When First We Met

[NorthOfNever]

Another fantastic update! It's so fun to see another time in their lives, when they were just Jonathan and Martha and not identified as Clark's parents. For most people they're nothing more than that, but people like you have made us think otherwise. That was a great first kiss

[Smallvillian]

Thanks, NorthofNever. The next part is almost done. The plot will be moving along soon

[Renee28]

Just got the latest batch of edits off to you. So fear not, everyone, more is on the way!

And believe me, it's looking REALLY good.

[Smallvillian]

Thanks! I'll be working on the next part some more this afternoon and hopefully it'll be ready by tonight

[Smallvillian]

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...

[NorthOfNever]

That just flowed like a river, perfectly constructed. Bravo! Usual involuntary compliment stream still applies

[angelfire east]

great update!! I like it

[Smallvillian]

**

"They say if you look hard enough, you can see into the future from here." Jonathan snuggled closer on the blanket he had spread out on the ground, adjusting his leg which rested casually over hers, and heaved a relaxed sigh as they stared off into the sky together. He was promptly and amusedly "mmm"ed against his throat. "No, it's true," he said, nodding toward the stars as Martha lay cradled in his arms, his fingers combing lazily through her hair. "Local legend has it that there were Indian tribes living about these parts, and the Seer would come up here to this very spot to call on his visions." Visions was emphasized with the appropriate ominous awe. Martha lifted her head and fixed him with a skeptical stare. "Well, that's what they say, anyway."

She settled back and gazed skyward again, considering his little tale. Whether it was true or strictly for entertainment's sake, she couldn't be sure but the notion did have its allure. "A little comforting, isn't it?"

"What's that?"

"That the future could already be there. No matter what you do, it can't be the wrong thing because it was always meant to be. No mistakes."

Jonathan shifted to his side and propped himself up on his elbow, watching her. He often did that--would study her face so intently, and every now and again, she wondered who else was there with them that he could find so completely fascinating. This time was different, though. This time he seemed...sad.

"But...where's the adventure in that?"

It was a simple question but one that told so much in its asking. Where one saw the safety of fate and the predictable, the other saw a prison of forced happenstance, the absence of choice and freewill. Crickets chirped and the other night things cooed and cawed about her, all having infinitely more to say on the subject.

Jonathan sat up a little straighter as he spoke."I mean, I wanna--I wanna look back and be able to say 'I did that,' to know that I changed the world because I could, not because I was supposed to. I wanna know *I* made a difference," he continued, an eagerness and zest for what the universe had to offer and what he had to offer it all but bursting out of him.

In the three months they had been dating, Martha learned a lot of little things about Jonathan--that at six he had once run away from home-- well, as far as the barn. He still had a slight phobia concerning spiders ever since being bitten by one in his sleep at ten years old and rushed to the hospital. And the mere mention of hot dogs had made him ill for a year after his cousin told him what they were made from. Last year, he read Huck Finn over the summer and found himself regularly shirking a bit of hay-pitching for a half hour of quiet reading here and there, which left the cows greatly displeased. Yes, she knew all those little things, everyday facts, but it was at times like these, when it was just the two of them, that she felt she'd gotten an honest glimpse into a man that the world didn't often see or was simply too busy to notice.

He was gentle, sweet, and doting, though she was sure he would vehemently protest such a description. Men were not gentle, they were gentlemen. Men were not sweet. They were decent. And they certainly were not doting. They were merely courteous.

Tonight revealed something else. Jonathan Kent was a dreamer.

"You must think I'm ridiculous," she said, embarrassed, looking anywhere but at him. "I'm just so tired of trying to please everyone. It would be so much easier to know things were just meant to be." That was a half truth, but it sounded slightly better than the whole: that her father was a difficult man and she hadn't yet developed the skill to stand in his presence and say "No." Martha picked absently at a loose thread in their blanket, still not wanting to face Jonathan. He had probably begun to reconsider his company just then, and who would blame him? Gee, Jonathan, I know you're excited about your life and all, but I'm still the little girl who can't disappoint daddy. The very idea made her own eyes roll nearly out of their sockets.

"What I think," he murmured, nestling closely once more and tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, "is that you are wonderful...and if your father doesn't know that, well then, I almost feel sorry for him."

Martha took Jonathan's hand and intertwined her fingers with his, observed her own fair skin sliding over his darkened, sun-kissed skin. And she wondered vaguely if it was proper for a young lady to contemplate just where else the sun had touched this hardworking, book-loving farm boy of hers. "Who said I was thinking about him?"

"Because it's the only time you talk like this."

Obviously, she needed to polish her feminine charms to a decent shine. That grave tone should have progressed to, at least, somewhat intrigued. God love him, the man did have a worried streak wider than the Metropolis skyline.

"Like what?"

"Like you don't have a say in your own life, like you're not the strong, intelligent, no-nonsense woman I know you are."

"It's complicated, Jonathan. My dad's had my future planned since the day my mother said 'I'm pregnant.' How am I supposed to tell him that I don't want it? He'd be crushed. And he'll think I'm not up to it, that I'm taking an easier road because I'm not capable or because I don't have the ambition. I'm not a quitter," she said firmly.

Jonathan shook his head unhappily and held her hand more tightly as though afraid she might decide to pull it back. "No, you're not. Martha, you could do anything you please. Believe me, I know. I've seen your work--not to mention several people bow their heads and cross themselves before they step up to debate you. As a lawyer, you'd be the best of the best. But I hate to see you working so hard for something you don't want."

That was the real question, wasn't it? What did she want? Indeed, there were so many things the world had to offer. Fine things. Elegant things. The best that money could buy. But looking back at the man beside her, his face etched with concern, Martha knew of only one thing she truly wanted, and money couldn't buy that.


TBC...

[angelfire east]

Great update, I love this story

[NorthOfNever]

Touching as always!

Originally posted by Smallvillian
And she wondered vaguely if it was proper for a young lady to contemplate just where else the sun had touched this hardworking, book-loving farm boy of hers.

That reminds me of the wry manner in which Claire Danes says "nor any other part belonging to a man" in Baz Luhrman's Romeo & Juliet. Not quite as much of an ingenou as everyone else who's portrayed the character, and I like it - it makes her seem more real. Same here with Martha. Good job!

[HardBody2011]

well done

I normally only watch Smallville to see Clark, and the rest seems background, but you've done an excellant job of pulling Johmathon and Martha out of the shadows and bringing them to life.

Please continue very soon.

[Smallvillian]

I'm working on it The next part is not quite as warm and fuzzy. Thanks to all who have said such nice things. I know a lot of people just see J&M as Clark's parents but I think they're so much cooler than *just* that Hope you enjoy

[Renee28]

But . . . but . . . we love warm fuzzies!

(Starts picketing thread with a "MORE WARM FUZZIES!" sign)

[clarksmyman]

that was so good!! please update more soon!

[Smallvillian]

This continues from the last scene:



"You are coming tomorrow, right?"

They hadn't discussed it, but it was usually a given that Jonathan would make it to a debate in Metropolis. She knew it wasn't the most riveting of events, but, whether he pretended or was genuinely glad to be there, either way, she was happy to see his face out among the crowd.

He hesitated, though. Martha could tell he wasn't ready to change the course of the conversation yet and didn't care for her little avoidance tactic. After a weighty pause, he answered with a sincere yet distant, "Of course I am," then rolled onto his back. His left arm was folded and tucked casually behind his head. His right hand still held hers. But he was quiet-- not coldly so, but quiet. If she listened close enough, she imagined, she could actually hear his jaw clinching tighter, biting back any number of things he had wanted to say but didn't.

Patience was not always a virtue Jonathan possessed, but he had been very understanding with her. He had never pried or pushed into a conversation he wasn't welcomed into, namely discussions about how her father felt about her choices. And the fact that by now he must suspect that she was holding something back was slowly eating away at her.

"It means a lot to me," she offered quietly, turning her head and watching him stare up at nothing in particular, until finally he glanced back at her, his expression softer.

"I'll be there," he assured her again and gave her hand a squeeze.

**

The afternoon had been almost a complete bore, saved only by the knowledge that when it was over, a certain young man would be waiting for her. Martha's team had placed well and stood a good chance at nationals this year . But that fact came second to the former as she made her way to the lobby, eagerly expecting to find the face she had seen all afternoon, only to be welcomed instead with "Martha, dear, wonderful performance."

No words were forthcoming as she gaped openly at the dark-haired man who was dressed in an impeccably neat gray business suit. He smiled broadly back at her. "At this rate, you'll be taking over the firm next year," he continued proudly as he put his arm around her.

When she found her voice, the only thing that managed to be sputtered out was "Dad, I wasn't expecting you."

"Well, I got back early and I thought I'd come by and see just what my hard-earned money is paying for, " he grinned. "Those young boys didn't know what hit them, did they? That's my little girl."

Martha took a few steps back and tried to appear the happy daughter, eyes darting about uncomfortably as she straightened her skirt. "Dad, I really wish you would have told me you were coming," she said, smiling meekly and searching past him for someone else.

"Since when do I need permission to come and support my daughter?" the man laughed. "And really, Martha, do try not to fidget. It becomes a nasty habit that a good lawyer can't afford to acquire."

Martha dropped her hands at her sides and grimaced at that last peevish remark. "I've been doing all right so far," she countered, but before she could elaborate any further, Jonathan had appeared at her side and put his arms around her. She'd been so distracted that he'd surprised her--and her father too, no doubt.

"You were great," he announced with a hug that lifted her off her feet and a quick kiss on the lips.

"Martha, dear, who is...this?" William Clark waved a hand loosely in Jonathan's direction and gave him a hard, quick look from head to toe. Skilled in the art of observation, he took swift inventory of one green denim button-down shirt, blue jeans, and sneakers before turning back to his daughter, awaiting some kind of explanation. Jonathan, who hadn't noticed the older man before then, answered the question and thinly veiled scrutiny with a disconcerted "Who the hell are you?" glare of his own.

So she hadn't told her father about Jonathan. She had meant to-- really, she had-- but it just never seemed like a good time. William Clark was an honest, decent man but the fact that his only daughter wasn't involved with the prince of some fictional wealthy utopian nation would go over about as well as--she stole another glance at her father's dour appearance-- as well as *that.*

Martha looked briefly from one man to the other. "Dad, this is--this is Jonathan. He's my, um, friend." And suddenly *not* looking at either seemed to be the only thing she could manage to do.

"Oh, Mr. Clark, I'm sorry. I didn't realize. Martha didn't mention you were coming. It's nice to finally meet you. I've heard so much about you." While Jonathan showed his most winning smile and gave the man's hand a hearty shake, her father continued to study him as though he were a small insect under glass.

"Yes, well, I wish I could say the same," came the flat reply.

Aaaand, there it was. The infamous William Clark charm, or lack thereof. Leave it to her dad to be completely tactless in less than one minute flat, which was an impressive record even by his standards. If she'd felt any lower, she would have been eye-level with the floor she was studying so hard.

"You've been busy, dad. I just never really had the chance...with school and everything. " That that was partially true might have made the situation more palatable, if not for the disappointment and hurt in the young man beside her. Her father wouldn't have seen it, but she did. His had eyes lost some of their shine. His smile had faded just a little "Jonathan's been to all of my debates in Metropolis," she added, not sure what exactly she expected to accomplish with that revelation, except to fan the flicker of hope that things wouldn't get anymore awkward.

"How nice"-- a sentiment that didn't reach the words as her father said them. "Does this Jonathan have a last name, by chance?" he asked.

"Yes, sir, Jonathan Kent," Jonathan supplied, ignoring the fact that he hadn't been addressed directly.

"Kent," the man repeated, mulling the name over. "Would I know your family?"

"Oh, I don't think you would. I don't imagine you get to Smallville too often."

"Smallville," he echoed, making the name sound like an awful dish he once ordered by mistake in a foreign restaurant. "It's a quaint rural area," he amended. "A strapping boy like yourself must have a plethora of chickens to attend to." The off-the-cuff joke fell flat and continued its descent through the pit in Martha's stomach. For a second, Jonathan's gaze flicked over to her, then back to her father again.

"Dad..."

"Actually, it's not the chickens you have to worry about. It's the bull," Jonathan deadpanned, squaring his shoulders just a little.

Mr. Clark seemed satisfied that he had gleaned all relevant information from the conversation and had spent as much time as he cared to on the matter. "So--Jonathan was it?" He straightened and raised a dubious brow while he clasped both of his hands together. "I hope you don't mind, but I haven't seen my daughter in a long while, so I can drive her home. I'm sure you have cows to corral or some such thing."

A tense pause stretched between the two men.

"It's fine."

The curt answer held no bitterness, but she knew Jonathan was upset and trying hard not to show it. She tried to catch his eye but he either would not or could not look in her direction now. Facing straight ahead and blinking several times, he muttered a polite "Good-bye" then turned on his heels and started to walk away.

Not a great many things surprised Martha. Being a lawyer's daughter, she had been taught to anticipate every possible outcome, to analyze a situation and predict several conclusions, but you could have tipped her over with one finger at that moment. He was just going to leave? Without another word?

"Jonathan, wait!"

Her father caught her by the arm, saying something about getting home to mom. Martha pulled loose from his grasp and scrambled after Jonathan, finally catching up with him just outside the building. "Jonathan, wait, please."

His brisk walk slowed. Then he stopped and took a visible breath but didn't turn around. "Why didn't you tell him?" he asked calmly, the question laced with the hurt he still couldn't hide, despite wanting to.

"I don't know," she lied and looked down again.

He turned and smiled mirthlessly. "I've um," he swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat, "I've got cattle to 'rustle up,' as us country folk say. I'll see you later."

TBC...