A/N: Part two of Time Stood Still, with more Mionel goodness to come

Disclaimer: I don't own Smallville. The story is purely for fun.


Lionel was pacing back-and-forth on the short expanse of the front porch. He was on the phone with his trusted advisory, giving out orders that he wanted carried out immediately. With Martha's life at stake, he wasn't going to stop his hunt until the assassin was located and apprehended. And once that was accomplished, Lionel wasn't going to be merciful. Some nameless bastard had tried to hurt the woman he cared for. They were going to find themselves in hell for their nefarious actions.

"We will see to the matter immediately, sir," the man on the other end promised. "You sit tight. The Senator will be safe in her current location until we have the assassin in our custody, rest assured."

"Good. I want updates when you have a lead. Keep me posted." Lionel ended the call and tucked his phone back into the pocket of his trousers. The chill of the night was starting to seep through his coat. He shivered and turned to go back inside.

Lionel hung his coat up on the coat rack. He couldn't help the smile that tugged on his lips when he saw Martha. She sat on the rug in front of the fire he built in the hearth, dressed in a robe that swallowed her up. She was trying to comb out her wet hair, but the task seemed difficult; her fingers were trembling. Lionel silently came into the living room. He took a seat on the sofa behind her.

"Let me, Martha," he muttered quietly, so as not to startle her. Lionel gently pried her fingers from the comb. Martha didn't protest when he carefully began to run the comb through the damp strands of her hair. Her shoulders drooped, and she clasped her hands tightly in her lap until they turned white.

"I can't stop shaking," she muttered in a barely audible voice. "God, I almost died, Lionel . . . " Her voice faded into a breathy whisper.

"You don't have to worry, Martha," Lionel crooned. "Everything is going to be fine now. I want you to relax and stop fretting."

Martha sighed and the tension seemed to dissipate from her. She leaned into Lionel as he continued to comb through her hair until each tangle was gone and the brush went smoothly through the soft waves.

"Thank you, Lionel," Martha whispered sleepily. "For everything you're doing for me." She rested her head against his knee, and Lionel watched her, sitting statue-still so as not to disturb her moment of finally letting all the tension go. He listening to her breathing until it changed to the even, long inhales and exhales of sleep.

Lionel set the brush aside. He stooped over and easily scooped Martha up into his arms bridal-style. Martha's head lolled against his shoulder. He carried her to the back bedroom and set her down on the bed before carefully tucking a quilt around her.

"Goodnight, Martha," he whispered.

Lionel hesitated at the door. He had considered stealing a kiss to her forehead while she was unbeknownst to his affections, but instead, turned and shut the door with a soft click behind him.


This time, when Martha opened her eyes, sunlight brightened the room. She felt warm and safe under the heavy quilt. Her dreams had been pleasant, and that surprised her. She thought her near encounter with a bullet that was aimed for her heart would have evoked nightmares. Her sleep had been quite the contrary.

Martha sat up and stretched out of her muscles. She was feeling revived and rested enough to start the day fresh and lucid. Perhaps today she could call Clark and reassure him that she was alright.

As soon as it was safe, Martha was going to ask Lionel to escort her home. She had duties to attend to, and she couldn't accomplish them here in this little corner of the world.

Martha climbed out of bed. She searched through the dresser to find something to put on. She didn't want to wear her silk blouse; it didn't seem appropriate in this setting. She was surprised to find a button-up flannel shirt. She had expected something more . . . Lionel Luthor. Martha was amused thinking about the sophisticated billionaire donning comfortable wear as casual as flannel.

Martha slipped on the soft flannel, rolling up the long sleeves. She pulled on her trousers from last night. Feeling ready to go out and find Lionel, she left the room and padded down the hall in bare feet.

The aromatic scent of bacon and coffee wafted through the hall, luring her to the kitchen. A smile of amusement tugged at her lips at the sight that met her eyes: Lionel, a dish towel draped over his shoulder, turning bacon at the stove. He looked different this morning. Instead of his normal dress of a button-down shirt, tie and slacks, he had chosen to don a navy-blue sweater and snug jeans.

Martha was awed by this transformation. Once more, the formidable Lionel Luthor had given her another surprise. She had misjudged him so many times, and truly, he wasn't the man she perceived him to be. What sides of his personality did he harbor inside and reserve for certain occasions?

As if sensing her presence, Lionel turned. His eyes lit up when he saw her.

"Good morning, Martha," he greeted cordially.

"Good morning, Lionel," Maratha replied, leaning her elbows against the cool countertop.

"I hope you are hungry. I'm not skilled when it comes to the culinary arts of cooking, but fear not. I can whip up the occasional eggs and bacon."

Martha laughed softly. "It smells delicious, Lionel."

"Thank you. Coming from you, that buoys my hope that my efforts in the kitchen will pay off."

Lionel retrieved two plates from the cabinet as he talked. He spooned generous portions of eggs on both plates and divided the bacon up equally between the two of them.

"I'm surprised," Martha admitted. "I've never seen you in jeans before."

Lionel chuckled, and the sound was warm and rich like dark chocolate. Martha liked his laugh. She wished she could hear it more often.

"I don't usually dress comfortably," Lionel answered. "When you are the CEO of one of the most profitable corporations in the world, your vocation calls for you to always look your best."

"This style suits you, Lionel."

"I'm glad you think so, Martha. It's refreshing to have a change every once in awhile."

Lionel brought the plates to the bar. He fetched two cups of coffee and handed one to Martha. They sat down next to each other on bar stools to enjoy the scrumptious breakfast. During the meal, the two of them had a causal conversation about comfortable matters, and nothing strayed far from what was pleasant. It was a nice way to start the morning.

After breakfast, Martha insisted on helping Lionel do the dishes. She rolled up her sleeves, and armed with a sponge and dish soap, tackled the grease and bits of egg that clung to the plates. Lionel grabbed a towel and dried the clean dishes she handed him.

"I don't want to bring this up," Martha said, scrubbing vigorously at the stubborn grease on the pan. "But I want to know if there are any updates about . . . last night." She glanced at Lionel to judge his facial expression. Lionel remained calm and at ease, like nothing could shatter his pleasant mood.

"I have top men on locating the assassin," he replied reassuringly. "Until then, I think it's best if you remain here, Martha. I don't think it's safe for you in Metropolis or Smallville. The killer could hunt you down in either locations."

Martha sighed wistfully thinking about home and of Clark. "I'm worried for my son," she admitted.

"You and I both know that Clark can protect himself."

"But he's going to be worried, Lionel. I didn't come home last night."

Lionel accepted the pan she handed him and proceeded to towel it dry. "If it eases your worry," he said diplomatically, "you can call your son and put his fears to rest."

Martha nodded eagerly. "I want to call him right now. If he knows I'm safe, he won't go racing all over Metropolis looking for me."

Lionel handed her the towel to dry her hands. He offered her his cellphone when she finished.

"Go on and give Clark a call."

Martha smiled graciously at him. "Thank you, Lionel." She accepted the phone and headed out to the front porch for some privacy. In the blissful morning air that smelled of damp leaves and sunshine, she took a seat on the porch swing. The breeze that whispered through the trees felt chilly, but the air held a warmth that made everything feel pleasant. Birds chirped from the treetops, singing praises to the revival of spring that replaced winters' chill.

Martha dialed Clark's number. She pressed the receiver to her ear, hoping her son picked up. The motherly instincts that throbbed inside her heart wanted to hear his voice. She wanted the relief of knowing he was alright, and this call was as much for her as it was for reassuring Clark that nothing bad had snatched her away during the night.

Clark picked up on the third ring.

"Hello?" he said, sounding tense.

"Clark, it's me," Martha called, elated to hear his voice. "I'm alright."

"Mom!" Clark sounded relieved, but worry lingered in his tone. "You didn't come home. I thought something bad had happened to you. I called , but they aren't much help."

"Clark, there was an attempt on my life. Lionel―"

"I knew you shouldn't have trusted him!" Clark sounded enraged now, and wouldn't give Martha a chance to explain and finish what she had been meaning to say. "Don't you worry, Mom. I'm going to hunt the―"

It was Martha's turn to interrupt.

"Clark! Listen to me, sweetheart. Lionel has nothing to do with this. He was the one who helped me to safety after I was shot at."

"Oh." Clark sighed as his contempt for Lionel dissipated some. "Well, that doesn't matter. I'm going to find your attacker. Chloe will help with the investigation."

Martha swallowed down the panic that threatened to steal her calm.

"It's too dangerous, Clark! Let the authorities handle it," she said pleadingly. She didn't want him involved. He wouldn't be thinking rationally. If he did succeed in finding the killer, he could be blinded by the realization that the assassin had nearly killed her, and he could do something he would regret later.

"Where are you?" Clark asked then, changing the subject to avoid the matter of his impulsion to find the assassin.

"I don't know exactly. But I'm safe, and that's what matters."

"Is Lionel with you?" Clark's tone sounded bitter with trepidation.

"Yes, Lionel is here. And before you start lecturing me on where I shouldn't place my trust, or how I should keep my guard up, please understand that I'm a grown woman who can look after herself."

"But Mom, I . . . " Clark sighed heavily in resignation. "Okay. If Lionel is offering you protection until I can find you, I guess I can allow him a bit of my trust."

Martha didn't argue on Clark's determination to find her. It would only evoke an argument, and she didn't want to end the call on a bad note.

"Thank you, Clark," she said. "I hope this can get cleared up soon. Until then, I miss you, and I don't want you to do anything foolish. I love you."

Clark didn't answer for a moment. His show of silence told Martha he wasn't going to listen to her. She sighed. He was as headstrong and as stubborn as his late father was.

"Love you, too Mom," Clark finally said. "Sit tight. I'll have this all cleared up in no time."

Martha finally found a smile. She wasn't going anywhere. She bid Clark farewell and promptly ended the call. For a moment, she sat back on the swing and enjoyed the quiet. She had so much to worry about that trying to find a balance between it all was making her feel strained.

The front door opened. Lionel came out and shut it softly behind him.

"Is everything alright?" he asked, coming to sit besides her. He left enough space between them for comfort.

"It's fine," Martha said half-heartedly. She passed Lionel back his phone.

"I take it Clark has decided to intervene with the investigation."

"I can't stop him. But I fear for his safety even if I know he's superhuman. What if he gets hurt? He has a weakness that could seriously harm him if he's not careful."

Lionel rested a hand on her knee. Though it was a gesture meant to reassure her, Martha was suddenly aware of the tremor she felt from his touch. She closed her eyes, willing herself to fight it. It was difficult when a part of her wanted to invite Lionel in.

She couldn't. She didn't trust him like she had Jonathan.

But even if Martha was warring between with what she desired and what she was trying so hard to deny, it didn't cease the racing of her heart at Lionel's closeness.

"Clark is a smart young man," Lionel said with clarity. "I have confidence that he will make the right decisions."

Martha felt reassured by his words. "You're right. I need to have more faith in my son. I know he'll choose what he knows is the best."

Lionel removed his hand from her knee, and Martha suddenly felt cold from the loss of his warmth.

"You raised him to be the compassionate young man he is today. You must be immensely proud of him," Lionel said.

Martha nodded. "I am. I'm blessed that I have Clark in my life."

A moment of silence settled between them. It was comfortable and tranquil, inviting only the breeze to be the words between them. There was so much unspoken, though. But neither Martha nor Lionel felt it appropriate to speak those words aloud; they would remain thoughts.

Lionel was the first to break the silence.

"This day is too fine to waste waiting and letting our anxieties build," he said lightly. "I have a surprise for you, Martha, if you wouldn't mind taking a little walk with me."

Martha thought that sounded more appealing than waiting for news about her attacker, but she had one little problem.

"A walk sounds wonderful," she agreed, "but I haven't the proper shoes. With the recent rain, it's probably muddy."

Lionel smiled. "I thought of that. Wait one moment; I'll be right back." He got up and disappeared inside. He returned a moment later carrying a pair of hiking boots fit for a trek through the mountains. Martha was pleasantly surprised.

"These were Lilian's," Lionel explained, setting the boots down in front of Martha. "She was never much of an activist. The boots hardly saw any use. I suppose she didn't have the inclination for trekking up mountains."

Martha slipped her feet into the boots and laced them up. She was pleased that they fit well enough for snugness and comfort.

"I'm ready," she announced, smiling up at Lionel. He offered her his hand, and without any hesitation, Martha took it. She stood and followed him off the porch into the balmy sunshine.

"It really is a gorgeous day," she sighed, taking in a lungful of air. It smelled fresh and sweet from the recent cleansing of rain.

"A change from the consistent dreariness that rain brings in its wake," Lionel agreed. "When the sun comes out after a long spell of stormy weather, it feels like this little corner of the world is being resurrected with the gift of light and warmth."

They headed down a well-worn path that cut through woods verdant with ferns and the lush greenery that spring brought in its wake. The trail was wide enough for two people to walk side-by-side companionably. Martha didn't let go of Lionel's hand. She was enjoying the loose knit of their fingers and the warmth of his palm.

"This is a beautiful place," she told him. "It reminds me of being back on the farm."

Lionel squeezed her hand in agreement.

"I think we all need a place that is our own personal haven where no one can find us," he said. "When I start to question my humanity, this is the place to come and sort out my most troubling thoughts."

"That's how I feel on the farm now. It's funny how much I took for granted. When I took the oath to become senator, my life changed so drastically that the only peace I can find now is in my home."

The trees opened up suddenly. There was a grassy slope that dipped gently down to a dock. A pond lay below, and sunlight reflected off the water in gleams of soft light. It was truly a beautiful place; a piece of heaven tucked away where no one could disturb the serenity. Martha glanced at Lionel with a wide smile of pleasure. Lionel chuckled.

"I knew you would like it," he said.

Martha started down the slope, tugging Lionel along in her wake. They stepped onto the dock and the wood creaked softly. A small rowboat was tied at the end, bobbing gently in the water. A flock of ducks swam leisurely nearby. They quacked amidst one another in their own language.

"I haven't rowed in awhile," Lionel said from behind Martha, "but I think it's a splendid day for a trip on the water, don't you agree?"

Martha nodded. "Yes, Lionel. A trip on the water sounds wonderful."