Do you need to go to medlab? Should I...” Superman. Supposed to be a pretty smart guy, you know. Can’t just figure this all out.
“Shut up? Yes!” And so the story ended with the universe imploding out of sheer disgust. I say as I finally manage to get a hold of his wrists and keep his hands in place. I take a deep, calming breath because I can’t afford to get angry at him right now. Oh, I can cover you. Don’t worry. I’ll even pay the author not to continue. It won’t solve anything and he’ll just look more pathetic and dejected than he does right now. “Clark, you trust me right?”
“Yes.”
“And you know that I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize the life of this baby? Right?” I’ll take $400 for “Ways Science is Catching Up To Mpreg Fic and How To Prevent It”, Alex.
There is a slight pause then he says, “Yes,” in a tone of voice that makes me want to just put those murder plans into motion question whether or not he really does believe that.
I have to admit that I am hurt by his doubt. It’s really not that hard to kill him. I know that I have often pushed myself to the limits, regardless of how much pain I was in, but I thought that he knew me well enough to know I’m pretty skilled at plotting his demise that I would never intentionally do something to reveal this fact to hurt any innocent, let alone this child, but I guess that my old habits and his new fears are making it difficult for him to give me an opportunity to get that shotgun out from under the bed to get over the past and trust my judgment in this situation, trust that I won’t do anything stupid. Although my first impulse I don’t even think he could make this story amusing. is to lash out at him and hurt him like he just hurt me, I’m tired and I don’t want to get into a fight with him, so I change the grip on his wrists so that I can easily slash them with my razor am now holding both of hands in mine. I look down at our joined hands for a moment before meeting his gaze. This is what experimenting with teenage hormones gets you. Ollie spent an entire week picketing the state of Tibet outside the men’s locker room.
“Clark, you know that I am a man of my word and I have never made a promise that I wasn’t willing to keep. So I am telling you that I am not going to do anything that will jeopardize the life of your baby. You are going to have to trust that not only will I keep my word, but that I will also let you know if anything is going wrong. I can’t do this if you are having me followed and checking up on me thirty times a day, and I’d really hate having to raise this baby all by myself because I had to kill his father in order to get some peace.” Again, audience. I’ll take payment in cash, credit, or money order.
He smiles a little at that and I know that we’ll be able to work something out. I’m sure that he’ll still check up on me, but hopefully it won’t be as frequently as it has been for the past three months. There’s another flutter of motion in my stomach The burritos are organizing and demanding healthcare, I hear. and I almost kick myself as I finally realize what it is. The doctors told me that I could expect to feel movement from the baby anywhere between 4 to 6 months, but I’m still thrown off guard by the sheer wonder I feel towards the baby at this moment. Unconsciously I move our joined hands over the spot where the baby is moving and I am rewarded for my instinctive decision as the most brilliant smile I have ever seen graces Clark’s face when the baby kicks both of our hands.
I lay there for an indeterminate amount of time, as comfortable as I can be with Clark’s head resting on my stomach, from where he remains kneeling on the floor, listening to a heartbeat that only he can hear since he got the stronger stuff, and both of us basking in the wonder of his child’s first movements and the after-effects of this entire LSD-induced episode. |
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