Work Text:
When Jonathan came in from the fields, the ice pack had numbed her wrist a little, but the sick feeling in her stomach was still there. Pain throbbed with her heartbeat. He washed his hands outside, griping about the latest oil leak from their oldest tractor.
“But, I think I can–” he stopped in the doorway. Taking in her face that had to be even paler than usual, his gaze travelled down to where the kitchen island hid her hands and lower body. “Martha, what is it? Are you okay? Clark?”
“Clark’s just fine, he’s napping.” Her voice wasn’t as steady as she’d hoped, and she knew he could see the sweat on her face and the edges of her hair. “Do you think you can stay here with him for a few hours?”
Jonathan nodded as he moved closer, his hand settling lightly on her shoulder as he caught sight of the ice pack in her lap. “What happened, sweetheart?”
She shook her head, tears burning at the corners of her eyes. “Clark, he …he just wanted to show me that the tulips were starting to come up … that spring was coming.”
“Let me see.”
“He grabbed my hand to take me outside and…” She used her good hand to put the ice pack on the island. Moving made her queasy as she gingerly lifted her other arm onto it, her skin red from the cold. It didn’t hide the swelling or that her wrist was mottled and blue. “I can get myself to the hospital, I just need–”
“You can’t drive like that, I’ll–”
“You have to stay here. He’ll be up soon, and he was so upset. And Nell won’t be home yet, and I’m not sure we should leave him with anyone.” Her voice started firm, even, but went to rambling, the words blurring into his shirt as he let her rest against him, his hand rubbing along her back.
“How long have you been waiting here?”
She heard the tremor in his voice and fought to keep one out of hers despite the pain.
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t want Clark thinking–”
“It matters to me,” he interrupted softly, covering her good hand with his. The warmth felt so good.
She shook her head; pain had blurred her memory of the time. “Maybe an hour.”
“God, Martha...” He kissed the top of her head, continuing to rub her back. “I shoulda been back in earlier.”
“You didn’t know.”
“Clark is a special boy,” he said, without judgment. “And it means we have to be that much stronger. But I’m gonna call Bill. He can drive you.” He cut her off before she could object, already reaching for the phone. “Sweetheart, I broke my wrist playing football, and I know how bad it is. We’ll figure out something to tell Bill.”
The reclusive Kents, Nell had called them. The moment she’d seen those little, bare feet out the window of the truck, she’d fallen in love. And it didn’t matter where he was from or what she had to endure; this was her family.
It had taken far longer than she’d hoped at the hospital. Triage had rightfully put her lower in priority, and her wrist ended up being more complicated to set, a nasty, spiral fracture. There was so much swelling that they couldn’t cast it right away. She shuddered even to think about it as she thanked Bill when he helped her out of the car. But the drugs were working, and she was anxious to see Clark and Jonathan.
The sun was setting, and they weren’t in the house, a soft glow of light flickering in the barn. As she approached, she could hear Jonathan’s voice, low and gentle, and had to take a deep breath when she heard Clark laugh. She wiped the tear that ran down her cheek before she walked in.
The workbench had been cleared of tools. Clark sat on a high stool, his dad behind him. There was a box on the bench and two soft brown egg cartons. One was half full and partially stained with broken egg. When Clark saw her and the splint and sling, his eyes grew wide, and he stopped laughing.
“It’s okay, son,” Jonathan said gently. “Show her what you can do.”
His eyes bright blue in the work light, Clark took a halted little breath. “Look, Mommy,” he said. “I’m careful.” Little fingers took another egg from the box and, with so much care, set it into the empty egg carton. And then another. When the second egg had settled, he looked up at her and smiled so wide her heart ached.
“You’re so careful, my special boy.” She knelt down to him and kissed his forehead, feeling his arms settle around her neck with the lightest, gentlest weight.
“I’m sorry,” she heard against her neck.
“Mommy’s fine, you hear me? And she loves you so very much.” As she said it, she looked up at Jonathan, letting him know the words were also for him and everything he had just done.
“Okay, slugger. Time to head to bed,” he said.
Clark kissed her neck and ran off towards the house. Jonathan lingered.
“How you feeling?”
Jonathan was the guy who asked how you slept, who remembered something small you said a week ago. Part of her wanted to reassure him and say it wasn’t bad, but he always made her feel safe telling him how things really were.
“Like I might be sick.”
He nodded, pressing his lips together in understanding. “Lets get you inside. I’m not gonna lie to you. This scared me.”
“I know. And it won’t be the last time. Loving Clark comes with risk. We knew that.”
“And I would never second-guess that love. Not ever, Martha. If we don’t risk, we’ll be left holding onto nothing. I just … need to hold onto what I have for a little while.”
To you. To Clark.
He didn’t say it, but she knew. She put her good arm around his waist as they turned toward the house, speaking softly, “The doctor doesn't think I’ll need surgery. If the swelling goes down enough, she’ll cast it on Thursday.”
“Okay. Where are your meds?”
“Inside.”
Their proximity and the routine conversation calmed them both. The setting sun lit the farm in pinks and golds, the sheer beauty of it seeming to highlight the extraordinary that had just run inside.
Like love painted across the sky.