Chapter Text
Martha Kent knows how to shoot in the dark. She'd be a fool not to. Her Pa might be long gone—God rest his soul—but that doesn't mean she forgot what he taught her. Or about that warning he gave her when she was getting married to Jonathan, about how he wanted her to have it in case something went wrong. He didn't look a bit like he believed it would, but just in case, he made sure she knew how when she was 21, and now she remembered at 58.
She allows herself all the sound she can— let them know she's here. They already decided to smash her windows. Waking her up at 3:00 in the darn morning, she'll show them.
She steps slowly into her kitchen, barrel going before her as she does. The back door handle is busted—she thought that was done with once Clark had grown up—and the glass in it is all in bits on the floor. A faint rustling catches her ear.
"Show yourself!" she shouts, aiming at the sound.
The intruder gasps and whirls around with his hands up. Martha's glad for the gun. She could never fight someone this size on her own, and Jonathan is still sound asleep. "Keep your hands where I can see them."
"Ma, please!"
What? She squints into the black, and sees that the hulking shape is Clark. Oh, dear. "Clark?"
She huffs and heads over to the light switch, raising a finger to tell him to wait while she empties the gun of its bullets and puts it away. Clark looks appropriately sheepish when she gets back to the kitchen, extending a mug of tea to her and not meeting her eyes.
"I didn't mean to scare you, or to break the door," he mumbles. "But I needed to talk to you."
"Are you hurt? Did something happen?" Sue her, but Martha can't help worrying about her boy. She's only got the one, and just because he's not human doesn't mean he's immortal.
"No, no, I mean. Yes, but—I'm not hurt, but something did happen." Clark shifts in his seat.
"And it was so important you had to break into the house before the sun?"
Clark shifts again, rocking from foot to foot. He looks…tired. She's told him not to work late.
"You might live in Metropolis now, but you're still my son, Clark. What's so important?"
Clark swallows. He looks a bit like he's about to hurl. Martha's heartbeat skips, hops, and jumps. She remembers that Kryptonite poisoning he had when the Luthors' boy tried to kill him—is there more? Did he come back to—to heal? She can put him up and give him tea with honey, but Martha doesn't have the stuff to treat Kryptonite poisoning. She can have Jonathan drag him out into one of the fields and let him lie there on a sunny day, but that's all—
"I'm getting married."
What?
Martha…does not know quite what to say. Not that she didn't expect this, of course. Just that this is very…sudden.
Clark starts rambling. "I know it's fast, and I know it's—it's early, but we didn't want to get married and tell you after, and I know you guys don't like the city much, and we don't really want to get married in Metropolis as it is, but there's nowhere either of us are as attached to as here—and there's Pastor Braun, and I know you said you wanted to sew something if I ever got married, and I didn't want you to have to—" Clark inhales, and it nearly sucks the air out of the room. "We want you to be there, and we didn't want to spring it on you."
"You're a bit late on that last count, Clark."
"What is happening here, and why is it happening in the cold?"
Martha takes a slow breath. She always breathes a bit easier when Jonathan's around. "Morning, honey."
"Morning. Clark, what's going on?"
Clark is gripping the back of the chair they reinforced when he last came to visit. "I'm getting married. Soon. Very soon, actually."
"You're engaged?"
"No, I'm getting married."
"Did you propose?"
"In a sense…?" Clark looks pained. Martha raised her boy better than to leave a lady in the dark, so she's resting a little easier knowing that this is something he's talked to her about. "We were working late, and I just…asked, and we talked, and we finished work early, so we talked more, and—and we've talked about this for a while! She's on board."
Jonathan makes his way to the coffeemaker and fiddles with the pot. "Is this that Lois girl you were on the phone with at Christmas?"
"Uh, yeah."
Martha meets Jonathan's eyes as he turns back from the coffeemaker. "I like her. She's good for you."
"Yeah, I mean, I just—"
Jonathan cuts him off while the coffee brews. "Your Ma is fine. She's just taking it all in."
Darn right, she is.
"Look, she's a good woman. A little…er…"
"Headstrong?" Clark supplies.
"Sure, kiddo. But she's a good influence on you, and you've been dating for, what? Two years? Your Ma and I got married after six months."
Clark looks at Martha like he's waiting for her to say something, so she does. "She saved your life, and then she brought you back to us. I don't think you get much better than that."
"So you'll…help me?"
Jonathan sips his coffee while Martha does her mental calculations. Pastor Braun will happily officiate, then it's a matter of getting people out to Smallville and hosting receptions and dress fittings and so on. "You're on a tight turnaround, but I can call Ralph first thing. Who'd you want there?"
"You, Jimmy, uh…Bruce, probably. Her father, maybe, but that's a…complicated relationship."
Martha can't help feeling bad for the girl. She doesn't deserve that. Every girl should have a father worthy of walking her down the aisle. And Lois is a wonderful young woman—Martha couldn't ask for a better addition to the family. She deserves all the love she can get!
"You have a dress?" Martha asks. "Can't get that in no time."
"Ma, I would marry her dressed in a trash bag."
"Absolutely not! Bring her over here, I'll get my sewing machine out." Call her old fashioned; Martha Kent will not let her daughter-in-law look anything short of resplendent on her wedding day. "You will be cleaning up for the wedding, Clark."
"Ma…"
"It's going to take at least a few days, son," Jonathan says. "Get her over here, get your friends their invitations. Let us get the ceremony done. We—don't look at me like that, I understand—can handle that."
Martha watches her son, this giant bundle of nerves and barely contained emotional elation, decide to stop fighting. "I don't need to be a groom, Ma. I just want to be her husband."
"Clark Joseph Kent," Jonathan says, "you'll do both yourself and Miss Lane the honor of having a wedding. Now get her over here and let your Ma and I handle the rest. Go send your invitations."
Martha watches oh, so many emotions place on her son's face. She can't fault him—she doesn't know a single couple that didn't wish they could just hurry it up and get married already. That doesn't mean it's going to happen. There are rules—not the whole "old, new, borrowed, blue" or "white for purity" nonsense, but the ones about celebrating. If Lois and Clark want a wedding, there will be a wedding. If they'd wanted to run off together, they'd have done so by now.
"You will have plenty of time to be married," Martha says, stepping over to pat her son's shoulder. "She only gets to be a bride once."
Clark gives her a smile and sniffs, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. "Yeah."
"Oh, no, don't cry."
He laughs. "No, no, it's good. I'm just…" he puts his head in his hands for a moment before he mumbles into them: "I'm going to be her husband."
Martha rubs his shoulder. He's going to be like this for the entire week, isn't he? "That, you are."