Stages

by a campbell

Martha, Clark/Lex, PG-13

Spoilers for "Reckoning"

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Section I: Give it a year.

After a death, no important decisions for a year. The self-help books all agreed on that.

Snow had fallen the day of the funeral, and continued to drift down in silent flakes till January was out, blanketing the hurt. But only temporarily. Now, the start of February held hints of an early thaw. Clattering birdsong and cold, fresh air should be signs of a new beginning, but all they did this year was intensify the ache around Martha’s heart.

This time last year, he was still here. Last month at this time…before the world changed. Before the light went out forever and darkness set in.

It shouldn’t have been such a shock. Jonathan’s heart, weak for what seemed such a long time, memories of the days when he’d been strong and hale faded and dim. Bland diets, surgery, stronger medications, one after the other…she’d tried to prepare for disaster, dreaded it, known deep down that it was coming, slowly, relentlessly, inevitably. The only question "when," not "if". She’d tried to strengthen herself over the past two and a half years so she would be fortified, be ready when it finally came.

It shouldn’t hurt as much as it did. She’d stared calmly into the blank face of Death for some time, now. But she still hadn’t expected it so soon. So soon.

You could never really be ready for something like this.

No great loss without some gain, Martha’s mother used to say. And, true, beneath the sadness was, strangely, a bleak, empty sense of something like relief. The worst had happened now, and she no longer had to worry herself into shreds every time he insisted on lifting a feed sack himself or hefting a mallet for pounding a stake into the ground without Clark’s help.

Because he was gone. No need to fear any longer.

The solitude, though--that was another matter. Because the loss might be behind her, but there was nothing to look forward to, either.

The loneliness was there to greet her when she rose in the morning, the prospect of facing another day a tangible weight on her chest. It dogged her heels when she ran the smaller loads of laundry--just her clothes and Clark’s, now, a tumble of plaid and polyester--bypassed Jonathan’s favorite cereal on the grocery shelves, and laid two plates on the table instead of three.

No amount of preparation, of steeling herself, braced her for the emptiness. It was always Jonathan to whom her thoughts turned whenever anything occurred, good or bad. As deep as was her love for Clark, Jonathan was her other half. She craved his response, his reaction, his input, validation, and support. His presence. His absence broke habits of more than twenty years.

But despite wakeful hours in the dead of night, her hardest times were not during darkness, but the afternoons. When the pale winter sun hung low in the sky over the forested horizon, Martha would catch herself anticipating what was once the most treasured part of her day: supper with her boys. And remember. That these days Clark might not even be home for dinner, and even if he was, there was that inescapably empty chair, looming large, and a silence louder than any sound could be.

But everyone said not to make any momentous decisions within the first year after a death. So, she and Clark weren’t going anywhere, yet. Thank goodness her son was could manage all the immediate chores: feeding animals, ploughing, planting. Though many things that Jonathan had insisted on attending to—the extra crop of wheat, proceeds for donation to charity, mowing the Back 40 every couple of weeks, instead of every month, would no longer be done.

After a year, well...the farm was Jonathan’s dream, a dream that had become hers. Now that he was no longer here to share it with--well, she just didn’t know, and trying to figure it out just made her head ache.

Maybe she should sell. Clark would no doubt be back with Lana next week, their recent tiff forgotten. He wouldn’t really be needing his mother around. Might welcome the space. She could spend the rest of her life alone. She could even move back to the city. There was nothing to stop her.

She had so much freedom, now.

Her world had grown so small, all of a sudden. She’d blinked, and ninety percent of it had disappeared. And there might not be much more of substance between her and the grave, either. Most of her life was over.

Funny that the loss of just one person could make such a difference. She sighed, but the hurt settled in around her heart remained.

But it's too early to decide, the many voices said.

All right. A year. They’d give it a year. Then, they’d see.

**
Section II: So Quiet

When Sunday came, she didn’t go out to church. The regular routines didn’t seem to mean much, the time being out of joint as it was. Besides, memories of the funeral in that same church were still too fresh, too raw. She and Clark had spent the previous evening poring over the family photo albums, alternately laughing and crying, trading memories of things Jonathan had done or said, and feeling better for a time that was all too brief. She’d still spent the customary two hours from three to five a.m. lying awake, unable to avoid focusing on the starkness of the empty space on the mattress beside her, listening to the relentless tick of the clock, ushering her closer to the grave, and her reunion with Jonathan. How long, how long to wait?

What do I do till then? What do I do now? How in the world can I live without Jonathan? Without my husband--my other half.

And what could she do to help her poor boy? He was alone, now, too, and suffering. He and Jonathan had been so close. Seeing his pain should have been a comfort, shown her she wasn’t in this alone, but it only made hers worse.

As the pale light of pre-dawn crept through the curtains, she burrowed into her pillow and wept.

I’ll never see him again. He’ll never come through the screen door all dust and grime, never bend to kiss me before asking me what’s for supper.

So silent here, now, with the day plodding on to late afternoon, only the lowing of cows in the field, only Clark for company, dear though he was. He was nearly grown, and was on the brink of his own life. A life he deserved. She couldn’t hold on to him forever.

Day by day, scattered visitors paid their respects, a few here, a couple there, but not that many all in all, because, after all, the Kents had kept their distance from the community over the years. Clark’s secret was so much easier to guard that way.

A good man, Martha, they’d say. The best. And then drift away, back to their own lives, leaving her alone once more.

Still, she rose at the regular time, dressed herself in the customary black, and would do so till at least three months were up. Liberated as she liked to consider herself, she was still old fashioned that way.

It was all so quiet, now. Her world had grown so small.

Section III: The Visit

"Mrs. Kent," Lex stood on the porch, fair-skinned cheeks pink from the cold winter air. He extended his gloved hand. "I’m sorry for your loss."

"Thank you, Lex." She smiled faintly as he leaned in to brush her cheek with cool lips. "It’s good of you to stop by." So handsome in his black suit-coat, poor boy.

"Mr. Kent was a fine man. He’ll be missed by everyone in the community. If there’s anything I can do--"

She shook her head with a weak smile. "There’s nothing, Lex. But come in and sit down. I’d be glad of a little company."

She couldn’t say she’d ever actually trusted Lex Luthor, or fully approved of his friendship with her son. Lex was several years older, lived a fast life, was far too brilliant and gifted for his own good—or Clark’s. But privately she’d thought Jonathan had been far too hard on him, far too unrelenting in his dislike and rude reactions, too poor a host when the young man would come by to see Clark or proffer ready assistance (he appeared to have radar) the instant the family was in need. True, he was spoiled, proud, over-privileged and on the strange side. That he had a penchant for trouble was undeniable. She was never sure if she could fully believe anything he said. In that way, at least, he was like his father.

But he’d had a difficult youth. He’d helped them out of a couple of tight spots, and been a good friend to Clark, for awhile, at least, until his insatiable curiosity had eclipsed the desire for friendship and finally driven them apart.

Jonathan would never talk at length about why he so disliked Lex, even to her, though Martha had her ideas. Usually, he’d just growl, snort or scowl when Lex’s name came up. She suspected it was more than the unlucky accident that autumn afternoon of Clark’s freshman year, which had accelerated the necessity of telling Clark about his origins before any of them were really ready. It was more than Lex being the son of a man who had no morals or scruples to interfere with the pursuit of wealth and power. More than his presence being a reminder to Jonathan of a time he’d rather forget, when his own fond weakness and fear led him to go against his conscience.

It was as though he sensed--

She blinked and started, forcing her thoughts back to the present, surprised at how far away they had carried her.

Lex hadn’t sat down as bidden. He was still standing, waiting as uneasily as anyone named Luthor possibly could. Looking around the room, gaze scanning parlor, hall, staircase. When their eyes met again, he raised his brows.

"Is Clark here?" And the way his troubled voice softened and lingered on her son’s name said it all. "He wouldn’t take any of my calls."

Martha sighed, and hesitated before answering. "He’s out in the barn, repairing what seems like every piece of equipment we own. He’s been spending a lot of time alone these days, I’m afraid. I don’t know, Lex. I’d like to say: just go on out, but--" She shrugged and spread her hands.

Lex nodded and exhaled quickly. "He still may not want to see me." He walked over to the couch, sat, and beckoned her over. "So, let’s talk about you."

**
Section IV: Alignment

Martha was surprised at how easy she found it to talk with Lex, whose own early bereavement had clearly equipped him to be sensitive to the grief of others. A shame his overtures were generally met with disdain in the town, because he had a lot to offer as far as solace was concerned.

"You and Mr. Kent had a lot of years together. You can’t expect to be back to normal right away. But it will happen, Martha. Trust me. It just takes time."

She gazed at him, eyes burning, watering, and he smiled back, one of his signature small, secret smiles, and pressed her hand.

Martha didn’t know all the details, but she knew it had been a while since the boys had been anything remotely approaching friends. She’d kept dumb, feelings mixed. Those conflicted feelings about Lex had always made her uneasy, but he’d done something for Clark that no one else had, not Chloe, not Lana, not Pete or Lois. Lex had matured him, shown him a different side of life, a different world. Put a certain gleam in his eyes which she soon realized was due to more than friendship. A gleam she missed once the problems grew too great to ignore.

She’d always wished she could do more for Lex, stand him at least a little in the stead of the mother he had lost. She’d let her instincts be overrun by Jonathan’s dislike, and deferred, sometimes unwillingly, to her husband’s judgment and ill humor.

Well, her husband was gone, now. And maybe it wasn’t too late.

Section V: Mending

Martha saw Clark’s jaw tense, eyes going dark and guarded as he entered the parlor to find his former friend.

Lex rose to his feet. "Clark, I’m sorry about your dad." Their eyes met for a long moment, and Martha waited.

Clark stepped closer, grasped Lex’s hand, earning a tremble of relief from his mother. "It’s okay. We’ll make it, Mom and I."

"I have no doubt you will." Lex’s gaze didn’t leave Clark’s face. "You’re lucky to have each other."

Suddenly, Martha felt as though there were one person too many in the room.

"Why don’t you boys sit down here and talk. I have some things to do."

Section VI: A New Life

The winter sun was setting over the fields by the time Martha folded the last of the laundry and wandered into the parlor once again. The air was charged, but in an oddly positive way.

Clark and Lex were seated together on the sofa. Lex’s hand rested on Clark’s thigh. As Martha paused at the door, Clark reached to clasp the hand and draw Lex in close to him.

"I know," he was saying, voice catching in his throat. "So am I." Open lips caressed Lex’s pearl-smooth brow, one big hand curving around his bare scalp.

Martha’s stomach flipped a little, but an inner voice bade her sternly to get hold of herself. She waited a moment, then cleared her throat, low, and the boys both started. Lex, pale, jerked from Clark’s grasp and jumped to his feet.

Martha motioned him to sit back down as she stepped into the room. "Lex, please stay and have supper with us." Where had that come from? She wondered, bemused. But, somehow, it felt right.

Clark raised his eyebrows as he looked uneasily up at his mother, clearly wondering whether she was serious or enjoying an unkind jest. Lex thinned his lips and responded with a small shake of his head. "I don’t know, Mrs. Kent. I have--"

Martha decided quickly and firmly not to accept "No," for an answer. "Come on, please. It will be nice to have two men at my table again, even if just for one evening. Please stay."

Lex glanced back at Clark, who broke into a slow smile. "Yeah, Lex. Stay. Please."

After a moment’s thought, Lex reached into his pocket for his cell phone and headed for the porch door. "Let me make a couple of calls."

Clark turned to his mother with a sigh of relief as the door closed behind Lex. "Thanks, Mom."

Martha smiled and held out her arms. Clark went into them as though he were still the small boy who’d found them in the seared field so long ago. Martha chuckled as she stroked his hair.

"I hope you don’t mind," she said. "But it just seemed right, somehow. Now that your dad is gone, no frosty glares across the supper table. Lex can enjoy his mushroom soup without its freezing on his spoon before it gets to his mouth."

Clark took a moment to visualize the image and laughed, too. "I’m glad your sense of humor is still in there somewhere, Mom."

"Of course it is," She smiled again, then sighed. “No great loss without some gain. That’s what your grandmother always said.”

Clark pulled back. He glanced toward the porch with a faraway expression on his face. "Yeah. There’ve been tons of problems between Lex and me. But maybe it’s still not too late for a fresh start to our friendship. Despite all the times we’ve tried and failed before. Maybe this time will be the charm."

"Well, times change, Sweetheart. Lives change, in the blink of an eye. We all need to make the most of what we have, while we have it."

He smiled and folded her in a big hug. She nestled close, savoring the warmth of his chest, the fresh country scent of his clothing, so like Jonathan’s. "I’m lucky I have the smartest mom in the world." He drew back and gazed down at her as his eyes darkened, then looked away. "Mom, about Lex and me--I--"

She reached up to touch a fingertip to his bottom lip. "Honey, don’t. Not now. We can talk later. Let’s just concentrate on dinner for now."

He exhaled with what seemed to her like relief. "Okay, yeah. Thanks, Mom."

She gazed at him fondly for a moment, her handsome son. The only man in her life, now.

"Don’t give up hope, Sweetie," she bade with a final squeeze of his strong hand.

Clark squeezed back and gave her another hug, then freed himself with gentle hands from Martha’s embrace and headed for the door. "I’m going to go hurry those phone calls along." He looked back with a grin so broad and happy that her heart ached. The first time he'd smiled that way since--

She glanced discreetly out the porch window on her way back to the kitchen. Could see, through the frosted glass, Clark’s arm going around Lex’s shoulder, Lex laughing as he snapped his cell phone closed, looking happier than she’d ever seen him.

Friendship? It was clearly more than that.

And she wasn’t quite sure why, but knowing Clark had found his love made her loss hurt less. Her love for Clark was strong, and so deep that she wished happiness for him wherever he might find it.

And for Lex, too. Martha smiled, too, through tears.

It was time for both of them to be making their own decisions about how to spend the rest of their lives. Maybe the best was yet to come for them both.

Maybe it wasn’t too late.

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