Laughing, Martha gets up to put her dishes in the sink, all the while keeping an eye on the TV. She likes this Jimmy Fallon boy - always funny. When she turns towards the door, though, her attention is picked by another boy she likes.
Her favorite one, in fact.
Frowning, she opens the screen door, and, tightening her small cardigan around her chest, goes into the night to join her superhero of a son.
“Clark?”, she calls, and he stops to look at her, apparently surprised. Which doesn’t happen often, really (never, actually, which is why in eighteen years, she never caught him watching TV instead of doing his homework, even though she knew full well he did it: the boy could hear her come from a mile away). “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
He’s not wearing his suit, which is also odd, considering he always is, when he comes here flying. In top of everything, the fact that he looks all at once stressed, worried, and lost confirm that something is definitely not right.
“Nothing, nothing, I - Hi”, and she smiles, bringing his broad figure close to hug him.
“Hi, honey. So, what’s going on?,” she raises her eyebrows, facing him. He looks worried for a few more seconds, and then chuckles a little, and it feels like a huge load is lifted from her chest - he’s okay.
Happy, even, given the huge smile he’s suddenly trying to contain.
He shakes his head, trying to get a hold, and Martha can’t help her own smile as he finally looks at her.
“I uh - I realized something today.”
“Yeah? And what’s that?,” she asks, patient.
Although the tiniest bit shy, his smile is bigger than it has ever been. “How did Dad ask you to marry him?”