Martha scrambled about her bedroom, searching for a pair of shoes she was certain had been there just ten minutes before. Oh God, it was five forty. She really didn't to be one of those girls--the ones men always complained about--.never on time and primping themselves until they had nearly brushed their last hair out.
Goodness, was she wearing the right thing? Her reflection stared back at her from the full length mirror that stood across the room. A long, pale yellow dress, sleeveless, with white lily print hugged daintily to her; her red hair draped in ringlets to her shoulders. Not too dressy, but feminine and pretty. With one last satisfied nod, she turned away. Now if only she could find those shoes. Just as she was about to give up, she spied a spot of white poking out from underneath the edge of her bed, and grabbed the shoes she had decided on. They were dressy with a small heel but had the simple look of sandals. They went perfectly with the dress it had taken her hours to decide on. Not that that stopped her from worrying. What exactly did one wear to this type of occasion? Smallville certainly lived up to its name and while she'd been to more art shows and dinners in Metropolis than she cared to remember, somehow that wasn't much help in this instance. Just as she was about to consider changing yet again, there was a knock at the door.
"Jonathan, you're early," she stammered, opening the door to find her date standing just outside the doorway, hands clasped behind his back, having the appearance of someone in no particular hurry, who might as easily have been waiting at the corner for his bus to arrive. He smiled and stepped inside.
Where normally Jonathan wore clothes that were more work friendly--jeans and flannel or a t-shirt, sometimes with a jacket-- he now sported dark slacks, a crisp, blue dress-shirt, and a navy blue striped tie that came just to his black leather belt. "You look... beautiful."
No, it wasn't the first time a man had told her that, but usually it was an off the cuff remark, a polite pleasantry they'd said a dozen times, to a dozen different women, on a thousand different occasions. But this time was different. It was as if he realized, for the first time, that he truly meant it. His eyes lingered a moment longer, before she shut the door behind him, and he produced a single, crimson rose from behind his back, holding it deftly between two fingers. "This isn't quite as lovely, but..." he trailed off, nodding to the delicate flower, offering it to her, a shy, half-smile on his lips.
"Oh, how thoughtful. Thank you." Martha took the rose and held it just under her nose, breathing in its sweet, light fragrance. "You look pretty dashing yourself, sir," she added coyly.
"You're too kind." Jonathan tugged self-consciously at his tie. "I never feel like I get these things right," he complained, readjusting the knot and somehow managing to fumble over his own fingers.
"Maybe you just need a woman's touch." Martha laid her rose on the end table by the door, stood toe to toe with her much taller date and took hold of the misbehaving tie, working it neatly back into place with the same intense focus she gave any task. "There," she remarked, pleased with her work, "That's better," and swept her hands fleetingly over his shoulders, then pressed her palms to his chest, with every intention of only smoothing his shirt. But, as if of their own accord, they stayed.
While she stared up at him for what seemed like an eternity, knowing she should say or do something--anything-- the very air between them felt as though it pulled them closer and time itself wound down to a crawl. His eyes held hers with a sleepy affection, and before she had a chance to rationalize and analyze what a mistake it might be to behave so impulsively when the man had just barely come in the door, Jonathan, mercifully, made the decision for them both when his hands came to her face and he pressed his lips to hers.
It was something she knew she would always remember. The gentle chasteness of it. The heat of his skin against hers. The way he held her. The way she wanted him to.
But the uncertainty was evident in him when they broke apart, one of his hands still cupping her face, eyes searching hers. Both were stumbling blindly to catch up with the sudden spin forward their relationship had just taken.
Martha unthinkingly licked her lips and looked down, before saying quietly, "I think I like you in ties."
Jonathan let out a nervous chuckle and leaned nearer as he spoke, still touching her face. "And here I was hoping flannel did it for you."
Her eyes raised and met that sparkle in his, the one she often envied but rarely saw in herself. Searching inward, she did find something, though, something more free, more ready to take a chance, to come out and play. And she liked it.
"I suppose we'll have to test that theory later." Her finger traced along his chin and found it smooth, probably freshly shaved. She smirked, then turned and picked up the rose she had laid on the table, sauntering across the room into the kitchen. "I'll just put this in some water and get my purse."
The sense of being watched as she walked away broadened her smirk into a smile.
-------
A perpetual reunion, that was how Jonathan had described it. Despite the fact that most residents of Smallville couldn't wait to shake the hay from their shirts and head for parts unknown, there was still a part of them that needed to know just how Mrs. Jennings did at the fair that year or how the Rosses were getting along. It had become an unofficial tradition, no one was sure quite how long ago, for the recently college-bound to congregate each fall under the guise of obligation, thereby safely keeping their "coolness" in tact. And so here they were at the town's only dance hall.
"Let me help you." Jonathan offered his hand as Martha slid down from her seat in his red pick-up truck, her heels clicking against the pavement when they met the ground. With one hand, he shut the vehicle door, then he offered his arm. "Shall we?"
Martha still couldn't believe how different everything was here. It was so quiet and peaceful. For the most part, the only noise was the rustle of the trees and the chatter of people passing by. They'd seen maybe ten cars on their way into town. No one was in a hurry and if they were, they weren't going to run you over on the way. She was about to comment on it when someone called out.
"Jonathan, buddy!" They stopped as a young man approached them. His tie was crooked and too short, coming far above his tan trousers . His white shirt was slightly wrinkled, and his straight, dark hair, combed neatly to the side--stuck there with a creme of some sort--made for a sharp contrast to Jonathan's blonde, wavy, and naturally obedient locks. "Where have you been hiding this pretty gal, huh?" he growled and flashed a devilish grin.
"Away from you," Jonathan replied, with a good-natured laugh. "Martha, this is Ethan. Ethan, this is Martha Clark."
Both nodded a polite hello to one another. "Well, I can see why you're in such a hurry to get back to Metropolis these days," Ethan responded, still not taking his eyes off Martha.
"Who did you come with tonight?" Jonathan interjected, probably suspecting the young man had forgotten his own date and needed some reminding.
"Ooooh, you know, I brought, Nancy. You know how she is about the social scene. Busy, busy, busy. Speaking of, I better get back. She just wanted this from the car," he explained, waving a tube of what looked like cherry red lipstick. "And Jonathan, word to the wise, Steve showed up and he's started the party a little early if you know what I mean. I'll catch up with you guys later. It was nice meeting you, Martha."
Martha watched as Ethan hurried off but her question must have been obvious before she had the opportunity to ask it. "I went to school with Steve," Jonathan told her grimly. They walked on as they talked. "He was quarterback before I joined the team and replaced him my Sophomore year. He blew out his knee as running back that year and along with it any chance for a scholarship. Never went to college--he works at the auto-shop now. He's always blamed me for the way things turned out. Let's just say I'm not on his list of favorite people."
"That's too bad. But I hope you know you're not to blame."
"I do. I just wish he did. I guess now I kind of know how my father felt. For the longest time I blamed him for everything that went wrong in my life. I thought he settled too easily, you know?"
The two had stopped walking and stood at the door to the building as people drifted by. "So you two get along better?"
"Well, better is a relative term. At this point, we don't not get along, I guess you could say. We're just different, that's all. I think we always will be. Mom says we're just two stubborn men too caught up in locking horns to realize we're on the same side of the fence. Whatever that means....We better get inside before they drink all the punch."
Martha understood this waltz a little better now. By nature, Jonathan was the friendly sort, the guy everyone liked to call friend, but he was not, from what she could tell, prone to bouts of introspective, personal conversation. It was new territory, so whenever the mood struck him, she listened but never pushed for more than he was willing to offer. And when he indicated he had said enough, she would drop the matter. Small steps. That was the start of any journey.
"Are you sure we should go in?"
"I'm sure it'll be all right. Steve's a little bitter but he's still a decent guy. Besides, I'm not going to let anyone ruin tonight."
With that, they made their way into the building and mingled, greeting this person and that until Martha was sure her date must have known almost everyone there, all of whom seemed to be wondering who exactly this city girl was that he had brought back all the way from Metropolis.
"I feel a little like the ant under the magnifying glass," she whispered when they finally went for punch and stood watching the crowd. At the door, Ethan was now on his third trip to the car for whatever Nancy had decided she needed at that particular moment.
Jonathan grinned but not without sympathy. "It's a small town, Martha. If someone has a bad hair day, everyone has to know about it. Don't worry, they only eat the tourists."
"Ha ha. Very funny. I just wish I knew they liked me."
"I like you," he murmured-- in a way that made her oh so thankful to be a woman in this lifetime and every one after. That look of mischief hadn't escaped her either. The two had not left each other's side the whole evening but hadn't had a lot of time to themselves as of yet, so whatever he had in mind was quite welcome. "Listen, they're playing our song."
Soft music played in the background. Drinks set aside, he held out his hand. She took it and glided easily onto the dance floor, his arm around her, holding her close, the other hand clasped in hers as they moved gracefully together.
"You've done this before."
"A time or two," she replied, and smiled demurely up at him "When your father owns a law firm you go to a lot of 'functions.' I've never had such a good partner, though."
"We're still talking about dancing, right?" he asked, pretending to be concerned as they moved to the side and back again with ease.
"Among other things." Her arms went around his neck and pulled him closer until her mouth covered his, and this time the kiss deepened, turning passionate. And the music faded away...
"Jonathan Kent."
The two abruptly separated and discovered a rather unsteady fellow had picked that moment to make his introductions. "Maybe the lady would like to dance with me," he suggested, as if someone had already begun a conversation.
Jonathan put himself between the drunken stranger and Martha. "Go home, Steve. I think you've had a little too much to drink, okay buddy?"
"It's a party, right?" Steve announced, as if that explained everything. "The ladies like a man who can hold his liquor, isn't, that right, cupcake?" Martha eyed him uncomfortably, then stepped back as Jonathan took the man by the arm.
"Come on, let's go outside and get some air, friend,", he began, but his "friend" jerked away from him, stumbling back a few feet.
"Hey! Keep your hands off me, man! I don't need your help! I never needed your help! Jonathan Kent, Smallville's golden boy," he bellowed. "But everything he touches turns to brass."
By that time a small crowd had begun to watch and talk among themselves. And Martha was feeling more uneasy. "Jonathan, it's all right. Maybe we should just go."
"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I ruin something for you? Sucks, doesn't it?" Steve laughed. "That's right, Jonathan, take your little whore and go back to Metropolis," he spat harshly.
Before anyone, much less Steve, could react, Jonathan had landed a hard blow square across the guy's jaw, sending him to the floor. For a man that had probably been drinking for at least an hour, he recovered quickly and took a swing of his own, which landed hard across Jonathan's face after a bystander grabbed hold of Jonathan's right arm to try to hold him back.
"Jonathan!" Martha cried. But by then all hell had broken loose.
-----
Jonathan and Martha sat on the steps outside. Jonathan's shirt was un-tucked and disheveled, the first few buttons undone; his tie was unknotted and hanging about his neck. Martha sat next to him, dabbing a handkerchief at the corner of his bloodied lip. He winced as she touched at the cut above his left eye, hissing against the pain of it. "I'm sorry," she said just above a whisper, carefully examining the cut and doing her best to be gentle.
"I'm the one who's sorry," he said miserably. "I didn't mean for this to happen."
"I know you didn't."
"It's just that---Nobody is going to say...to call you...that." He gestured toward the door of the building, where Steve was inside being sobered up, and frowned, which only caused him more discomfort.
"If he called me the queen of England, it doesn't make it true, and as much as I appreciate your protecting my honor, I'd much rather have you in one piece than brawling with a drunk, who won't even remember it tomorrow," she said briskly, still fussing over him.
He gave her a side glance, the wheels in his mind turning, but thought better of offering any counter-argument. "I really am sorry," he said again.
Martha scooted a step higher, making herself taller than him for once. With the handkerchief still in her hand, she draped her arms about his neck from behind and spoke into his ear as she hugged him against her. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"You mean other than the fact that you'll probably never go out with me again after tonight?" No doubt he had been preparing himself for whatever retribution one receives for bloodying a fellow party-goer.
"Never is an awfully long time, Jonathan. I was thinking more like next weekend." Jonathan craned his neck around, attempting to look her in the eye. He had obviously thought she was joking. "It's true, I don't need a knight on a white horse," she mused, then moved a hand over his heart. "But I could use a guy with a good one of these."
The dark cloud that had loomed over him ever since their unfortunate little incident began to dissipate. Jonathan laid his hand over one of her arms that were crossed over his chest., and she spied the slight twitch of a reluctant smile at the corner of his lips. "I promise we'll actually finish the next date."
"Who says this one is over? It's a beautiful night, and the music is still playing. Come on, slugger." A slight tug brought him to his feet, and she guided him to the top of the steps. Neither said a word as they put their arms around each other and danced under the stars.
TBC...