by Medie

Future fic and a response to the X-Files Ep Title Challenge.

When I heard people talk about two a.m. feedings, I thought they were something I would dread. The pleading cry in the night, fumbling about, trying to get everything ready while your child cries for food, I thought `what's not to dread?' I soon decided I dreaded the whole concept of Chloe Sullivan as mother period and that it would never happen so any thoughts I had about 2 a.m. feedings were forgotten. I'd never have to deal with a pregnancy so why bother?

That changed when I fell in love with Clark Kent, and he with me...All of a sudden, the idea of me being a mother didn't seem so terrible after all. I actually caught myself wondering about it, imaging it, dreaming about it.

Then I found out about Clark, about what he was, and where he was from. With this news, I thought my dream would remain exactly that, a dream. How could it become reality? How could a man and a woman of two completely different species possibly hope to conceive a child? Some human couples have to fight to become parents can you imagine how difficult it would be for us? I thought it was impossible, though I didn't dare tell Clark that. I knew how he would take it, blame himself. He knew I wanted a child, he wanted one too, and he blamed himself entirely. Telling him that I thought we would never conceive would have just made him feel worse.

I couldn't do that to him, I just couldn't, so I kept my pains, fears, and even hopes to myself. I kept a lot of things to myself in those days including my fervent pleas to God for a child. Prayer was the only thing left to try. Clark and I couldn't go to a fertility clinic or doctor for help. There would be no way to protect his secret. It was because of that, I was convinced there was no way God would bring Clark and I together only to deny us our heart's desire. A child.

Despite this conviction, the day I find out I was pregnant...I have never been so shocked or so happy in my entire life. I still don't know how I stayed conscious when my doctor told me. I couldn't believe what she was telling me. I almost fainted twice. It was pure shock but shock that quickly became sheer, unadulterated joy. Joy that Clark and I never really let go of. We were, and still are, so shamelessly and purely happy to be parents that I don't think anyone could ever comprehend the depth of it. Though, anyone who saw us the first time we held our son must have felt it. I swear it was a tangible force in the room. It's been that way ever since. The way we glory in the miracle of our little boy is one thing we are not ashamed of. We never thought we would have him and now that we do? We want everyone to know how blessed we are.

When I look at him and realize how perfect his little body his, that angelic face, those tiny little fingers and toes...he's just the most miraculous thing I have ever seen. I've never been the type to revel in my sentimental side but since the birth of our son, I luxuriate in it like a cat basks in the sun.

I bet, if anyone from the good old days in Smallville saw me now, sitting in an oak rocking chair, humming a lullaby, and holding my nursing son...they'd probably need to take a second, if not third and fourth, look to be sure it was me. To be sure it was Chloe. Back in the day, I was definitely not the maternal one in our little gang. Even I would have said that.

Lana was supposed to be the one to get married, have a couple of kids, and do the whole family thing with the picket fence, the dog and the rose garden. I was supposed to be the one to travel the world, be the investigative journalist who has all the dirty politicians and businessmen shaking in their shoes. Well, the last I heard, Lana and Pete do have a couple kids and I am an investigative journalist - albeit freelance - but I gave up the assignments that would have had me traveling the world and stayed in Metropolis. With Clark. It was a decision I've never regretted, especially not after our son was born, our little miracle.

That's the most surprising part about all this, I guess, is the fact that I love being a mother. I love getting up with him at night. I remember dreading the whole idea of motherhood but now, sitting here, looking into his perfect little face, I can't imagine my life without him.

A movement in the doorway draws my attention and I find the other miracle in my life watching us. He must have heard my humming and woken up, his eyes are still sleepy and his dark hair's sleep-rumpled. He's wearing only his boxers and my breath instinctively catches in my throat. My husband is a beautiful man. It's not exactly a popular description of the male form in this day and age but it's true. Clark Kent is a beautiful man. I don't know if his physique is a product of his species's genetics, the natural result of growing up on a farm, or a little of both but whatever the cause, he is flawless.

He runs a hand through his hair, reclining against the doorframe and folding his arms across his broad chest. His gaze settles on me and for an instant, in that confident pose, I can see my husband's alter-ego, the much-talked about, much-written about Superman.

A thought occurs to me and an amused smile touches my lips and my eyes return to our son's face. He's fallen asleep, having eaten his fill. I start to stand and, almost immediately, Clark is by my side and helping me. When I 'm on my feet, I carefully pass him the baby, the smile still on my face.

"What's so funny?" He murmurs, looking down into our child's face, a look of wonder in his expressive eyes.

"You." I reply, pulling up the straps of my nightgown.

"What?" He doesn't look up and neither do I. I'm entranced by the picture before me. The strongest hands in the world, cradling my child's tiny form with such gentle care and cautious touch, that I find myself blinking back tears.

"Just wondering." I explain with a wide smile. "What would people think if they saw Superman walking around in his underwear with a bed head and a baby at two in the morning?"

That earns me a chastising look but I see the loving twinkle in his eyes. Clark may complain when I tease him about the Superman thing but he lets me indulge in it just the same.

He drops his gaze again and cradles our son against his bare chest, brushing one fingertip along the back of one tiny hand. The baby reacts, grasping his father's finger and Clark smiles in reaction. "He's amazing."

"He's a miracle." I say softly. "You both are. My miracles."

He smiles at my confession and I move closer, resting my hand on his shoulder and my head on his arm. "No," he says suddenly. "You're both my miracle."

I briefly consider arguing but I sneak a look at the awed expression on my husband's face and think better of it. He's as firmly convinced of his belief as I am of mine and, maybe, we're both right.

Our life together with our son is nothing short of miraculous and why not? Over the years, as Superman, Clark has given so many others the miracles they've needed so desperately, prayed for so desperately, is it too much to ask that he get a few miracles in return?

Looking into our son's face, I don't think so and apparently God agrees after all, we got our miracle and we're never letting him go.

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