Since his accident all Lionel had wanted was a reprieve from the darkness that was his constant view, and yet when he opened his eyes one morning to be assaulted by daylight, and the faint blur of colours, it made his head hurt so badly that he had no choice but to close his eyes again. He kept them closed for a moment, breathing deeply. For the last three months he had hoped against hope that his sight would return, had seen every specialist money could buy - which was a fair few - only to be told time and time again how unlikely it was. He slowly blinked his eyes open once more, a smile curling his lips as he realised that the light and the once familiar colours of his bedroom were still very much present. He shuffled carefully to the edge of his bed, fumbling for his dark glasses. As happy as he was about this sudden change, it still hurt like hell.

His collarbone protested the move, it was unfortunate he thought wryly, to not only be blind but also have one arm out of commision. He had always prided himself on being self sufficient and independent, the last few months had been determined to make a mockery of that. Lionel slid the glasses onto his face, the bright blur of the room fading to something more tolerable.

"Good morning," Martha chirped breezily as she swept into the office.

Lionel looked up, wondering for a brief moment if the blurs of colour he saw would finally merge and focus into something more solid, into a view of Martha Kent. It wasn't the first time he had wanted to see her, to truly know her face, her expressions, but it was the first time he had felt a small thrill of excitement at the thought that it might become a reality. Needless to say, that moment of blinding clarity didn't arrive, his vision stayed a frustrating blur of colour. "Good morning," he replied steadily.

He felt her round the desk, heard the now familiar thud of the coffee she had made for him every morning this week being placed in front of him, knowing that when he reached for it that the handle would be angled towards him. He could smell the slight scent of coconut on her hair. "How's your arm?" She asked him, drawing him out of his thoughts.

"The painkillers make it bearable."

"High praise indeed for modern medicine."

Lionel couldn't help but chuckle at her dry tone. "What can I say, I'm impatient."

"I had noticed. Although following medical advice and resting might help speed the healing process."

"Since when did resting on your laurels get anyone anywhere?"

"At this rate where you'll end up is an early grave." Martha bit down on the inside of her cheek the moment the words left her mouth. For a moment she had forgotten, forgotten her grief, forgotten that she was a widow and that her husband was in his grave.

Lionel heard the catch in Martha's breath, and he inched his hand slowly across the desk, bringing it to rest gently across hers. Squeezing her fingers lightly he said softly, "I don't think I ever passed on my condolences."

Martha looked down at his hand, felt the warmth of his fingers seep into her skin. It felt like years since anyone had touched her, properly touched her, and she had missed it. "You had your reasons, and anyway, you had no reason to get in touch with me." She slid her hand out from under his, remarking without rancour, "after all, we were nothing to you."

"Perhaps," he admitted. He wouldn't lie and pretend he had ever given great thought to the Kents before he had crossed paths with Martha in the garden. "But you're something now." He scowled and amended himself slightly. "You're my employee and your husband was a good man. I should have remarked on it sooner."

Martha shrugged. "Well you've done so now, and you're right Johnathan was a good man." She sighed as she made her way around the desk. "How did you get through it?" She asked suddenly. "Losing your wife I mean."

Lionel fell silent, his brow furrowing as he considered her words.

"I'm sorry," Martha remarked hurriedly, "I shouldn't have asked. I wasn't thinking."

"It's ok," he replied after another moment, slightly surprised to find it actually was, he wasn't irritated by her question, as he would have been had anyone else asked it. "Lillian and I had grown apart before her illness took hold," he admitted. "She was my wife in name, but by the time she died we had ceased to be a real couple." His mouth twisted with bitterness, unable to talk any further about his disasterous marriage, even to her. "My life didn't really change after she died."

Martha took in the way his jaw tensed, his fingers flexing fruitlessly against his desk and felt that there was more to the story than Lionel wanted to discuss, not that she could blame him for that. "I'm sure that isn't true."

He gave a one shouldered shrug. "You can't change the past. Why dwell on it."

"If it gets you through the day," she replied softly.

Lionel wished once again that he could see her face, see the nuance of expression that played across her features when she spoke. He didn't mention the improvement in his sight because if it disapeared or stayed as it was, he didn't think he could stand her pity. He didn't want her to pity him. "You seem to be coping well," he remarked.

"There's nothing else to do. Working helps." Feeling the need to change the subject, she continued, "Speaking of which, I have the report summaries for this morning."

"That was quick."

"I was up early, force of habit even with the workers having taken over on the farm."

"Are they adequate?"

"More than, thank you."

Lionel waved his hand. "No need to thank me, it's a perk of your job and so far you've more than earned it."

"It's only been two weeks," she laughed lightly.

"More than twice as long than most of my PA's. I'm a hard taskmaster."

"Perhaps the painkillers are slowing you down, making you less demanding," she teased.

Lionel couldn't help but lean forward, a smile now across his features, softening the normally formidible aura that radiated from him. "I doubt that, they're hardly doing anything for my patience."

"I don't know, you were pretty patient yesterday when you fell asleep on your sofa."

His head ducked, a chuckle escaping him. "I admit it, you were right, the whisky wasn't the best chaser for my pills."

"I knew I was right," she teased. "It's one of my best qualities."

"I'm sure you have many more."

Martha was glad that he couldn't see the pleased flush that she could feel spreading across her face at his words. She let out a shakey breath, she needed to be careful here, it was far too easy to slip into feeling comfortable around Lionel Luther. "I don't know about that," she replied. "In the meantime perhaps we should start working."

"You're right again," he replied easily. He reached for his coffee, grasping it carefully before raising it to his lips, taking a sip before telling her. "So let's make a start." Lionel leaned back as he listened to Martha's calm, soothing voice expertly describe their main challenges for the day, hiring her had been the best decision he had made in a long while he thought to himself confidently.