[ distance, they say, supposedly makes the heart grow fonder. james doesn't particularly buy into that cliche, but there is an ache in his chest when he thinks about clark, on the opposite side of the country, doing all the same things he used to do, just now without james there to back him up. he still has lois, fierce as ever, and he can't imagine she wouldn't be kicking clark's ass in gear when he really needs it, or challenging him to be better, as lanes are generally fond of doing. james knows, first hand, how difficult it can be to deal with a powerhouse like that alone (and how magnetic it can be, too), but -- well, clark is superman and james has only ever been james olsen. surely clark can handle a little fire under his ass. lois is probably good for him. james knows he's in good hands. ]
[ still, it doesn't stop him from feeling lonely or homesick or ... heartsick, even. and at some point along the way, he's realized that he looks at kara and sees part of clark -- and he's not sure what that says about him, exactly. lucy is convinced he's in love with kara, but james still hasn't convinced himself that he's not just in love with clark and sees all the same things in kara. lucy questioned his loyalties in metropolis, too, and james thinks she was more right then than she is now. nothing has changed, exactly, except now there's more distance between him and the cause of all his problems. ]
[ not that he blames clark for any of this. it's not his fault james doesn't know how to manage his interpersonal relationships. it's not clark's fault he's a total fuckup in the romance department. and it's not his fault that james feels the way he does, that he can't ever stop thinking about him, even when he's looking at or thinking about or talking to kara herself. it's no one's fault, really, except his own, and his own inability to just admit when he's in over his head. but it's not like he can talk to anyone about it -- how can he look kara in the eyes and tell her "i think i'm in love with your cousin and i think i always have been"? he'd break her heart, and he can't do that. but he can't tell clark, either, because he knows clark would just push him away, always sacrificing what he wants most so others can be happy. sometimes, james isn't sure clark knows how to be selfish. ]
[ and, maybe, that's the problem. that james is inherently selfish and clark isn't. he's the total embodiment of selflessness, because he's a good person. he's the best person james has ever known. and he's a far better man than james could ever hope to be, as much as he wishes he could. would they really be in this situation if james hadn't been trying so hard to distance himself from clark and his feelings? if he had just realized sooner that everything lucy ever accused him of was true? he's been more than just a pal to superman; he's been more than just clark's best friend. never when he was with lucy, no, but there are intimacies they don't talk about, things that have happened that they choose not to acknowledge, because it's better that way, isn't it? james doesn't deserve clark, even if clark keeps letting him come back in moments of weakness. ]
[ he knows he shouldn't call. he knows he doesn't even really have to call. but he can't help himself. when things get bad, clark is always his first reaction. it's like a reflex, even if it's one he hasn't used in a while. he thought things would be fine, he thought he could handle it on his own. but clark has always been his strength and he needs that right now. he just -- he needs clark. that's been the answer all along. even just his voice is enough, for now. so when clark answers, as he always does, there's a warm sense of relief that spreads through him, and he closes his eyes just to let the sound of clark's voice sink into him. ]
Hey. You got a minute? Or an hour. You know how these conversations go.
[ clark has stopped tracking the days since the airport, so when he looks up one week to find that the cubicle near his has been filled by another photographer he finds his skin runs a little cold. it was only a matter of time, of course; room in the bullpen is scarce to begin with, and he saw the posting for another staff photographer go up just last month. maybe the taste of james’ departure is still too new in his mouth, like the taste of the man himself, an ever-present fact that clark does his best to ignore. it’s easier that way, easier not to think about how sometimes he turns to crack a joke or make a casual observation only to find that he’s alone; it’s easier to put out of mind how he’s gotten used to telling james about every little thing, every heartache he runs into in the cape and every niggling irritation at the planet. easy, ultimately, not to think about how the one of the only things that stands between him and real solitude is now halfway across the country, carrying with him all of clark’s secrets and too much of his heart, and clark hasn’t called in weeks.
he’s upright in bed with his laptop, applying his own slapdash editing work to his photos--the thought strikes him in short amused fits, how much worse he is at this than james--when he hears the phone ring. at first he’s tempted to ignore it. there are only a few people who call his cell this late, and he’d just spoken to his mother earlier that day--but as soon as clark rules her out he realizes who else it must be, and he’s reaching over to his nightstand without thinking, nearly knocking his coffee over in the process. he almost crushes his phone too, as he taps the green answer button. ]
Jimmy, hey. Yeah, of course, I …
[ he shuts the laptop and sets it aside, sitting up further against his headboard. if he tries he can hear james’ actual voice, the rhythm of his breaths, overlaid on the phone audio, from miles and miles away. it’s work his subconscious usually does for him: over the years he’s learned to pick out james’ heartbeat, the cadences of his voice, from a crowd; it’s taken effort now that james is gone to tune him out. and even this has been an uneasy process, clark reminding himself as he stares into the sink and stops listless at traffic lights and wills himself not to go to national city that his cousin is there--and kara wouldn’t let anything happen to him.
and when he thinks about the time they must be spending together, the casual joy with which she relays their adventures over text message and im, clark is pretty sure kara protects him out of more than just obligation. and-- that’s more he can’t afford to think about now. how good he’d be for her because he’s been so good for clark. how she’d be open, and sweet, and she wouldn’t miss him because she wouldn’t tell him to leave. ]
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[ still, it doesn't stop him from feeling lonely or homesick or ... heartsick, even. and at some point along the way, he's realized that he looks at kara and sees part of clark -- and he's not sure what that says about him, exactly. lucy is convinced he's in love with kara, but james still hasn't convinced himself that he's not just in love with clark and sees all the same things in kara. lucy questioned his loyalties in metropolis, too, and james thinks she was more right then than she is now. nothing has changed, exactly, except now there's more distance between him and the cause of all his problems. ]
[ not that he blames clark for any of this. it's not his fault james doesn't know how to manage his interpersonal relationships. it's not clark's fault he's a total fuckup in the romance department. and it's not his fault that james feels the way he does, that he can't ever stop thinking about him, even when he's looking at or thinking about or talking to kara herself. it's no one's fault, really, except his own, and his own inability to just admit when he's in over his head. but it's not like he can talk to anyone about it -- how can he look kara in the eyes and tell her "i think i'm in love with your cousin and i think i always have been"? he'd break her heart, and he can't do that. but he can't tell clark, either, because he knows clark would just push him away, always sacrificing what he wants most so others can be happy. sometimes, james isn't sure clark knows how to be selfish. ]
[ and, maybe, that's the problem. that james is inherently selfish and clark isn't. he's the total embodiment of selflessness, because he's a good person. he's the best person james has ever known. and he's a far better man than james could ever hope to be, as much as he wishes he could. would they really be in this situation if james hadn't been trying so hard to distance himself from clark and his feelings? if he had just realized sooner that everything lucy ever accused him of was true? he's been more than just a pal to superman; he's been more than just clark's best friend. never when he was with lucy, no, but there are intimacies they don't talk about, things that have happened that they choose not to acknowledge, because it's better that way, isn't it? james doesn't deserve clark, even if clark keeps letting him come back in moments of weakness. ]
[ he knows he shouldn't call. he knows he doesn't even really have to call. but he can't help himself. when things get bad, clark is always his first reaction. it's like a reflex, even if it's one he hasn't used in a while. he thought things would be fine, he thought he could handle it on his own. but clark has always been his strength and he needs that right now. he just -- he needs clark. that's been the answer all along. even just his voice is enough, for now. so when clark answers, as he always does, there's a warm sense of relief that spreads through him, and he closes his eyes just to let the sound of clark's voice sink into him. ]
Hey. You got a minute? Or an hour. You know how these conversations go.
no subject
he’s upright in bed with his laptop, applying his own slapdash editing work to his photos--the thought strikes him in short amused fits, how much worse he is at this than james--when he hears the phone ring. at first he’s tempted to ignore it. there are only a few people who call his cell this late, and he’d just spoken to his mother earlier that day--but as soon as clark rules her out he realizes who else it must be, and he’s reaching over to his nightstand without thinking, nearly knocking his coffee over in the process. he almost crushes his phone too, as he taps the green answer button. ]
Jimmy, hey. Yeah, of course, I …
[ he shuts the laptop and sets it aside, sitting up further against his headboard. if he tries he can hear james’ actual voice, the rhythm of his breaths, overlaid on the phone audio, from miles and miles away. it’s work his subconscious usually does for him: over the years he’s learned to pick out james’ heartbeat, the cadences of his voice, from a crowd; it’s taken effort now that james is gone to tune him out. and even this has been an uneasy process, clark reminding himself as he stares into the sink and stops listless at traffic lights and wills himself not to go to national city that his cousin is there--and kara wouldn’t let anything happen to him.
and when he thinks about the time they must be spending together, the casual joy with which she relays their adventures over text message and im, clark is pretty sure kara protects him out of more than just obligation. and-- that’s more he can’t afford to think about now. how good he’d be for her because he’s been so good for clark. how she’d be open, and sweet, and she wouldn’t miss him because she wouldn’t tell him to leave. ]
I was just thinking about you.