Disclaimer: I do not own Smallville or these characters.

Author's Note: Okay, so maybe I am developing something of a plot. I have no idea where this is going. I'm just going to work with it.

Thank you to my reviewers for your kind comments.

Martha had never been more panicked in her life as she rushed her son inside and lay him down on the couch. She didn't know what to do first: examine Jonathan's arm or try to rouse her son.

"Martha, let's just get in the truck and go to the hospital," Jonathan told her calmly. "They'll examine my arm and look at Clark."

Jonathan's arm. Martha felt a pang of guilt as she remembered. "You'll arm will get infected if it isn't looked at soon," she worried aloud. "Grab the keys to the truck, and I'll strap Clark into his carseat. Then I'll drive us to the hospital."

Martha didn't want Clark seeing a doctor. Even if she and Jonathan explained away that Clark was adopted from a foreign country and didn't speak the language, Martha was still leery about any doctor seeing him. If Clark was from another planet—the spaceship was pretty circumstantial, yet convincing, evidence—she didn't want any doctor touching him. Usually, Jonathan held the same attitude. But the fact that Jonathan was rapidly losing blood didn't help.

Martha strapped the still unconscious toddler into the child seat in the back of Jonathan's truck. Jonathan got into the back, his injured arm bleeding through the old towel. With his free arm, he was able to fasten his seatbelt. "I'll keep an eye on Clark. Maybe I can get him to wake up," he called to his wife as she got into the driver's seat and started the truck.

The closer that Martha got to the hospital, the better Clark seemed to get. Two blocks away, Jonathan called up to his wife that Clark's temperature seemed to be just fine. As Martha pulled into the emergency room parking lot, Clark woke up and began to cry.

"Clark, sweetie, it's okay! We came to the hospital for Daddy!" Martha cut the engine of the truck, opened the driver's side door, and opened the truck's back door to get Clark out of his carseat. Her husband was right; Clark's fever had gone down.

Luckily, the emergency room at the Smallville Medical Center was nearly empty. As Jonathan's arm was sewn up in an exam room, Martha sat with Clark on her lap out in the waiting area.

"Are you okay, Clark, honey? Why did you pass out like that?" Martha quietly asked her son, feeling his forehead. She just couldn't get over the fact that he felt so normal after feeling so warm just a short time ago.

Clark continued to play with the stuffed puppy in his hands, unable to understand his mother. Martha had found the puppy on the floor of the truck—obviously a toy Clark had brought along on a previous car ride—and had given it to him to play with.

If only you could understand, Clark, Martha thought to herself, tears welling up in her eyes. Clark looked to be about three years old, and any other three-year-old would be able to understand her and talk back to her. But Clark was different. Clark was like a newborn; he had to rely on his parents for all of his needs to be satisfied. He could cry and laugh and say parts of words, like "Eeeee" and "Slee," but that simply wasn't enough.

But this wasn't the first time Clark had had an episode like the one he'd just had. Vaguely Martha remembered Clark crying in the sandbox a few days ago, becoming warm and holding his tummy. She remembered telling Jonathan she thought Clark was afraid of meteor rocks.

Meteor rocks!

Jonathan removed a large meteor rock from underneath the tractor! Martha exclaimed to herself. What if Clark was just affected by the meteor rock, like he was a few days ago in the sandbox?

Martha smiled and hugged her son, who was still playing in her lap. "Clark, honey, it's going to be okay. Mommy thinks you might have an allergy."

"Maamaa," was Clark's reply, looking up at his mother with big eyes.

"That's right, honey! I'm your mama. Smart boy." Martha hugged Clark tighter.

"Martha!"

Jonathan was walking into the waiting room, holding his bandaged arm.

"Jonathan, are you all right?" Martha asked worriedly, helping Clark to his feet as they stood up from their chairs.

"Fine. I got some stitches, and they put a bandage on it. The cut was pretty deep." Jonathan ruffled the hair of his son. "Are you all right, Clark? Have you been waiting long with Mommy?" Clark just smiled sheepishly up at his adoptive father and hugged his toy puppy.

"He's all right. I think I have it figured out, though. I think he's allergic to the meteor rocks."

"Allergic to the meteor rocks?"

"Yeah. Remember a while ago, when he felt sick after playing in the sandbox? I think he has some sort of allergy."

"Martha, who has an allergy to the meteor rocks? They're just glowing pieces of rock."

"They're from outer space. As is Clark…we think," Martha added quietly.

Jonathan sighed. "Well, I think we need to test this first. Come on, let's go home and put the adopted bundle of joy to bed. We'll talk more tomorrow."