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Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not my characters.
Author’s note: Double drabble/missing scene from “Blank.” (Lois: “Mr. Kent has a one-way ticket on the Ambien Express.”) Thanks to Smallvillian.
Torn
Martha stood in the doorway of the hospital room with the cell phone Clark had lent her for emergencies in her hand, not realizing she was clutching it almost hard enough to break it.
Every nerve in her body was screaming at her to go to her son, to rush home before it was too late. She bit her lip, trying to fight back the thought pushing itself into her mind: If Clark were going to give himself away, he would have already done it.
But Chloe’s voice had sounded so calm, so normal. Still, that didn’t mean she hadn’t seen . . .
“Martha?”
The murmur came from the bed inside the room. Martha walked over and put a hand to Jonathan’s cheek.
“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” she whispered.
“Is . . . Clark . . . ?” His voice trailed off.
“Clark is fine.” Martha was surprised by the firmness of her own words. “Now go back to sleep.”
His drooping eyelids blinked once, and closed. Martha stood studying the lines on his face in the dim light. Then she sat down on the bed, gathered his hand in one of hers, and covered her own face.
The End
Disclaimer: Not my characters.
Author’s note: Double drabble/missing scene from “Blank.” (Lois: “Mr. Kent has a one-way ticket on the Ambien Express.”) Thanks to Smallvillian.
Torn
Martha stood in the doorway of the hospital room with the cell phone Clark had lent her for emergencies in her hand, not realizing she was clutching it almost hard enough to break it.
Every nerve in her body was screaming at her to go to her son, to rush home before it was too late. She bit her lip, trying to fight back the thought pushing itself into her mind: If Clark were going to give himself away, he would have already done it.
But Chloe’s voice had sounded so calm, so normal. Still, that didn’t mean she hadn’t seen . . .
“Martha?”
The murmur came from the bed inside the room. Martha walked over and put a hand to Jonathan’s cheek.
“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” she whispered.
“Is . . . Clark . . . ?” His voice trailed off.
“Clark is fine.” Martha was surprised by the firmness of her own words. “Now go back to sleep.”
His drooping eyelids blinked once, and closed. Martha stood studying the lines on his face in the dim light. Then she sat down on the bed, gathered his hand in one of hers, and covered her own face.
The End
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