A/N: I can't remember if in canon, they ever mentioned Pete's father's first name. If so, forgive inaccuracy!
***
"If your mother's stories are anything to go by, you had a pretty notable career as the Smallville Stripper yourself." Martha wasn't looking at Jonathan--she was folding a blanket over a sound-asleep Clark--but she could imagine his sheepish expression. "Something about a wedding comes to mind?"
"It was the hottest day of a hot summer, I was bored, and I was four years old."
"So, Clark's precocious then."
"Teaching him to get undressed was a mistake."
"He'd hardly have wanted us helping him when he was sixteen," Martha gave the dark, tousled hair a last light stroke and remembered again that as angelic as their son looked, and as much as his arrival in their lives seemed like divine providence, he could make Calvin look positively docile. At least his mother and babysitter could occasionally catch Calvin. And Hobbes was a good influence.
"No wonder he's worn out, he's had a busy morning. Streaking the farmer's market would sap any kid." At least he hadn't used his speed, though it would have meant that fewer people would have witnessed Clark's public debut as a nudist, running through the crowd wearing nothing but a very big grin.
"So when's Pete coming over?"
"Two." Martha looked at her watch. Three hours.
"You want to catch a nap, too? We'll both need all our energy."
"Why don't we get in bed and see what happens?"
***
"Hi, Philip. Hi, Pete."
"Hi, Mrs. Kent! Where's Clark?"
Philip Ross met Martha's eyes as a sound that would have been a bit ostentatious for an avalanche indicated that Clark was charging down the stairs.
"Hi, Clark! I brought both my fire trucks, let's go outside!" Jonathan followed the boys outside, leaving Martha with Philip.
"Would you like some coffee? I definitely need some just to keep up with those kids."
"I'm amazed that you still try to keep up." Pete had come by his grin honestly, as his father's showed. "I just stand around blinking most of the time and hoping that he'll slow down before I'm on Social Security."
"The problem with blinking is that you miss things."
"No, that's a benefit."
"Not with our Clarkster. Now that he can get undressed by himself, it's become a point of honor to do so. This morning, he showed the farmer's market just what he's made of. I'd just turned my back for a moment, and when I turned around, there was a pile of clothes and a horrified crowd."
"Pete hasn't gone through that phase yet."
"Calm your impatience."
"By the way, the Fordhams were talking about starting a play group. There are lots of people out of jobs now, and even preschool is pretty expensive. If you'd like to enroll Clark, there'd be plenty of room." He'd looked suddenly ten years older and a hundred grievances angrier as he mentioned the lost jobs. When Lionel Luthor had bought the plant, there had been an agreement that no jobs would be lost. He'd kept to the word of that; anybody who was let go was offered work in the processing area. That meant not only the decrease in salary, but no unemployment--anybody who turned down a job offer was ineligible.
Martha hated saying no. She'd seen how excited Clark had been about playing with Pete, and wanted him to have the chance with other children, too. But she knew what could happen. They were still trying to teach Clark not to use his abilities, his strength or speed, and had already learned that no matter how many times he fell, he never got cut or bruised. Somebody would notice. Then the questions. And then--she didn't even want to think. She shook her head. "He's still got speech problems--we'd better hold off."
Philip got up, putting down his mug. "You're probably right. Great kid, though. Anybody who can impress Pete...I've got to run now, I'll be by at three-thirty."
"Take care, Philip." Martha went out back, where one high-pitched and one low-pitched voice were making "vroom vroom" noises. She laughed quietly as she saw Jonathan directing the fire truck operations as Clark and Pete enthusiastically squirted everything that he told them was on fire.
"Don't even think about it," she warned him as he looked up.
Pete looked at her with awed eyes. "Clark is *good* at spitting." Clark happily demonstrated.
She'd better show them what a real master of the skills can do.
"Wow," Pete said. "You spit even better than Clark."
After all, it would be boring being the only one who wasn't a bad influence.
***
"If your mother's stories are anything to go by, you had a pretty notable career as the Smallville Stripper yourself." Martha wasn't looking at Jonathan--she was folding a blanket over a sound-asleep Clark--but she could imagine his sheepish expression. "Something about a wedding comes to mind?"
"It was the hottest day of a hot summer, I was bored, and I was four years old."
"So, Clark's precocious then."
"Teaching him to get undressed was a mistake."
"He'd hardly have wanted us helping him when he was sixteen," Martha gave the dark, tousled hair a last light stroke and remembered again that as angelic as their son looked, and as much as his arrival in their lives seemed like divine providence, he could make Calvin look positively docile. At least his mother and babysitter could occasionally catch Calvin. And Hobbes was a good influence.
"No wonder he's worn out, he's had a busy morning. Streaking the farmer's market would sap any kid." At least he hadn't used his speed, though it would have meant that fewer people would have witnessed Clark's public debut as a nudist, running through the crowd wearing nothing but a very big grin.
"So when's Pete coming over?"
"Two." Martha looked at her watch. Three hours.
"You want to catch a nap, too? We'll both need all our energy."
"Why don't we get in bed and see what happens?"
***
"Hi, Philip. Hi, Pete."
"Hi, Mrs. Kent! Where's Clark?"
Philip Ross met Martha's eyes as a sound that would have been a bit ostentatious for an avalanche indicated that Clark was charging down the stairs.
"Hi, Clark! I brought both my fire trucks, let's go outside!" Jonathan followed the boys outside, leaving Martha with Philip.
"Would you like some coffee? I definitely need some just to keep up with those kids."
"I'm amazed that you still try to keep up." Pete had come by his grin honestly, as his father's showed. "I just stand around blinking most of the time and hoping that he'll slow down before I'm on Social Security."
"The problem with blinking is that you miss things."
"No, that's a benefit."
"Not with our Clarkster. Now that he can get undressed by himself, it's become a point of honor to do so. This morning, he showed the farmer's market just what he's made of. I'd just turned my back for a moment, and when I turned around, there was a pile of clothes and a horrified crowd."
"Pete hasn't gone through that phase yet."
"Calm your impatience."
"By the way, the Fordhams were talking about starting a play group. There are lots of people out of jobs now, and even preschool is pretty expensive. If you'd like to enroll Clark, there'd be plenty of room." He'd looked suddenly ten years older and a hundred grievances angrier as he mentioned the lost jobs. When Lionel Luthor had bought the plant, there had been an agreement that no jobs would be lost. He'd kept to the word of that; anybody who was let go was offered work in the processing area. That meant not only the decrease in salary, but no unemployment--anybody who turned down a job offer was ineligible.
Martha hated saying no. She'd seen how excited Clark had been about playing with Pete, and wanted him to have the chance with other children, too. But she knew what could happen. They were still trying to teach Clark not to use his abilities, his strength or speed, and had already learned that no matter how many times he fell, he never got cut or bruised. Somebody would notice. Then the questions. And then--she didn't even want to think. She shook her head. "He's still got speech problems--we'd better hold off."
Philip got up, putting down his mug. "You're probably right. Great kid, though. Anybody who can impress Pete...I've got to run now, I'll be by at three-thirty."
"Take care, Philip." Martha went out back, where one high-pitched and one low-pitched voice were making "vroom vroom" noises. She laughed quietly as she saw Jonathan directing the fire truck operations as Clark and Pete enthusiastically squirted everything that he told them was on fire.
"Don't even think about it," she warned him as he looked up.
Pete looked at her with awed eyes. "Clark is *good* at spitting." Clark happily demonstrated.
She'd better show them what a real master of the skills can do.
"Wow," Pete said. "You spit even better than Clark."
After all, it would be boring being the only one who wasn't a bad influence.