Too Little, Too Late

by a campbell

Martha's POV. Lana/Clark, Clark/Lex, PG-13

Spoiler for Accelerate

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Martha wondered idly just why she was so out of sorts. It was noon, a beautiful spring day, and Saturday, besides. And having Lana Lang as a house guest was really no trouble. No trouble at all. She spared a brief moment of concern for the poor child, who’d been so badly frightened last night.

Clark came into the kitchen as she was drying the last of the breakfast dishes. He slid his overstuffed backpack across the waxed floor to a stop by the refrigerator and plucked his jacket from the back of one of the kitchen chairs. Martha’s eyes narrowed as she set the plate on the counter. Clark straightened up and turned to her with a smile that faded at her frown.

"What?" he asked.

She couldn’t keep the edge from her voice. "And where are you going?"

Clark’s defensive tone had just a hint of whine. "I’ll be back in time for supper, Mom."

Must be nice, thought Martha, to be able to come and go so easily. She tossed her dish towel on the counter with an exasperated sigh, and Clark’s gaze darkened with concern and alarm.

"I’m going to Lex’s. To study," he emphasized hastily. He bent to peer into the small mirror on the refrigerator door, brushing a hand through his dark locks. Martha couldn’t help but notice he was wearing his new black jeans and his best flannel shirt. "I have an economics final on Monday. Is there a problem?"

She really thought she’d raised him to be more considerate than this. "Well, Clark, you do have a guest. Or is Lana going with you?"

"No," Clark replied slowly. "I’m going alone." He cast a hasty glance at his watch. "And I’m late."

"You’re not being a very good host, then," Martha declared.

“Well, you’re the one who invited her to stay!” Clark’s face flushed a deep red, and he bit his lip as though startled by the irritation in his voice. "Mom, I’m sorry," he said quickly. "I didn’t mean that. I mean--I can’t concentrate on work with her there, Mom, you should know that. I thought she could stay here with you, maybe help you with some of the chores. Please, just for a couple of hours."

"Right," Martha replied, her voice clipped. "So much for my nap." She gazed fuming out the window at the kitchen garden and the wash flapping on the clothesline in the spring breeze. She didn’t mean to take her bad mood out on her son, but even though the extreme fatigue of the early pregnancy had finally passed and she was into the second trimester (with a big sigh of relief), she had still been looking forward to some extra rest that afternoon. No teenage boy could be expected to understand that, though—certainly not one with super strength and powers. She gave herself a mental pinch in reminder that Clark was more considerate than most.

"Oh." Clark's face fell, abashed and disappointed. "Mom, I’m sorry," he repeated.

"Never mind. Go. Go!" Martha shooed him out the door. “I”ll take care of Lana.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Relieved, Clark flashed his grin, looking so devastatingly handsome that Martha’s heart nearly stopped. She found her lips curving into an answering smile in spite of herself. He made it so hard for her to be tough.

"Study hard." Her voice was faint.

"I’ll be home in time to set the table for supper." He bent to give her a quick kiss. “Promise.” And Martha could swear she caught a whiff of the cologne Jonathan wore on special occasions, like Valentine’s Day or their anniversary.

Lifting the corner of the curtain, she peered out again. She watched Clark scuff to the edge of the drive, slowing to a stop by the spring bulbs, all in flower and clustered at the base of the fence. He reached down to pluck and sniff a bloom, then tucked it in his pocket, and vanished in an instant.

Martha sighed, and took a long, slow sip from her cooling cup of herb tea.

Somehow, she doubted there’d be much studying going on at Lex’s.

**

Lana came downstairs before Martha drained the last drops of her tea. Shelby padded up as the girl reached the main floor. With a nervous giggle, Lana bent to stroke the furry auburn head gingerly. The dog aimed a half-hearted sniff at the girls’ calves and wandered off without interest.

A shame, thought Martha as she watched from the kitchen. Shelby usually loved visitors, and was always all over the immaculately-dressed Lex. Followed him everywhere, as a matter of fact. Perhaps she was just fonder of boys. But then, Lana didn’t seem to care much for dogs, though she put on a brave front. Martha sighed again. She still had no clue what was making her so irritable today. Lana’s smile was more genuine when she caught sight of Martha, and came into the kitchen.

“Hi, Mrs. Kent. Sorry for sleeping in so late. I was a little stressed, I guess.”

“That’s okay, Sweetheart. You must have been exhausted with everything that’s been going on. No strange visitors last night?” Martha peered closer, barely discerning a hint of strain around the girl’s eyes.

A troubled shadow passed over Lana’s face, almost immediately tempered by an uneasy smile. “No, not last night.”

“You must be hungry, Sweetie. It’s almost noon!”

Lana smiled. "Not yet. I can wait."

Martha clucked and shook her head. “No wonder you’re so slim. You don’t eat enough to keep a bird alive.”

Lana perched on one of the counter stools and scanned the kitchen. “Is Clark out helping Mr. Kent?”

“No,” said Martha slowly. So Clark hadn’t even told her where he was going. “He went to study at Lex’s. Economics final.”

"Oh," said Lana slowly. “I aced Economics last semester.”

“Did you,” said Martha, and there was an uncomfortable lull in the conversation. Lana looked around again, as if at loose ends, unsure how she should occupy her afternoon.

Well, thought Martha with a shrug. “You can help me this afternoon, then. How about that? Unless you have to study, too.”

“No,” Lana looked both pleased and relieved. “I’m all caught up.”

But what should they do? She’d done laundry the day before. Working in the kitchen garden? True, it was a beautiful day, but she really wasn’t in the mood to dig in the dirt or pull weeds from last year. She glanced around and her gaze fixed on the half-loaf of cinnamon bread left from Jonathan’s breakfast. The last loaf of bread in the house. They needed more.

“Ever baked bread before, Honey?” Though Martha was pretty sure what the answer would be before Lana responded.

“Not really,” was Lana’s answer. “I took Home Ec in eighth grade, but we didn’t try bread. Just tuna casserole and pudding pie. Nell has a bread machine. But that’s not really baking. Her eyes sparkled with interest as she smiled. “I’d love to learn.”

Baking could be such a companionable activity. She thought of the long-ago days when Clark would sit at the same counter as she worked, dipping small fingers into bowls of cookie dough and tasting, stirring batter for cupcakes with childish industry so he could get quickly to the most important step: licking the bowl. Years ago, though it seemed but yesterday. She turned away quickly so Lana wouldn’t notice the tears welling in the corners of her eyes.

How quickly time passed. In what seemed only a moment, her son had become a young man of seventeen, who was busy with more important things, and no longer had time to keep his mother company on baking afternoons.

Heavens, but she was emotional these days. She made a valiant attempt to banish sad thoughts and cheer up. “So, should we get started?” Martha was tying her apron as she spoke. Not tightly, to avoid putting pressure on the small swell of her stomach. Saturday, instead of Monday, could be baking day this week.

**

Martha knew it was silly, but she felt awkward and maternal next to the small, graceful girl. Had Lana noticed the pregnancy yet? She hadn’t said anything. And Martha hesitated to refer to it herself in case she hadn’t, but even though she wasn’t showing that much yet, it should still be obvious, now. I should have said something earlier, she thought with a sigh. But she hadn’t told anyone, not even Clark and Jonathan till they’d found out at the hospital, hadn’t wanted to jinx things. And for some unknown reason, she felt shy about making a casual mention. It was as though the fact were a fragile gift, easy to break as an eggshell. Still unbelievable. And she smiled, her ill humor lifting, feeling happy and thankful, all at once. Grateful for her wonderful family and everything it meant, even if she did get stuck entertaining her son’s friends. That’s what happens when your son is popular, she told herself with pleased surprise.

“Now, Lana,” Martha pulled a second apron from the top drawer and handed it to her. “When you bake bread the old-fashioned way, without a machine, you pretty much have to set aside a whole day to do it, or at least an afternoon. We’ll do about six loaves today. That’ll last the week out, even with big appetites like Clark’s and Jonathan’s to contend with, and with you here!” She beckoned and drew Lana in close for a quick hug, and turned her around to tie the strings of the second apron. When the bow was complete, Martha stepped back. “Ready, now?

Lana nodded and brushed a wisp of hair from her eyes, blushing with pleasure at the unaccustomed embrace.

“Then, first, we need a big bowl. I have a big wooden one that I always use especially for bread. And flour.” Thank goodness it was safe, now, to bring out the canister.

Lana already had the lower cupboard open, and was scanning the shelves. “You have three kinds of flour in here, Mrs. Kent.” She rattled them off: “Stone-ground whole wheat, rye, and white bread flour.”

“The white,” Martha decided. “We’ll be simple and traditional today.”

“I like white bread best, anyway,” Lana confided.

“Well, that’s settled, then.” Martha pulled a saucepan and a can of Crisco down from one of the higher shelves and reached for a measuring cup from the drying rack. “First we warm some milk, some shortening, and some salt on the stove. Just to lukewarm.”

Lana picked up the can of shortening, opened it and slid the drawer by the sink open to grab a ring of measuring spoons. “How much?”

“Just two tablespoons.” Lana scooped and scraped the shortening off into the pan. She then measured out a teaspoon of salt. “Is that enough?”

“Just perfect,” Martha crooned in encouragement. “How did you guess?”

“Instinct,” said Lana with a grin. They both laughed.

“Now stir,” directed Martha, handing her a bread paddle.

Lana stirred.

“So,” Martha continued, wiping stray flecks of shortening and grains of salt from the countertop with a sponge. “How do you like living at the Sullivans?” She glanced back at the industriously-stirring girl and waited for her response. Lana sighed and slowed the spoon with a wistful smile.

“Chloe and Mr. Sullivan have been wonderful.” And Martha nodded as Lana resumed stirring, a bit more slowly than before. She’d expected Lana’s response to be something like that.

“And you’re still as good friends as you were before? Sometimes girls, when they're roommates--"“

The paddle slowed. “Chloe...” Lana paused, and Martha couldn’t help noticing how uncomfortable she looked.

“Well? What about her?”

“I think Chloe still likes Clark. And I don’t know what to do.”

Martha knew that was no doubt true. Chloe had always worn her heart on her sleeve where Clark was concerned. At least to Martha’s eyes. Since they were adolescents, no matter that Clark had been fixed on Lana since kindergarten. But it was sad for the poor girl. She’d always been a good friend to Clark.

“I hope she can accept it eventually. That Clark and I are together, now. Don’t tell her, though!”

Martha took the warm milk mixture from the stove and set it on the counter, not meeting Lana’s eyes. “She doesn’t know yet?”

"We’re going to tell her when the time is right."

Martha thinned her lips. And thought, for one moment, then two. She began slowly, “Well, Honey, the longer you let it go on without telling her, the harder it will be to decide when to tell her. And all the more chance of Chloe finding out about the two of you on her own. And, if and when she does…well, it won’t be pretty. Hurt feelings all around, and if you three are really as good friends as you think, well, you and Clark won’t do that to Chloe, or to yourselves.”

Lana had the grace to look ashamed. “But it’s so hard. Chloe’s been a good friend to both Clark and me. I don’t want either of us to lose her.”

Martha sighed. Yes, easier just to take the easy way, to say nothing, to focus on herself, to hope Chloe would never notice, never figure it out. She remembered: she’d been a teenager, too, though she’d been another person then, in another life.

“Anyway, I just can’t do it. Not yet.”

Lana turned back to the bowl of dough. Martha sighed again.

Not yet.

**

The bread was kneaded and on its first rising. Martha glanced at the clock: 3:17. As they worked, conversation had continued, covering Chloe, Mr. Keane, the English Literature teacher, and the latest riding competitions and art fairs in Metropolis. She'd fixed sandwiches and milk for both of them for lunch as they baked and visited. So, what else could they talk about?

She turned to Lana with an almost too-bright smile. “I’ve hardly seen Clark this spring. He’s been out every night this week. Have you two been studying? Or has he been helping out at the Talon?” Despite being fired, she thought, but didn’t say.

“No,” said Lana slowly. “He hasn’t been with me. Except at the Fright Fest Friday night, and we were all there as a group: Pete, Chloe, Clark and I.”

“That’s funny, because when he came home night before last night, he was almost giddy.”

“Really,” said Lana evenly, shaking out a clean towel to put over the bread bowl. “Did he say why?”

Martha did her best to recollect. “I think he said something like: ‘I had the best evening, Mom. I’m so happy. I have everything I could ever want, now.’ I just assumed he was talking about you.”

And, she could have bitten her tongue as the blood rushed to Lana’s cheeks.

“That’s strange, because when he stopped by the Talon to get a coffee—Thursday, right?-- he mentioned he was just on his way to Lex’s for some help on his chemistry homework.”

Lana didn’t look at her, just smoothed the towel flat over the pans. Martha gnawed her bottom lip

So Clark had been at Lex’s Thursday night, too.

She might have to have the same talk with Clark that she’d had with Lana this afternoon.

**

“There,” said Martha with a sigh of satisfaction. “That’s that.” The dough had had its first rising and all six pale loaves were in their pans. “Now, we just let them rise for another hour and then we bake them.”

Lana turned to her with a proud grin, which faded into an expression of concern. “You look tired, Mrs. Kent,” she said. “Why don’t you go rest for a little. I’ll call you when the loaves are risen and we can put them in the oven.”

“Now, you’re sure you know how to tell when they’re risen enough.”

“Of course,” replied Lana with a smile. “By the way they look.”

Martha chuckled and reached to brush a fleck of flour from Lana’s dark hair. “Thanks, Sweetie.”

Lana rewarded her with a warm smile. “Sure, Mrs. Kent. Just relax.”

**

When Martha awoke from her nap on the sofa, the sun was sinking in the west over the fields, and the aroma of fresh-baked bread was filling the air. Her eyes focused on Lana, who was untying her apron as she stepped beaming into the room.

“They turned out great, Mrs. Kent.”

“LaNA….you were supposed to wake me!” Martha scolded, sitting up on the sofa.

“I would have, but I hated to. You were having such a good sleep. You work so hard every day, Mrs. Kent. You deserve a nap once in awhile.”

Martha smiled, an unaccustomed twist of tenderness warming her heart at Lana’s words. She glanced at the clock. The irritable mood of early afternoon had disappeared, banished by a 90-minute nap.

Lana hesitated, then said hesitantly,

“Clark’s so lucky to have you for a mom.”

Maybe she’d been wrong. Lana Lang did seem to think about others once in awhile, after all.

**

Martha had turned on the lamps by the time Clark came clumping up the front steps. Lana was first to meet him as he as he stepped in, looking a little worried. “Sorry I’m late,” he breathed nervously, glancing in his mother’s direction.

Lana leaned up to give him a peck on the cheek, and Clark let one arm slide briefly around her waist. “Hey, Lana.”

Clark held the evening Ledger in his hands, having picked it up from the porch floor as he came in. Martha took it and handed it to Lana as Clark released her. “Here, Sweetie. “Can you put this on the coffee table so it’s ready for Clark’s father when he comes in from ploughing. He likes to relax with the paper while he’s waiting for dinner.”

Lana took the newspaper with a smile and headed for the parlor.

Martha turned back to Clark, who had that wary, “you’re not still mad, are you?” look on his face. “How was the study session?” she asked.

He smiled tensely, then relaxed a little. “Pretty good. I always learn a lot from Lex.” Martha saw the slow blush that spread over Clark’s face as the possible implication of his remark seemed to dawn on him. “I mean…he’s really smart. Has the best business mind in Smallville.”

Martha looked closely at her son. There must surely be a sensible explanation for the two bright pink spots high on his cheeks, for the bruises on his lips and neck which the flannel of his shirt collar didn’t quite cover. Clark must have divined her thoughts from her expression, because his cheeks flushed an even deeper red as he dropped his gaze.

Oh, Clark, she thought in dismay. And prayed Lana hadn’t noticed.

“So, you’re ready for the test,” she remarked with false brightness.

“Think so,” said Clark. “Hope so.” He turned to fumble clumsily, noisily, with the books in his pack.

Lana was back in the kitchen. “Your mom and I have been busy this afternoon.” She sounded to Martha like a puppy or kitten wagging its tail, looking for approval.

“Great,” Clark replied, a little over-enthusiastically, Martha thought. But Clark’s eyes grew round and pleased as he saw the freshly-baked loaves of bread lined on the counter to cool. “You guys baked. Great! I’m starving!”

“You usually eat something at Lex’s,” Martha observed.

“Well, today we were too busy to think of food.” Clark bent over the pans of bread to take a deep whiff. “I hope there’s lots of butter in the fridge, Mom.”

“We have plenty,” she assured him. “But that bread is not just a vehicle for butter, young man!”

“Nope,” said Clark. “Butter. And jam! Do you guys care if I have some now?”

“Go ahead,” Lana slid the butter crock across the counter with a laugh, and a fond glance at Martha.

“Lana did most of the work,” said Martha, smiling back and handing Clark a bread knife from the drawer. “She’s going to be a wonderful baker before you know it!”

“Good,” said Clark. “When you go back to the Sullivans, you can show off your skills. When are you going back, by the way?” He bit into his thick slice of buttered bread and chewed, raising his brows as he turned to her.

Martha noticed the tremor that flickered across Lana’s face. “I’m not sure,” she said slowly. “I guess when…I could really go back any time.”

“I could take you back tomorrow afternoon. It’s Sunday--no chores. We can start packing you up tonight, after supper, I can stay long enough to say hi to Chloe and Mr. Sullivan, and get over to the mansion in time for Lex to help me study for my next math test.” Clark raised his eyebrows as he sliced second piece of bread. “Okay?”

“Sure, that’d be fine.” She smiled a quivery smile and looked away.

Clark wasn’t even looking at her as he poured a tall glass of milk and took a hefty swig. “Hey, Lana?”

She looked back at once as he spoke.

“The bread’s great.”

Lana smiled a wistful smile. “I’m so glad. It was really fun, spending the afternoon with your mom.”

Poor Lana. Martha couldn’t help feeling a little cast down on Lana’s behalf. They were so cute together. And Clark liked her, she knew he did. But it would never work.

Clark’s heart obviously lay elsewhere. But she supposed she could fill in as Lana’s substitute mother whenever she cared to drop by again.

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