It was the not knowing that kept her awake at night. Clark's disappearance meant that there were a lot of things Martha Kent didn't know any more. Not just about her son, her precious gift, her miracle, but about her husband. Clark's disappearance had turned him into an old man, an angry, embittered old man. He was still the same to her, but to everyone else, he was cold. Brooding. Quick to find an insult in anything.
She'd always known--and so had he--that one day, Clark would leave them, as all children do. But that would have been the natural course of things. She'd have been sad to lose him as an everyday presence in their lives, but known that he was leading an independent life, finding his own direction. She'd have been proud of him, the pride and happiness in his happiness so bright that the tinge of sorrow at her loss would have just served to make it seem more luminous. Even if her worst nightmare, of somebody taking Clark away, had come true, she'd have fought for him to the last ditch. There wouldn't have been any sorrow, even, nothing but determination and fire burning out everything else.
But Clark had left them. Just the disappearance and then the terse postcard as an indication that he hadn't disappeared as suddenly as he had arrived. It was his handwriting. Nobody could have forced him to write it, that much she knew. Or rather, only a threat to somebody he loved and couldn't protect any other way. But that was such a small circle. For a child who came to them from the stars, he lived in a small world. Nobody had threatened her or Jonathan, that she knew. And of his friends, none of them could have been so good an actor to fake the utter bewilderment and eventual grief at his disappearance. Lex was the only one she hadn't known for long, and despite Jonathan's suspicions, if she'd ever seen genuine misery and confusion, it had been what she saw in him. The last time he'd come to ask if she had any news, she'd feared for his health, mental as well as physical, when she showed him the postcard. The tiny changes on his face, as though a vase had broken apart and then somehow, as quickly, become whole again, but somehow dreadfully wrong in some level of detail that she couldn't even discern.
And Chloe. She'd come by after dinner each night, with her homework, to sit in a corner and wait. She tried to make confident declarations that Clark would come back soon and that she just wanted to be the third person to ream him a new one. Then she came every other day, then once or twice a week. Now Martha just saw her in passing downtown. Chloe always came over to talk to her, but the unspoken question seemed to hover like a pollution in the air, dimming the girl's smile and voice and eyes.
Pete. She remembered too vividly how he had reacted. At first constantly on the move with the search teams, hopeful that Clark would be found somewhere with nothing worse than a sprained ankle and terminal embarassment. Then trying to make himself hope, but keeping up his grins and optimism to help her and Jonathan and Chloe. Finally, when it hit that Clark had left and wasn't planning on coming back, the attempt at stoicism until her own tears set him to hugging her and crying as though his heart were breaking, too.
Lying brooding did nothing. She knew that her tossing and turning would be more likely to awaken Jonathan than if she got up. Looking at her husband, she felt a floodwave of compassion, as she always did. Clark's disappearance had aged his body as well as his mind; they hadn't realized how much they depended on Clark's help until he had gone. And Jonathan had thrown himself into even more physical labor than he needed to, trying to keep from thinking. But he was a man with too much heart to keep from feeling. From feeling wounded and betrayed as well as feeling grief and bewilderment.
Maybe they should have taken the money Lex all but begged them to take, to go to New York and look for Clark, to let him hire every agency that looked for missing or runaway youth, to let him help. But Jonathan had refused point blank. She herself had been uncertain enough to let that decision stand. Lex's intensity had filled her with unease as well as yet another reflection of their shared confusion and grief. He'd acted like a man who had lost hope, not a man who had lost a friend whom he'd known for only a short time, and with whom he had little genuinely in common. It had seemed too much, and she had backed away. Everything else Jonathan had said about Lex turned out to be right after all, so his instinct there was probably right as well.
It was almost morning. Jonathan would be waking up soon. Then her kitchen would have the full assortment of ghosts. Her past happiness and his, as well as the now bewildering image of Clark. She wondered if they had ever really known him. Part of her said fiercely that of course she did. The boy who left was as much a stranger as if somebody had substituted a changely. But her doubts kept whispering that perhaps it was Clark's heart that was the true alien, incomprehensible, foreign, and as destroying but indifferent as the meteors that came with him.
A/N: More coming late next week.
She'd always known--and so had he--that one day, Clark would leave them, as all children do. But that would have been the natural course of things. She'd have been sad to lose him as an everyday presence in their lives, but known that he was leading an independent life, finding his own direction. She'd have been proud of him, the pride and happiness in his happiness so bright that the tinge of sorrow at her loss would have just served to make it seem more luminous. Even if her worst nightmare, of somebody taking Clark away, had come true, she'd have fought for him to the last ditch. There wouldn't have been any sorrow, even, nothing but determination and fire burning out everything else.
But Clark had left them. Just the disappearance and then the terse postcard as an indication that he hadn't disappeared as suddenly as he had arrived. It was his handwriting. Nobody could have forced him to write it, that much she knew. Or rather, only a threat to somebody he loved and couldn't protect any other way. But that was such a small circle. For a child who came to them from the stars, he lived in a small world. Nobody had threatened her or Jonathan, that she knew. And of his friends, none of them could have been so good an actor to fake the utter bewilderment and eventual grief at his disappearance. Lex was the only one she hadn't known for long, and despite Jonathan's suspicions, if she'd ever seen genuine misery and confusion, it had been what she saw in him. The last time he'd come to ask if she had any news, she'd feared for his health, mental as well as physical, when she showed him the postcard. The tiny changes on his face, as though a vase had broken apart and then somehow, as quickly, become whole again, but somehow dreadfully wrong in some level of detail that she couldn't even discern.
And Chloe. She'd come by after dinner each night, with her homework, to sit in a corner and wait. She tried to make confident declarations that Clark would come back soon and that she just wanted to be the third person to ream him a new one. Then she came every other day, then once or twice a week. Now Martha just saw her in passing downtown. Chloe always came over to talk to her, but the unspoken question seemed to hover like a pollution in the air, dimming the girl's smile and voice and eyes.
Pete. She remembered too vividly how he had reacted. At first constantly on the move with the search teams, hopeful that Clark would be found somewhere with nothing worse than a sprained ankle and terminal embarassment. Then trying to make himself hope, but keeping up his grins and optimism to help her and Jonathan and Chloe. Finally, when it hit that Clark had left and wasn't planning on coming back, the attempt at stoicism until her own tears set him to hugging her and crying as though his heart were breaking, too.
Lying brooding did nothing. She knew that her tossing and turning would be more likely to awaken Jonathan than if she got up. Looking at her husband, she felt a floodwave of compassion, as she always did. Clark's disappearance had aged his body as well as his mind; they hadn't realized how much they depended on Clark's help until he had gone. And Jonathan had thrown himself into even more physical labor than he needed to, trying to keep from thinking. But he was a man with too much heart to keep from feeling. From feeling wounded and betrayed as well as feeling grief and bewilderment.
Maybe they should have taken the money Lex all but begged them to take, to go to New York and look for Clark, to let him hire every agency that looked for missing or runaway youth, to let him help. But Jonathan had refused point blank. She herself had been uncertain enough to let that decision stand. Lex's intensity had filled her with unease as well as yet another reflection of their shared confusion and grief. He'd acted like a man who had lost hope, not a man who had lost a friend whom he'd known for only a short time, and with whom he had little genuinely in common. It had seemed too much, and she had backed away. Everything else Jonathan had said about Lex turned out to be right after all, so his instinct there was probably right as well.
It was almost morning. Jonathan would be waking up soon. Then her kitchen would have the full assortment of ghosts. Her past happiness and his, as well as the now bewildering image of Clark. She wondered if they had ever really known him. Part of her said fiercely that of course she did. The boy who left was as much a stranger as if somebody had substituted a changely. But her doubts kept whispering that perhaps it was Clark's heart that was the true alien, incomprehensible, foreign, and as destroying but indifferent as the meteors that came with him.
A/N: More coming late next week.