It was the same old conversation. Night after night. When she didn’t make it home in time to get dinner on the table, when she forgot to go grocery shopping, when he caught her on the evening news representing Luthorcorp. The same old passive-aggressive argument, where they both exchanged words without really saying anything at all.

“Tell me, Martha,” Jonathan demanded, taking a seat on the edge of the bed, leaning forward with one hand on each knee. He watched as she absently slipped out of her shoes. “Go on, tell me what you think my problem is.”

“No.” She shook her head vehemently, taking off her watch and placing it on her dresser. “I don’t want to have this conversation with you.”

“Well, I want to have this conversation with you.” He was already in his pajamas, already had been for hours, waiting for her. She had promised to be home early, to watch the movie of his choosing with him. Lionel had kept her at the office until ten. “I waited all night for you, the least you can do is throw me a bone.”

She sighed, unbuttoning her blouse, peeling it off, then tossing it into the closet carelessly. “Throw you a bone. Every night, it’s the same. I disappoint you, you mope around the house like I haven’t disappointed you, then we go to bed with our backs turned to each other.”

“Yeah, well, maybe if we talked about the elephant in the room, I’d be able to kiss you goodnight without wondering if I’ll even catch a glimpse of you the next day,” Jonathan responded, trying not to pay too much attention to her as she pushed off her skirt, a thin white underslip all that remained. “So, tell me, Martha. As you see it, what’s my problem exactly?”

Martha grabbed her skirt off the floor and threw it into the closet in a fit of frustration. “I think the problem is, you’re jealous.”

Jonathan scoffed back at her, looking away. “Jealous.”

“Yes, jealous. And don’t even pretend you’re not, Jonathan Kent, I know you. I know how you get. This is your M.O.” She cocked her head to the side, placing her hands defiantly on her hips. “Remember when Clark’s first grade teacher kept calling, setting up parent-teacher conferences? And you were convinced he was just trying to put the moves on me.”

Jonathan’s face turned red and he felt his hands wave involuntarily in frustration. “He was trying to put the moves on you!”

“He was concerned about Clark!” Martha retorted, throwing her own hands up. “You went to the principal and nearly got him fired! Oh, and let’s not forget our old mailman.”

“Ohhhh….” His hands curled into fists, and he stood up to emphasize his outrage, towering over her. “That man brought the mail all the way up to our door every day for a month.”

Martha rolled her eyes. “That’s his job, Jonathan.”

“We have a mailbox at the end of the driveway!”

She took a step back in reaction to his bellowing voice. Thank goodness Clark was spending the night at Pete’s house. “They were harmless. All of them. That includes Lionel.”

Jonathan folded his arms across his chest. “Lionel Luthor? Harmless? Please.”

“Yes,” Martha insisted. “And you’d know that if you trusted me more. It doesn’t matter who wants me. I don’t want anyone but you.”

Jonathan’s gaze lingered on her for a few moments before he let out a heavy sigh and sat back down on the bed. “I’d be happy if no man ever laid eyes on you again.”

“I know.” Martha shook her head, offering him a small smile. “But then you’d never lay eyes on me again either.”

He looked up, smirking right back at her. “I’ve got every inch of you memorized.”

“You really wanna go on memory alone?” She raised an eyebrow and sat down beside him. “Look, it’s a job. That’s it. I see Lionel Luthor as my employer and nothing more. And he can’t see me at all. You should at least find comfort in that.”

“Good point,” Jonathan conceded, tentatively reaching for her hand. “I do trust you, you know. I’m just…”

“Secretly as insecure as I am?”

He laughed, and she gave his hand a squeeze. “Yeah, something like that.”

And though it wasn’t the last conversation of that nature, they slept not back to back that night, but in each other’s arms, both of them wondering whether they’d see the other the following day.



Martha Kent
Smallville
769