Chapter Text
In many ways, Smallville lives up to its name. It is small. If Kansas had a legal definition of a village, Smallville would meet it. There is one high school, and the football games are the most exciting events around. The nearest mall is in Topeka. The last time someone got married, nearly the entire town turned out to attend. Close-knit and familial as that, well, Martha should have been prepared.
Martha was absolutely not prepared.
See, Martha is used to guests, and late night knocks from people who have nowhere to go, and long-term residents that give her a reason to crack open the linen closet. She's got all that down to a science. The house is configured to fit as many occupants as possible—Lois is in Clark's room, Clark is on the couch, the spare bedroom is remade, and there's air mattresses scattered through the house. They can fit at least six, and eight if they squeeze.
And it isn't about the space. Hey, the space is not close to an issue.
It's that Clark has a habit of befriending the bizzarest of people. The loveliest, most charming, absolutely upstanding people. But also the weirdest.
Like the teenage acrobat walking the rafters like a tightrope. Or the late-twenty-something billionaire who doesn't seem to know that his muscles are supposed to relax on occasion.
Somehow, the youngest kid is the most regular. He asked Martha if he could please take one of the books off her shelves and has been reading quietly in the corner ever since.
These are Gotham's protectors? Martha's sure they're great, but…
Well, it definitely takes a certain type of person to turn to vigilantism. She's sorry they feel the need to. Especially the boys—they're so little.
Martha also doesn't quite know how to make conversation with Bruce. He seems very…ill-at-ease? Unsettled? He's looking at her kitchen like it's his first day on earth, and Martha doesn't know what to do with that. Clark won't be back for another half hour, so they're just…standing in her kitchen. Silently. Without eye contact. Or movement. The radio is the only thing filling the silence.
This is very awkward.
"…in other news, Smallville PD has detained three suspects in an investigation of a string of thefts around town. The thefts, which started in May of this year, were committed against local farmers and grocers, leaving families with a shortage of food. Grocer Tom Applesaw, of Applesaw General, says, "I don't know what I'll do if I get robbed again. I just don't have the money to fix the windows." Smallville PD has yet to disclose the names of the suspects…"
"What all did they steal?" asks Bruce, in the first words Martha's heard from him since he walked into the kitchen.
Martha lets her shoulders drop. He's talking. Good. "Grain, mostly. It's a shame. I'm sure we could have found a way to get them some."
"Do you think that would have stopped them?"
"No, but these are probably young boys, and that they feel they need to steal at all…it's not right. We've failed them if they think that's their only option."
"Why not steal finished food? Bread, or something ready to eat?" Bruce asks. Martha is reminded that Bruce Wayne is not from Kansas. He is very, very clearly not from Kansas.
"Well, you can store grain, for one, or make more than bread from it. Sell it, use it for alcohol…I don't know how a bunch of kids would do that, but they could."
Bruce tilts his head to stare at Martha's floor, and Martha learns several things about Bruce Wayne in that moment.
One: He's more analytical than he lets on. He's Batman, and good for him, but Bruce Wayne is also very analytical. She'd bet money he can tell the square footage of her kitchen based on the approximate area of each individual tile.
Two: His mind for crime doesn't stop. His shoulders are raised; his muscles are locked. He's ready for a fight. His eyes drift across the floor like they did when he first got here—sweeping for bugs (like Martha hasn't been doing that since she learned Clark could fly).
Three: He has no clue how to interact with anyone who doesn't also have an interest in crime. This is not an issue for Martha. It never has been, not since she brought Clark home.
"You know, when Clark was in college, we had some people try and steal from us too," she begins.
"Really? Were you okay?"
"Oh, of course. Clark was home for the weekend; he stopped them, no problem. A good thing too, he wouldn't be a journalist otherwise."
Bruce raises an eyebrow. Internally, Martha claims victory.
"He wanted to know why they broke in, so he asked them and all that, you know how he is. Turned out, they were working for some big gang. I don't know who. But Clark broke the story for the Smallville Tribune, and that led him all the way to the Planet."
Bruce frowns. There's a tiny twitch to his jaw. "Huh. I didn't think you'd have a lot of gangs out here."
"You'd be wrong, but it's not awful. Nothing like Gotham, of course."
"Huh." Bruce is a big fan of that sound, apparently. Martha, mother to a very strange child herself, understands this entirely.
Speaking of strange children…"Hey, Mrs. Kent—"
"Hay is for horses, Dick," she says, wincing as she cranes her neck to look up at the owlish teenager walking on her support beams.
"Sorry! Can I go up to the roof?"
"Not today. Clark will be here soon, and I don't want you blown off the roof again."
"Aw…okay."
It's right then that Clark walks in the back door, Lois in tow, and ruins her argument. Dick beams. "Uncle Clark!"
And in a flash, the boy has flipped his whole body over the support beam and stretched his arms open for hug, all while still upside down. "Hey, dude! When did you get here?"
"They came in just this morning," Martha supplies, taking Lois's coat for her. "Bruce and I were just talking about your first article when you walked in."
"Gang related corn theft," Bruce says behind a mug of coffee. "…impressive."
Does he avoid smiling to keep up his brooding appearance or does he only smile about crime? Inquiring (Martha's) minds want to know.
"Good to see you too, Bruce." Clark greets him with a hug as well, which the poor man seems physically incapable of registering as a gesture of good will. "Is the whole family here? Or just you and the bluebird?"
"Jay is in the living room. Alfred is finding the nearest professional kitchen."
Alfred Pennyworth does not need a "professional" kitchen. They can do just fine right here.
"Kori is thinking of coming down. If you guys are interested," Dick adds.
"Kori?" Lois asks. Martha's never heard anyone mention a Kori before.
Bruce is the one who supplies, "Starfire. Tameranean, purple suit, firey hair."
"Oh, really?" Lois asks.
Clark finishes the interaction. "We'd love to have her."
Dick gives him a nod. "Who else did you guys invite?"
"We've made our rounds at the Planet. Discreetly," Lois adds, "I think Perry would have a heart attack if sprung this on him after the CIA incident."
Martha rolls her eyes. These two… "Which one?"
"Er…last night's?" Martha's son supplies, and she gives him a faux-annoyed bonk on the forehead with a wooden soup spoon.
"Clark!"
"We didn't mean to! And we're sending him an invite! Just…later."
"When is the wedding? Did you guys get a date?" Dick asks.
"Wednesday," Clark says. "Soonest we could."
"Lets just hope we have the time to make everything work."
"B is here now," Dick chirps (Martha didn't know humans could chirp. She thought that was an exclusively Kryptonian thing). "He's probably got an itinerary ready."
Bruce shifts his weight. This is something Martha has noticed about him. He gives away what he wants to—intentional emotion to disguise unintentional honesty. Not an easy feat.
"If you need anything," he says, "I can make some calls."
Bruce is sweet, and Martha has no doubt he is very well-connected, but this is Smallville, and Martha is practically the central hub for any and all Midwestern traffic—auto, internet, She can handle this.
"Well, we have the venue," Clark says.
"And the date."
"The officiant."
"The dress."
"The cake."
"The lights."
"The flowers?"
"Do we want flowers?"
"We can get flowers."
"I can get you flowers," Martha adds.
"Do you have the wedding party settled?" Bruce asks.
"We are not renting a wedding party."
"I wasn't offering!"
"What about the catering?" Bruce pushes.
"How about a potluck?" Martha asks.
"Alfred is already setting up tastings for you."
"Oh, let's not make them drive, Bruce! They already have to fly here and back everyday."
Bruce gives Martha a grimace. "I'm sure Alfred will have no problem coming here."
"I wouldn't want to inconvenience him, either."
Martha watches her son's head swing between herself and Bruce. Lois is idly thumbing her recorder. Dick is watching with unmasked curiosity.
"Perhaps…we could table this discussion until after dinner?" Clark asks.
Bruce continues to grimace. Martha can concede that that's sensible. If she has to.