NB: Events in this take place a little later than in the series.

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Martha was getting ready for her date with Jonathan when her mother called up the stairs.

"Martha? Jonathan's here."

She gasped. He was early. Way too early. She quickly finished her make-up, adding a dash of lipstick, knowing it wasn't enough but it would have to do. Jonathan had told her she looked gorgeous without make-up and she believed him.
Martha wasn't as confident as she let people believe. When she'd been in her early teens, she had been bullied in high school. Mostly for her red hair. Teenagers could be so shallow, she sighed.

There had been one girl whose parents had been deeply religious. They were Catholic, and devout with it. So devout in fact that the girl had come up to her one day and told her that red hair was the sign of the devil.

Martha had refused to let the taunts bother her, on the surface at least. She certainly didn't go to her father and tell him she was being teased for her red hair, knowing he would just tell her to ignore it.

Whoever said: 'Sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me' was never called any horrible names, like Ginger, or Devil Child, Martha thought.

Jonathan, however, never treated her like that. When they'd first started dating, he'd commented about the way her hair gleamed like a sunset. He loved to run his fingers through it as they curled up together, on the couch at the farm, or in the truck as they watched the sunset off Make-out Point. It wasn't really called that, of course, but the local teenagers did tend to hang out there.

Martha made sure her hair gleamed and was neatly brushed, then straightened her blouse before leaving the bedroom. Jonathan was talking to her mother in the kitchen. He lifted his head when she came in and smiled, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. Something was wrong, she thought.

He clearly didn't want Mary to know anything was wrong, but Martha could see he was upset. He had a pinched look to his face and sadness in his eyes. She took his hand and squeezed it, letting him know that she understood.

"Now don't have her out too late, Jonathan," Mary was saying. "You know her father worries."

He nodded. "Yeah, I know."

Martha rolled her eyes behind her mother's back and Jonathan snickered.

"Don't roll your eyes at me, young lady," Mary admonished. Martha raised her eyebrows and made a face at Jonathan.

"It's a gift," he said, correctly interpreting her thoughts. "My mom's the same."

"And that's quite enough cheek from you, young man," her mother laughed, pretending to cuff him. "Have fun you two."

Martha giggled as they left the house.

"You'd think we were five instead of grown adults," she laughed.

"Yeah, my mom says I'll always be her baby, no matter how old I get."

"I love your mom," Martha replied as Jonathan held the door of the truck open for her so she could climb in.

She'd had dinner with Jonathan and his parents a couple of weeks ago. Hiram Kent had asked her all sorts of questions about life in the city and her father's job as a lawyer. She had the impression he didn't like the city much and thought people in the city looked down on those in the country. Martha knew people like that, but she wasn't one of them.

She liked Jessica, but Hiram was a lot like her father. Kind of gruff and a little closed off.

Jonathan was quiet as he drove through the streets. He knew she'd noticed he was upset, but he didn't want to talk about it. Not just yet.

He'd had a fight with his dad. It had been a real doozy as well. Hiram was a stubborn man and Jonathan was constantly reminded of that stubbornness. His mother often said he was just as stubborn and pig-headed as his father.
It had started a couple of weeks ago, after Martha had come to have dinner with his folks. His father had come out to the barn where Jonathan had been doing the last of his chores for the night.

"Martha seems like a well put-together young lady," Hiram said.

"She is," Jonathan confirmed.

"I must say, though, I have to wonder why she comes here."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, she's a city girl."

"So?"

He knew Martha didn't care about the so-called divide between city people and country people.

"Well, she would find it rather isolating here, don't you think?"

"That's her decision to make. And we care about each other."

"I don't think you should see her anymore, son."

Jonathan frowned at his father.

"What? Why?"

"Because she doesn't belong here."

Jonathan studied his father for a long moment. He suddenly knew what this was about.

"You're afraid," he said.

"Pardon?"

"You're afraid that I'm gonna go running off to the city to be with Martha and leave the farm. That's it, isn't it?"

"Why on Earth would you think I'd have such a ridiculous idea as that?"

"Because it's true. I gave up a chance at a scholarship, playing with the Metropolis Sharks, just to stay here."

"The farm needed you."

Jonathan huffed. "It's always about the farm. What about what I want, Dad? You know, for the first time, ever since I met Martha, I'm actually happy. Why can't you let me have what I want?"

"Because Martha doesn't belong here. She belongs in that there city, not down with the common folk like us."

"You and her father should get together," Jonathan muttered. "He doesn't think I'm good enough for his daughter either."

"I never said you were not good enough for her."

"That's what you're implying," Jonathan said angrily, turning his back on his father.

He'd refused to talk to his father ever since. Hiram had tried again tonight to talk but Jonathan didn't want anything to do with it. His mother had tried to get them to talk to each other but again Jonathan refused, knowing it would just cause another argument.

It was true that he'd given up a chance at college to stay on the farm. His father needed him. Sure, sometimes he resented it, but it had been his choice and he had made it on his own.

He and his father had always had their battles. The worst had been when Jonathan had gone and bought a motorcycle, which his father had strenuously objected to, talking about how unsafe they were. His father had been in his late thirties when Jonathan was born and set in his ways.

Jonathan swore when he had a son he would never force his kid to stay on the farm if they wanted to do something else.

"Jonathan?" Martha asked as they sat together at the lookout. "What's wrong?"

He looked at her, reaching for her hand across the seat of the truck. He squeezed it gently.

"I had a fight with my dad."

"What was it about?"

"It doesn't matter. I just … "

He bit his lip. Ever since the fight he couldn't help but wonder. What was she doing with him? They were from two different worlds. How could they ever make this work?

"I think he was afraid that I would just leave the farm and not come back."

"But Smallville's your home," Martha said quietly.

"So are you," he replied. It was as close as he could come to telling her how he felt about her. He'd loved her from the moment he set eyes on her, remembering the way her hair seemed to create a glow around her. Like a halo. Almost angelic.

She was so beautiful. He was just a farm kid from the sticks. How could he ever compete with these big city guys who were so much more sophisticated than he was?

"Jonathan, what is this really all about?"

"He wants me to stop seeing you."

"That's not going to happen," she smiled.

"Why? I mean, Martha, you could do so much better than me."

"I don't want anyone else," she told him. "I just want you."

"Why?" he asked again.

"Because I like the way I feel when I'm with you. Jonathan, it doesn't matter what your father thinks. Or what my father thinks. They can't tell us how to live our lives."

He nodded. She was right. No one could tell them how to feel or how to live. Ultimately it was their choice.

Comforted by her loving presence, Jonathan sat, his arm around her as they watched the sunset. Later they would go to an inexpensive restaurant for dinner, but for now he just wanted to enjoy her company.

It wasn't too late by the time he took her home. Mary answered the door, looking pale and worried.

"There you are. Your father's been out looking for you."

Martha frowned at her mother. "Why? I'm not past curfew."

"Jonathan's mother called here, looking for him." Her eyes filled with tears. Jonathan frowned at her.

"What's wrong?"

"Your father passed away this evening," she said, sounding as if she was going to cry. "He had a heart attack and collapsed on the farm. They couldn't revive him."

Jonathan looked at Martha, who immediately wrapped him in a loving embrace.

The funeral was horrible. Martha held his hand through the entire service. His mother cried. All he could think about was that the last words he and his father had exchanged had been in anger. Guilt sat like a ball of lead in his stomach.

"He knew you loved him," Jessica told him as they returned to the farm.

"I'm sorry Mom," he said, hugging her. "I'm so sorry."

"Jonathan, your father was stubborn. You get that from him. This is not your fault. He was told to slow down but he would never listen. This is not because of you, you hear me?"

He heard her, but the guilt still tore him up anyway.