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“Is your husband here with you today, too?”
Martha swallowed, ridding herself of the bitterness that filled her mouth. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard that question today, and despite her best hopes, she had a sinking feeling it wouldn’t be the last. She couldn’t fault the askers – they would certainly be mortified if they knew how their polite enquiry had made her hands tremble and her blood run that slight bit colder. None of them were trying to hurt her, but that was a meagre consolation at best.
Jonathan’s death hadn’t been widely circulated. It had been reported, of course, but despite his successful senate campaign, there weren’t many outside of Smallville that could even put a face to the name. If the visitors to the Collins County Annual Pumpkin Festival had even heard about Jonathan’s passing, they could hardly be expected to remember. Voter turnout hadn’t been anything special, and as far as the people of Collins County were concerned, they had voted for a Senator Kent, and they now had a Senator Kent. If only Martha could share their certainty.
For them, Jonathan’s death was a fleeting tragedy, a story in the paper to be read, commiserated, and forgotten just as quickly. For Martha, it just happened to be her life. The lady who’d asked the question was still peering pleasantly at Martha, her elderly face crinkled around a benevolent smile.
What was there to say? Martha had been tasked with answering that impossible question too many times today. If she told the truth - that Jonathan had passed away some months ago - the asker would be mortified, and spend that day with a pit in their stomach to match Martha’s. If she lied - made the excuse that he was at home, tending the farm - she feared the tears might spill before she finished her first sentence.
Martha fixed a smile on her face, inclining her head slightly, as if distracted, pretending she hadn’t heard the question. The lady opened her mouth again, her silver curls bouncing against her cheeks as she prepared to take another battering ram to Martha’s already-fragile composure. However, before any further damage could be done, a hand landed at Martha’s elbow, and a familiar voice spoke just above her ear.
“I believe you’re needed by the petting zoo, Senator Kent.”
Martha excused herself, shaking the woman’s hand and making her apologies before turning, relieved, to join Lionel. As they headed briskly in the opposite direction, it quickly became clear that Lionel had lied; she wasn’t needed at all. Martha didn’t mention it, relishing these brief moments of silence as they wandered past the animals gambolling with children in their pens. In fact, she didn’t make another sound until a particularly headstrong goat caught hold of Lionel’s trouser leg and wouldn’t let go.
Lionel cursed at the animal, immediately drawing a handful of reproachful glares from the parents keeping an eye on their frolicking offspring. He clamped his mouth shut, the muscle twitching in his jaw telling Martha he knew exactly what they could do with their censures. The goat glared at Lionel. Lionel glared at the goat. The two equally stubborn creatures were locked in a furious silent battle. It was too much for Martha, who burst into a fit of undignified giggles that she immediately attempted to smother.
Wiry, determined, obstinate; Lionel and the goat seemed well suited for each other. Not that Martha would tell him that - she didn’t think Lionel’s vanity would appreciate the comparison as much as she did. Eventually, Lionel wrangled the kid away, leaving both him and his very expensive trouser cuffs a little worse for wear. Breathing heavily, Lionel turned to face her poorly disguised laughter.
His stern expression quickly melted, replaced by a resigned chagrin. Shaking his head, Lionel pressed forward, quickly steering them in another direction. Their route was aimless, though they did give any animals they encountered a wide berth after that. It was surprisingly comforting to have Lionel with her as she navigated the festival. Not only had he been attentively attempting to rescue her from awkward questions, but there was something refreshing about being around another person raised in the city. Martha hadn’t grown up in farmland, celebrating harvest festivals, and Lionel was the same.
Although she’d grown accustomed to it over the years – and was an active participant in Smallville’s own events - it was unexpectedly gratifying to have Lionel there to remind her that, elsewhere, roads existed that weren’t tracked with cow manure. It was also endlessly entertaining to watch the billionaire CEO negotiate his way through festival proceedings apparently designed to ruin his neatly pressed suit and overcoat. At lunch they’d sat on hay bales, eating off paper plates, a practice so offensive to Lionel’s sensibilities that he’d barely stopped talking about it since.
At one o’clock, a girl in her early twenties approached them. She had a clipboard, a red-checked shirt, and a smattering of freckles dusting her round face. Bypassing Martha, she confidently approached Lionel, who was squinting at something on his phone. He hadn’t brought his glasses, and was now determined to seem as if that hadn’t been a mistake.
A few moments passed, but Lionel remained oblivious to the girl’s presence.
“Senator Kent?” She gently prompted.
There was no response. After another beat, she loudly cleared her throat. Martha hid a smile as Lionel looked up, finally realising she was addressing him. His face rapidly shifted from surprise, to confusion, it irritation. The girl bravely soldiered on.
“Senator Kent, you’re needed up by the stage to judge the-”
“Let me guess,” Lionel was only barely keeping his disdain at bay, “it involves pumpkins.”
Behind her polite silence, Martha could see a subtle dread beginning to take hold; she was clearly dismayed that she had been tasked with directing such an abrupt and uncooperative politician. She didn’t seem to know what to say, and Lionel wasn’t particularly inclined to allay her fears.
“Hi there,” Martha interjected, stepping forward. She offered her hand to the festival assistant, who took it with an uncertain look. “What was your name?”
“Emma.”
“A pleasure to meet you Emma. I’m Senator Kent, but please call me Martha.”
Emma’s already ruddy cheeks reddened further. Martha waved off her embarrassment before she could begin the tidal wave of apologies threatening to sweep her away.
“I’d be delighted to join you by the stage.”
Emma’s face was the very picture of relief, a picture that froze stiff when her eyes flicked once again to Lionel.
“And will your…” Her question trailed into uncertain silence as Lionel lifted an aloof eyebrow.
“Yes,” Martha nodded, “he’ll be coming too.”
With the barest hint of a sigh, Lionel dropped his phone into the pocket of his overcoat, clasping his hands behind his back as he followed the two women. He trailed after Martha as she made her way up and down the row of prize pumpkins.
Martha had to say she was impressed. She’d never grown anything nearly this large, and consequently she found herself in several quite in-depth conversations regarding soil rotation and fertilisers. Lionel, for his part, managed to school his bored expression into one of polite attention whenever he caught her looking.
Eventually, they returned to Emma, brandishing her clipboard like a weapon as she spoke with a skinny teenage boy in an over-sized jacket. Nearby, looking nearly as out of place as Lionel, stood a woman in a smart pant suit. As they approached, Martha caught Lionel looking the woman up and down, and quickly glanced away.
“I need you to go run and get the ribbons Jim- oh, Senator! Senator, I’d like you to meet Addison Riley. Addison’s a reporter from Granville doing a story on the fair, we’re very lucky to have her here. We were wondering, Senator, if you might be able to spare a few minutes?” Emma repeatedly stressed the word senator, pointedly addressing Martha in an attempt to ensure no-one else would repeat her earlier mistake.
Addison Riley didn’t seem to need the hint. She briskly advanced on Martha, removing a Bluetooth headset from one ear as she confidently extended her other hand. Beside Martha, Lionel stirred; after a brief but firm discussion in the car, his own headset had been reluctantly left behind.
“Senator Kent, a pleasure.” Addison shook Martha’s hand, her grip surprisingly strong for such slender fingers.
She barely looked at Lionel, which pleased Martha inexplicably. Did Addison even know she was standing in front of one of the most influential men in the country? From the barely-concealed disinterest in her manner, it was clear the reporter saw this whole thing as nothing but a puff piece.
“The pleasure is all mine. Of course I’d be happy to answer a few questions.”
“That’s all we need. A couple of quick questions and you’ll be on your way.”
Despite her indifferently brusque professionalism, there was something poised and effortlessly confident about Addison. Martha knew she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t help feeling a little like a cheap imitation in her sensible shoes and slightly-outsized blazer. It didn’t help that Lionel was looking at the journalist the way he was. There probably wasn’t anything to it, Lionel was likely just grateful to find another person not dressed head to toe in plaid. All the same, he seemed more grateful than Martha would like.
The questions themselves were nothing special. Apparently Martha’s visit hadn’t been noteworthy enough to prepare anything more than the standard fare. Martha had expected that - this interview was designed to add colour to the event, not to probe the depths of Martha’s policy platform – but for some reason it annoyed her. By the time Addison curtly withdrew her voice recorder, Martha was more than glad for the conversation to be over. Addison, however, had other ideas.
“And how do you feel about the Senator’s first few months in office?”
The low festival hum of people talking and animals bleating joined the electronic buzzing of the recorder as it whirred in the silence following Addison’s question. Lionel hesitated before answering.
He was far more careful about the press than Martha was, and always conscious of tying her too closely to him, knowing how his image might affect her. The answer he gave was generous, though perfunctory, and with an edge of caution. Addison nodded, but a slight wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows, as if that wasn’t what she had been looking for. Again, Martha wondered if she actually knew who she was talking to.
“But you must be proud of the Senator, no doubt.” Addison persisted, pressing his answer.
Martha didn’t often see Lionel caught off guard, but that question looked like it swept his feet right out from under him. He paused, half-glancing over his shoulder as if Addison might have been talking to someone behind him.
“I- yes.” Lionel stuttered, the coughed, before collecting himself. “Yes of course. Although frankly, I believe the Senator’s actions speak for themselves.”
Addison didn’t seem completely satisfied, clearly she hadn’t received the pull-quote she’d wanted. Nevertheless, she seemed prepared to move on. Unfortunately for her, Lionel was not. Apparently unsatisfied with his own answer, Lionel began to liberally expand on his point. It was hard for Martha to ignore the soft glow building in her chest as Lionel, to the impatience of the journalist in front of him, worked himself into a solo argument over her recent small business tax incentive. Any interest he’d shown in Addison had disappeared once he began talking, which Martha tried not to be pleased about.
Lionel seemed a few seconds away from diving into the minutiae of Martha’s public education policy, when Addison abruptly spun around and walked a few steps away, slipping her headset back onto her ear. It took Lionel a few moments of stunned confusion to recover himself and close his astonished mouth. People didn’t take other calls when Lionel was with them, it just didn’t happen. Martha shrugged at him, she’d been right about Addison. No-one would recognise a Luthor on sight out here; Lionel was as much out of his element as she was in Washington.
Martha’s name crackled out of the weathered speakers on either side of the stage. Emma stood at the microphone, enthusiastically welcoming her to announce the winners of the pumpkin competition. A polite round of applause accompanied Martha’s measured ascent of the short wooden staircase. Her knees ached slightly with every rise, which she tried not to think about. Looking out to the sea of upturned faces, her breath hitched for just a moment.
Martha still wasn’t entirely used to speaking in front of a crowd. It was an odd sensation, especially because talking to people had never been a problem for her before. Put her in a room with anyone, and she’d find something to talk about, some common ground they shared. After all, she’d come here today with Lionel Luthor himself, hadn’t she? If that wasn’t proof of her abilities, she didn’t know what was. Her eyes landed on him, standing a little way out of the crowd.
With his expensive suit and overcoat, his long dark curls and his hooded eyes, Lionel looked as if he’d landed in the middle of the Collins County Pumpkin Festival from another time, or another planet. The younger assistant, Jim, stood next to him, clearly too close for Lionel’s liking, judging by the way his critical gaze kept flicking towards the boy. Lionel caught her looking and flashed her an encouraging smile, the already-profound lines around his eyes deepening even further.
Sometimes Martha felt like Lionel’s smile concealed more than it showed. That laughing detachment was just another piece of his armour, like his expensive suits and his internal library of literary quotations. Now though? Martha didn’t care what that smile was concealing, it was just what she needed to see.
Greeting the crowd with a steady voice, she stalled for a while as the organisers seemed to be in some confusion over the ribbons. Martha made a joke about political red-tape as the awards were sorted out, and there was a ripple of amusement at her putting the setback down to Washington bureaucracy. Gradually Martha was feeling more at ease, settling into the rhythm of Senator Kent. Finally, the ribbons were ready, and Martha prepared to call the runners up.
Before she could begin, Emma leant past her, into the microphone.
“Why don’t we get Mr Kent up here, too?”
Martha couldn’t help it, she looked around.
She knew he wouldn’t be there, but as she followed Emma’s gaze, some small part of her still expected to see him standing there, waving, like nothing had ever happened. Instead, she saw Lionel.
He was motionless, his face frozen in a confused kind of terror. Beside him, Jim was fidgeting, tugging hesitantly at Lionel’s sleeve. Lionel turned his speechless gaze on Jim, who gestured towards the stage and gave him a gentle nudge. He approached the stage numbly, climbing the stairs like a man sleep-walking. It seemed to take forever, though Martha was sure it was her imagination that had slowed those fleeting moments down to an agonising crawl. Eventually, Lionel summited the stairs and reached the women at the microphone. Silently, he accepted the ribbons and passed them, one by one, to Martha, as she called the recipients.
“Are you okay?” Emma asked, concerned.
Lionel nodded, but his chalky face suggested otherwise. He swallowed.
“Stage fright.” Was all he managed to choke out.
It might have been funny if it wasn’t so mortifying. Martha fixed a smile to her face. Much like Lionel, she applied that armour against the hawkish scrutiny of the crowd around them. It had begun to make sense suddenly, Emma’s confusion, and Addison’s odd questions; it was all too understandable if you assumed the man beside her was indeed, Mr Kent. Lionel hadn’t tried to meet her eyes, but she hadn’t looked for his either. Her head was too full of Jonathan.
What an idiot she’d been, to even entertain the idea he would be out there. She knew it wasn’t rational, but nothing about grief was. It was like love. There was a tiny part of her that still believed it wasn’t true, that he wasn’t dead, and that somehow it had all been one big mistake. It was the same part of her that balked whenever she heard the words Senator Kent; to that little piece of her, the title still belonged to Jonathan. That piece had become quieter over time, so quiet recently that she thought it might have disappeared completely, until now.
Martha held herself together throughout the ribbon ceremony. Her eyes were so unfocused she never even saw the winners, but she somehow managed to avoid the inevitable swell of tears for longer than she thought possible. It wasn’t until she’d pinned the last ribbon to the last lapel, thanked the crowd and turned around to see Lionel directly behind her, that she began to come apart. With an “excuse me” so small she wasn’t sure anyone heard it, Martha hurried off the stage.
She didn’t know where she was going, and she wouldn’t have been able to see the way even if she did. The one rational thought in her head was to get herself as far from people as she could, as quickly as she could.
It couldn’t have been easy for Lionel to find her, tucked amongst the produce pallets and backup generators, behind the storage barn at the furthest edge of the event. She was still sniffling when he arrived. He approached cautiously, his pace anxious, his expression concerned. Martha held up a hand to stop him coming closer, and he obliged, hovering in her peripheral vision as she allowed the last of her sobs to run dry.
“Martha, are you alright?” Lionel asked, wincing at the inadequacy of the question even before he finished it.
“Not really.”
Lionel stayed an arm’s length away, apparently afraid that if he got closer, she would start crying again. He may have been right. She took a shaky breath, and continued.
“I knew I would be asked about him. Every time I do one of these, every time I travel out of Smallville, they ask about him. I can’t blame them. But sometimes, when they ask about Jonathan, I find myself turning around to ask him what he thinks. Then I look, and there’s no-one there, and it’s like I’m losing him all over again.”
Lionel looked as pained as Martha felt. She wiped away another tear threatening to fall.
“Only today, this time when they asked about Jonathan, I turned around and saw you.”
Her words fell heavily into the silence between them. Lionel was stricken; he’d never been entirely comfortable talking about Jonathan. No doubt some of that was his own reticence, but Martha also had a sneaking suspicion that Clark had put the fear of god in him about his father.
Lionel swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing anxiously above his collar.
“I apologise Martha. I shouldn’t have accompanied you today.”
“No, that’s not what I meant.” Martha assured him. She shook her head - a stray hair caught the light, glinting orange in the afternoon sun as it fell to land on the sleeve of her dark blazer. She brushed it off, watching it tumble gracefully to the ground before she met Lionel’s eyes. “I meant that it was nice. For once it was nice to turn around, and know that I wasn’t alone.”
Lionel didn’t say a thing. For a moment, she wasn’t sure what to think, until he wordlessly stepped forward and drew her into a gentle embrace. Martha went gladly, another few tears slipping down her face and onto Lionel’s dress shirt. When they parted, Lionel waited for her to put herself together again, before they left the comforting shelter of the barn.
He didn’t say anything else on the subject, and Martha was grateful for it. Because of her nature, and the nature of her job, Martha was often talking; she attended meetings, she networked with contacts, she chatted with the girls in the coffee shop. Making personal connections was as important to Martha as anything else she could think of, but sometimes she forgot that occasionally she was allowed some quiet, and to simply just be.
The latter half of the day could not have been more different from what had gone before. Martha still made her appearances throughout the festival, browsing the stalls, admiring the crafts and produce on display. However, the hint of sullen disquiet that had lingered in Lionel’s wake that morning was nowhere to be seen, and he had made it his mission to see that it didn’t return.
Ever since the ribbon incident, Lionel had taken it upon himself to be the buffer between Martha and any personal questions that came her way. She was astonished at how quickly he adapted to the role. Not long ago, Martha had been standing next to the austere, unapproachable CEO of LuthorCorp, but now she hardly recognised the man beside her. This man was cordial- no, more than that - he was downright friendly.
Martha hadn’t even seen when he’d divested himself of his overcoat and jacket, but now he had his shirt sleeves rolled neatly to the elbow, the baby goat in his arms, nibbling gently at his tie. This new Lionel looked festival-goers in the eye as he spoke to them, took the personal questions they asked, and either answered them himself or deftly redirected the conversation. If Martha didn’t know him so well, she’d say that smile he wore even looked a little sincere.
It was astonishing to watch. Martha had never associated Lionel with easy conversation or people skills, but now she realised she hadn’t given him enough credit. What she was witnessing that dusty afternoon, was the diplomacy and charm that had facilitated the rise of LuthorCorp in the first place. At some point after the first few million dollars, Lionel must have simply become too big to feel the need to charm people anymore. Except her.
The next time someone asked about Martha’s home life, Lionel put a protective arm around her shoulders, and hadn’t taken it off since; nor had Martha pulled away. The implication was enough. They strolled through the booths, and the next time someone mistook Lionel for her husband, she didn’t correct them. She was careful not to lie, and Lionel was very particular about his words, but it was easier this way - to let them assume.
Despite the last few hours passing far easier than before, Martha was beginning to feel the exhaustion creep in. Lionel too had the slightest hint of weariness creeping into the crinkles around his eyes, though he hardly showed it. At four o’clock she determined it was socially acceptable for her to leave and quietly suggested to Lionel that they should go. Within seconds, Lionel’s phone was in his hand, his shoulders dropping almost imperceptibly with the relief of imminent departure. While he spoke to the driver, Martha found Emma once again, thanking her for the invitation and congratulating her on such a well-run event.
“No, Senator, thank you. It’s so rare we have someone willing to take so much time for our town. I can’t tell you how many people you impressed today.”
“I’m glad everyone enjoyed themselves as much as I did.”
“We hope you’ll come back next year, or sooner if you wanted to.” Emma hesitated. “And Mr Kent is welcome too, of course. I hope you don’t mind me saying, but I wasn’t sure what to make of him when we first met.”
“Don’t worry, I’m still not too sure myself.”
Emma smiled. “But after spending some time with you both, I’m happy to say I was wrong, please give him our compliments. You’re both welcome back any time.”
“Thank you.”
Martha turned to find Lionel standing with his back to the car, facing her. He saw her looking and cocked his head questioningly. She nodded back, and with one more goodbye to Emma, headed over to where Lionel was waiting.
With every step, Martha found herself more grateful that he had come with her today. Now, so close to the freedom of leaving, she couldn’t help but think of all the questions he had saved her from, how he spared her the necessity of lying, and how he was now ready to whisk her off in an instant, no questions asked. Without hesitation, he would take her away where she wouldn’t have to think or do anything she didn’t want to.
Lionel’s driver opened the door for her, which made Martha cringe. That wouldn’t look too good to the Collins County Pumpkin Festival attendees, and it didn’t really suit her personal image. Martha realised she’d caught herself thinking about optics, and bit back an embarrassed laugh. All this time with Lionel really must have been getting to her.
She hoped she’d been doing the same to him, or at least, that being around her had more positives than it did negatives. Lionel did so much for her - mostly without her asking - and sometimes more than was welcome. But every so often, when he offered resources, money, political contacts, and his own time, Martha began to feel as if she were taking advantage of his generosity.
In the seat next to her, Lionel was lost in his own silent world as they drove away. It was a place he went sometimes, and though he wasn’t always there, he’d been retreating more often recently. It was so different from his ordinary need to comment on everything he saw, that Martha had to assume it was for her benefit.
“They liked you.” Martha’s voice seemed too loud in the enclosed space.
Lionel raised a quizzical eyebrow.
“Once it seemed like you weren’t forced at gunpoint to be there.” She clarified.
“Martha, sometimes it seems to me as if you have some notion that I have no idea how to talk to common people.”
She had no choice, she had to laugh. “I might think otherwise if you hadn’t just called them the common people. You’re not royalty Lionel.”
He didn’t even look embarrassed.
“I doubt I’d find any scholars of Nietzsche amongst them, or anyone capable of contemplating the Aristotelian ideals, but it is often enough to simply acknowledge that the other person has spoken.”
“And here I thought you were a whole new man, full of country hospitality and pumpkin recipes.”
Lionel grimaced. There was something so satisfying about teasing him.
“If I ever see a pumpkin again it will be too soon. But I happen to be more congenial than my reputation suggests.”
Martha nodded seriously. “Yes. It’s definitely your reputation that gave me that impression.”
He looked sideways at her, mouth half open to reply. She waved his response away, laughing.
“I’m only teasing.”
Lionel’s lips pursed and his thin cheeks hollowed underneath his beard, the way they did when he wasn’t quite sure what to say; or when he wasn’t sure he should be saying what he was about to. He nodded and sat back in the leather seat with a tight smile, sneaking another glance at her from underneath his hooded brow when he thought she wasn’t looking.
It wasn’t that Lionel didn’t have a sense of humour - on the contrary, the man always seemed to be amused by one thing or another. The issue, Martha suspected, was that gentle, good-natured ribbing was as not as common in Lionel’s family as it had been in hers. Because of that, Lionel always appeared somewhat out of his depth when confronted with a fond teasing that was devoid of ulterior malice.
He stole another glance her way. Apparently deciding that she was now in a sufficiently light-hearted mood, Lionel cleared his throat.
“I hope I didn’t overstep any-” Lionel wasn’t quite able to meet Martha’s eyes. Instead, he addressed the partition between them and driver. “The last thing I would wish to do is make you uncomfortable.”
“I know.” Martha might have been facing Lionel, but she wasn’t looking at him either. Past him, the flat countryside extended for miles outside the window. The colours smudged into a pleasant blur as they sped down the road. She continued.
“It wasn’t your fault, the organisers made a mistake. It could have happened to anybody.”
She said it with confidence, but she wasn’t sure how much she believed her own words. Could it have happened to anybody? Would they have made the same mistake with somebody else, someone who didn’t seem as close to her as Lionel did? Was there anybody else who seemed that close?
“Nevertheless, I apologise. The announcer sounded so sure of herself.” Lionel chuckled weakly, then paused. “When I saw your face, I- well I wasn’t sure which you would prefer less; for me to make a scene, or play along.”
Martha tore her gaze away from the countryside, waiting for him to reluctantly meet her eyes. “Lionel. It’s okay.”
Though Lionel’s doubts clearly lingered, his relief was evident. Inwardly, Martha shook her head. There was a side to Lionel that was so soft, so unsure and eager to please. If you weren’t looking closely, it could so easily be mistaken for his other desperate need, to impress, but Martha knew otherwise.
This was the side of Lionel that prompted him to show up at her backdoor, hat figuratively in hand; it was what made him feel so exposed when he stumbled across a topic - or more likely emotion - that he suddenly found he had no metric for how to express. It was the side so few people other than herself would ever see, and it was the one she liked best. She might have encouraged him to share it with the world, if she thought there was any chance in hell he would.
In his own way, Lionel was giving Martha something even more than he thought he was; a lesson in the myriad ways a person could protect their heart. Observing Lionel’s behaviour, especially around others, was a first-rate lesson in emotional subterfuge. Of course, it was never Martha’s intention to mimic these repressive tendencies to the extent of her unsuspecting mentor. Yet, there was still much to learn from the thousand and one tricks in Lionel’s back pocket that allowed him to avoid bearing his soul to just anyone.
That privilege was only reserved for a select few, as it turned out.
A rush of feeling swept through Martha as she watched Lionel, silhouetted in profile against the setting sun, his pensive brow furrowed as it often was, a hand touched to his jaw, and one long finger resting against his thin lips. Something took hold of Martha then, she found herself gripped by an urge as overpowering as it was unexpected. She found herself wondering, suddenly, what would happen if she lunged over to the other side of the car and kissed him. Lionel wouldn’t complain, Martha was sure of that.
The impulse vanished almost as soon as it arrived, and left in its place was a sensation of half-embarrassment, half-guilt. Martha breathed out a shaky sigh as she tried to pretend that the thought had never even occurred to her.
What would Jonathan have said? Martha regretted asking herself the question, as she had to immediately steel herself against another unfortunate emotional collapse. Besides, she already knew what Jonathan would have said. In fact, the certainty she felt about his disgust at the idea of her even travelling in a car with Lionel, grounded her in an odd way. A spark of amusement flared in her chest as she mentally played through the argument they would have had about it. There was no question in her mind that every word was perfect.
Martha shared a smile with her reflection, recalling Lionel’s horrified face in the crowd. She wasn’t sure who would have been more offended at his being called Mr Kent, Lionel or Jonathan?
She was in an odd mood, Martha recognised, but she supposed that was to be expected. The day had tired her more than she’d counted on, leaving her feeling older than she’d ever been before, which technically, she was. Looking down at her weathered hands, she noted a few spots, and a couple of wrinkles she had so far been trying to ignore.
Facing Lionel once again, Martha reached out and took his hand, resting on the seat between them.
“Thank you.” She said softly. She wasn’t sure exactly what she was thanking him for, but she knew she meant it.
Martha ran her thumb lightly over his lean fingers, his hand beginning to show its age the same as hers. Lionel looked more stunned than he had the moment Emma pulled him out of the crowd. His eyes searched hers for some explanation, or guidance. She wondered if he found what he was looking for.
“For you, Martha? Always.” His earnest tone put a lump in the back of Martha’s throat that she had no choice but to laugh out.
“Although, perhaps next time you should just come as Lionel Luthor. I’d hate to think of you out there as a Kent under duress.”
Lionel laughed too. He had finally relaxed as much as it was ever possible for him to do.
“I’ll do my best.” He promised.
The car sped towards Smallville, and Martha kept hold of Lionel’s hand a little longer than strictly necessary. Though he was no doubt keenly aware of that fact, he didn’t mention it. At some point, Martha took her hand back, linking her fingers in her lap as she enjoyed the peaceful quiet. Lionel was lost in that contemplative world again, the one Martha wasn’t sure she would ever reach.
To be in that car with Lionel, speeding towards the farm, it struck Martha as that perfect balance between the strange and the familiar, the bizarre and the banal. At the beginning, she had struggled against finding herself here, but now it was a place she was more and more accustomed to inhabiting. As it turned out, she wasn’t all that surprised to find that it was gradually becoming, piece by piece, a place she might one day call home.