Thank you to all of you who have reviewed my story thus far. I have been really encouraged by your comments. Thank you all! This is a short chapter but it'll pick back up in Part 5, I promise :)
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Part 4
The telephone rang.
Jonathan stood from where he sat at Clark's bedside. He hadn't moved since Chloe left. Jonathan had no idea why she had left in such a hurry but he was sure it had something to do with the feelings she had for him. Chloe and Clark had been friends since she moved to Smallville from Metropolis and it couldn't have been easy for her to see him the way he was.
Chloe was a good friend to him. Lana, however, had not been back to see his son and Jonathan only hoped he hadn't scared her away with his strange behavior. He hadn't been exactly forthcoming with an explanation and Lana was probably doubly angry that he hadn't let her call an ambulance.
How long ago was that? A day? A week? He couldn't remember.
He crossed the room and picked up the phone.
"Mr. Kent, this is Dr. Bryce," the female voice said on the other end. "I'm afraid I'm going to have you ask you to get to the hospital immediately," she said. "Your wife has taken a turn for the worst. We…uh…don't expect her to make it through the night."
Jonathan gripped the phone tighter, his heart suddenly racing.
Martha…his wife….oh God.
Somehow, he found the words to speak. "Thank you, doctor. I'll…uh…be there when I can."
"I'll tell my orderlies to expect you," she said, then she lowered her voice. "How is Clark?"
"He hasn't woke yet," he replied.
She sighed. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Kent. Truly I am."
"Thank you, doctor."
Numbly, he put down the phone.
Jonathan had no idea what he was going to do. Tired and frustrated and desperate, he ran his hand across his chin, feeling the several days worth of stubble. He hadn't gone to the hospital to see Martha since Clark had fallen sick. Now he wished he'd made the effort.
He sat for a long time, frozen to his seat, hand still on the phone.
The two people he loved most in the world were…dying. His wife and his only son. Dying. He was alone, with no one to help him.
Think, Jonathan, think!
There had to be something he could do!
Slamming his hand down on the counter, Jonathan stood. Regardless, he couldn't just sit there. He had to do something. His family needed him.
Martha had said something to him, the last time he'd seen her in the hospital, something about the baby. She shouldn't have been pregnant, but somehow she'd been healed. She said she thought it was the ship, that somehow it had healed her body. Maybe the ship could help her…help them both.
It wasn't much hope, but it was enough to go on. Jonathan leapt to his feet and grabbed his jacket, pausing only momentarily at the door to glance back at his son. Martha wouldn't have wanted him to leave Clark, but Jonathan couldn't bear the thought of living life without either of them. If there was to be any chance, he had to try.
His body trembling with a new resolve, Jonathan crept as quietly as he could through the door. He had just stepped into the garden when the door opened behind him and he heard his son's voice call to him, "Dad!"
Jonathan turned to see Clark standing on the porch, a blanket wrapped tightly around him. His son's face was pale and his hair was matted to his forehead with sweat. His eyes, although alert, were glazed and unfocused.
"Clark, you shouldn't be up," Jonathan shouted at him. He hated raising his voice, but Clark had to know just how serious his condition was.
"Where are you going?" Clark asked stubbornly.
Jonathan toyed with not answering, but decided it would only make Clark worry all the more. "I'm going to Pete's to get the ship," he said, putting on his jacket and turning his back.
"Now?" Clark sounded confused. When his father didn't answer, a frightening thought crossed his mind. "How's mom?"
Sure enough, his father stopped dead in his tracks, his face paling.
Jonathan couldn't lie to his son, so for several long moments, he simply said nothing.
Clark watched his father swallow several times, the wrinkles around his eyes tightening as he did so. He knew his father, better than anyone save his mother, and right now, his father looked truly frightened. Whatever it was, Clark was determined he wouldn't have to face it alone.
"Dad?" Clark pressed.
Finally, Jonathan turned and Clark was stung by the broken man he saw within him. "Clark, Helen says that your mother probably won't make it through the night."
It was too much to process. Mom….no!
"And now…you too."
What? Had he been infected too? Was he…dying?
It was impossible. Unthinkable. He was invulnerable, immune to sickness and disease…and yet…
On the verge of panic, Clark refused to think about himself. He stuttered, "No you…you can't think about me. We've gotta help mom."
"I'm not gonna lose my family!" Jonathan cried. "Not without a fight. Now if it takes a miracle then I'm just gonna have to go out and find one."
Realization dawned on Clark, and with it, a faint glimmer of hope. "The ship? You think it can cure me and mom?"
"I don't know, Clark!" Jonathan said, sniffling. He was beyond tired, running on frayed nerves and desperate adrenaline. "I'm just grasping at straws here. The doctors can't help you and your mother says she thinks that the ship helped her get pregnant. I don't know, maybe it's crazy."
"The only way to get it to work is that key," Clark said. The key that was now in the possession of the DCA.
"I know that, son," Jonathan said, his voice calming once again. "I also know exactly where the DCA took everything and I'm going there to get it right now."
"I'll go with you!" was Clark's immediate response.
"No! I want you to stay right here, you're too sick," Jonathan fired at him. He hadn't used a tone like that with his son in years and it made Clark stop in his tracks.
Clark looked as though he wanted to argue, but he made no effort to do so. Jonathan took advantage of that and said, in a calmer tone, "Go to bed, son."
