Disclaimer: I don't own Smallville or its characters.
Author's Note: I wanted to continue toddler Clark's adventures by writing a story about his parents discovering Clark's super speed. This is my effort. (By the way, I recently ended up in the hospital with what doctors thought was appendicitis, so I thought that was how I'd begin…)
It was turning into a very tense week in the Kent household. First Jonathan had come down with a cold- which didn't stop him from working, it just made him irritable and cranky- and now Martha was being taken to the hospital with appendicitis.
Martha's appendix attack was very sudden. Earlier in the evening, she had gone to bed immediately after dinner, feeling nauseous. She had slept soundly for a couple of hours until about midnight, when she had awoken holding her side in pain, vomiting, and running a fever. Jonathan had recognized her symptoms immediately and had called an ambulance; the hardest part of the whole ordeal was prying three-year-old Clark away from his mother as the paramedics were lifting Martha onto the stretcher.
"Now, Clark, honey, Mommy's sick. Let the nice paramedics take her to the hospital, okay?" Jonathan was trying to unclasp Clark's arms from his mother's legs, but to no avail.
"Mommy loves you, Clark, but I really need to go to the hospital to get better. I'll be home as soon as I can, I promise," Martha said quietly as a paramedic applied a cold compress to her forehead.
"It's all right, sport. Your mother is going to be all right," another paramedic smiled at Clark. "Just let go of her. We promise she'll be fine."
"NO TAKE MAAMAA!" Clark yelled, tears running down his cheeks. He clasped his arms tighter around his mother's legs. The toddler was Jonathan and Martha's adopted son, and was still struggling to speak English.
The second paramedic sighed. "Sir, your wife's appendix is going to rupture. We need to get her to the hospital."
Jonathan knew that with his son's strength, he couldn't possibly lift his son off of his mother. "Clark Kent, you let go of your mother right now," Jonathan demanded. "You're being a very bad boy!"
Clark didn't like being told he was a bad boy, and finally let go. He sat on his parents' bedroom floor, bawling. Jonathan clasped his arms around his son, lifted him up, and hugged him tightly. "Clark, let's pack your diaper bag," Jonathan told his son calmly. "We'll go to the hospital in Daddy's truck, and we'll be there for Mommy when she gets out of surgery, okay?"
Tears continued to run down Clark's cheeks. He watched solemnly as two strange men carried his mother down the stairs in a stretcher.
Life was so unfair.
Having Martha in the hospital was almost too much for Jonathan to bear. He was used to his wife cooking for him and keeping Clark out of his way as he worked on the farm. Hearing the sound of her knitting needles as he walked into the house after a long day was a comfort in and of itself. But now Martha was knitting in her hospital bed—she hoped to finish a sweater for Clark, considering there was nothing else to do in the hospital except sleep—and Jonathan was stuck looking after Clark and doing all of the household chores.
"Clark need eat," Clark said in a sad voice after his evening bath one night. He was used to eating some of his mother's homemade cookies before bed, and hadn't tasted them in several days.
"I know, Clark. I know you usually eat cookies after bathtime. But Mommy's still in the hospital. Can't you eat some of the cookies Daadaa brought home from the Beanery?"
"Maamaa give Clark his eat!" Clark cried. His grammar was by no means perfect, but Jonathan knew what his son was trying to say: Mommy usually baked cookies herself and gave them to Clark before his bedtime. This whole notion of Daddy feeding him store-bought cookies didn't sit well with Clark.
"Son, Mommy's not here. She's sick. She'll be home in a day or two." Jonathan helped Clark with his pajama top and gave him a hug. "Daddy misses her too. It's hard, I know."
Clark gave a helpless sigh. It was just about the saddest thing Jonathan had ever heard.
Jonathan smiled. "Cheer up, son. When Mommy comes home, you can help Daddy take care of her. You can serve her breakfast in bed, okay?" He kissed Clark's nose.
Clark blinked and smiled at his father. "'Kay, Daadaa. Clark care Maamaa."
"Yep, Clark can care for Maamaa." Jonathan ran a towel through his son's hair. "Maamaa's going to kill us when she finds out we've had leftovers and takeout pizza all week, anyway. Let's eat all of the cookies before she finds out Daadaa brought them home."