stands_for_hope | for knightbynight: For now and hereafter...

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for knightbynight: For now and hereafter...

[some time after the events here]

Superman and Batman were partners in more than a work sense. Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent were an adorable (if mildly ridiculous) couple. Kal-El of Krypton and a man who defied any definition outside of the single letter 'B' made time on weekends, worked around world crises and teenage tempers, and occasionally fell into bed together when the stars aligned. Thankfully, they aligned relatively often.

Wayne Manor received a delivery of organic produce and baked goods once a week from a small, independent farm in the heartland. Lois Lane was a little less likely to agree with snide comments about the uselessness of Bruce Wayne, especially after seeing the utter madness that was Clark's desk after a few weeks. The texting habits of a certain blond teenager in Kansas rose sharply... and in parallel to that of a certain former street punk in Gotham.

Life was... well, it was good, even if it was also Life. Until it wasn't. Until everything changed.

They all had enemies, of course. But the problem with Superman's enemies was that they were coherent enough to decide to team up. And crazy enough to use the kind of weaponry that could make whole cars just vaporize into nothing.

Crazy enough to point that weapon at a somewhat-pinned Batman and a Wonder Woman who was digging him out from the rock. Crazy enough to point that weapon at Batman.

Bruce.

B.

Clark didn't even make the choice. His heart made it for him. The beam shot out of the Toyman's mechanical monstrosity and Clark flew, the pain of the beam itself nothing on the fact that he was leaving Bruce behind. That his vision of them as old men together would never happen. That he was leaving behind a world that needed him.

The guilt that, if it meant saving them, saving him, he didn't regret a thing.

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Bruce loved Clark, too. He'd be just fine sharing the Manor with him, as long as they kept their own rooms and used them from time to time. He'd be okay with Clark in the cave when it was a combined project.

But he needed more space than he'd previously realized to work, and he absolutely needed the time with Jason - and just Jason - for all their relationship was screwed up.

He knew Clark should have been back by now, knew he was probably listening in somewhere, and he knew he was going to address this more maturely when he got back but first he took his adopted kid and went out into the night to have some space, some time with Jason, and to stop some crime.

By the time Bruce and Jason were back, Bruce would find Clark in his room with his familiar old laptop, working on an editorial on the state of medicine in the United States compared to his 'treatment' in Europe.

...it was something to do.

Bruce obviously got out of uniform, took a shower and got dressed before he went looking for Clark, and lightly knocked on his door. He wasn't about to talk about needing space and invade Clark's.

Jason had gone to pass out, and his behavior on patrol had been significantly better. Whether that was because he'd gotten the satisfaction of Bruce wanting to get away from Clark, or he'd enjoyed the time playing video games was hard to say, but it was definitely better.

Clark, for his part, pulled his hands away from the keyboard before looking over at the door.

"Come on in, Bruce," because who else would be knocking at this hour?

Bruce would take it, regardless of cause, because however inept he was at expressing it he did love Jason.

He let himself into Clark's room and closed the door carefully behind him. "I owe you and explanation and an apology."

He leaned back a little further and held up a finger.

"You were about three seconds from chucking a batarang at my head or, alternately, sticking an icepick in your ear," he counted off, "and all this time playing house with me got under your skin all at once and you needed to go out. Apology unnecessary."

He gave him a wry little grin.

"I'll accept a good morning kiss before you go to pass out for a couple of hours, though."

"Clark, if I deliberately seek you out to apologize to you, you do not get to preempt the apology and send me to bed." He was much more relaxed. He was still tired, certainly, but more relaxed and therefore his exasperation wasn't a flat out snap. "I will go to bed once we've discussed this."

"All right," and he tucked up his hands behind his head before giving Bruce an expectant look. Don't look at him, Bruce. He was just waiting for when it'd happen.

"You are infuriating." It was said fondly enough, really, or at least with no overt heat. "You can't work in the cave. You don't need to move out -" Because he knew Clark. "But I can't work with you down there."

"It's one of my finer qualities," he said amiably as he turned a crooked little sunshine smile on Bruce, "and I think I can live with that. What with the palatial room I happen to be sitting in now."

He tilted his head thoughtfully.

"Though I do like helping you with coding. Do you think I could get a wired hookup up here? Maybe through an encrypted relay, if you're worried about security."

Bruce snorted at reference to palatial. "Palatial is going to be what drives you to snappishness, if it isn't relieved." No, not exactly that, but the being catered to and cared for the way Alfred tended to might eventually create an issue.

He moved to sit in an arm chair and considered then shrugged. "I think we can handle the security of that arrangement easily enough. We'll try it and see how it goes. Realistically it shouldn't be different than some of the other work we've done together, remotely, over the years."

A pause, and then: "You're handling this well."

He breathed in deep before turning the chair a little to face his laptop again.

"Do you mean the new living arrangements, the fact that you fled the house like you were on fire, or the fact that you don't want me in the cave?"

And his tone remained mild and matter-of-fact the whole time. The only point at which it was clear (to Bruce, very few others would notice it) that he was annoyed was the mention of fleeing the house. One finger tapped the desk then just loud enough to be heard.

Ah-ha. There it was - not just the single tap of Clark's finger, but the difference in his wording around having run away. Like he was on fire, instead of simple fact. Extra words, extra imagery, metaphor even, of a sort. Less functional, more evocative, and, yes, glaring enough in the difference to give away feeling.

"All three, but it seems you're handling the first and last markedly better than the one in the middle. Why?" Could he get more pointed with that question? Not exactly, but he could sure as fuck dig in, in his quest to get an answer.

And very, very likely would.

"You could have said something earlier," and some of the ease was gone from his voice, though he wasn't quite to 'angry'.

"I don't..." he couldn't help his eyes flicking around the room he was in right now, an acknowledgement of exactly whose home this actually was, "I don't like thinking I chased you out of your own space."

He sat up a little further.

"I'm a little twitchy. Not a four year old. If something I'm doing is bothering you, or my presence is causing you... whatever it causes you, you can talk to me like an adult. I'm not going to--" and one hand flicked out in annoyance, fingers splaying through the air to gesture to-- "frankly, I don't even know what you thought I'd do. But if you genuinely think I'm so fragile that I can't take a request for some peace and quiet, then there's a much bigger problem."

That was progress - of some sort - but there was also a lot there that he wanted to address and some things he just plain wanted to prod, the way small children and the odd jerk saw a nasty bruise and responded by shoving their thumb in and commenting on how painful it looked.

"This is your home as much as mine," he said, flatly. "The cave is my space, but what's above it is yours, Alfred's and Jason's all as much as it is mine." Get the fuck over that, Clark, said his lack of tone.

"I should have said something before I left, but frankly at that point the only real impulse I had involved taking that keyboard and shoving it down your throat. You may be better, but I don't think is an encounter that would have gone well." Still flat.

And not addressing that he could and should have addressed it before his impulse was violent.

That's all right. Clark had that covered.

"And the reason that wasn't addressed during the several hours before that point?"

He wasn't even touching the issue of housing. He'd asked, Bruce had given, but that didn't mean there wasn't going to be an adjustment period. Wait till the first time a redblue blur got between Bruce and a hail of bullets.

They both had their issues in letting the other one help. The request to move in had not been an easy one to make, even if it felt like the right one.

There were going to be fireworks the first time a red and blue blur got between Bruce and a hail of bullets. There might even be actual explosions and property damage.

"Because I thought I could handle it. I should have been able to handle it." Also he'd been trying to be nice to Clark.

"In the future," because he didn't want to say 'next time' because hopefully, there wouldn't be a next time. Hopefully, they could be adults in the future.

~~Let's not kid ourselves.~~

"If something I'm doing is bothering you, I'd rather know about it. Otherwise, I'm going to start worrying I'm bothering you any time I catch your biometrics elevating."

Speaking of biometrics elevating....

"Is there a particular reason that you're paying that much attention to my biometrics in the first place? Or that you can't stop if they're going to give you that much undue anxiety?"

Not that he shouldn't suck it up and do what he was asked. Hell, he probably would (okay, he'd try, if he thought it was worth bothering with, but he considered just moving on perfectly acceptable as a way of ...accepting.

"Because I don't want to kill you."

The words are delivered matter-of-fact, almost flat. Clark is honestly not the type for melodramatic pronouncements or pessimistic forecasts, but he meant every word.

"I'm still running in survival mode. It's part of why I attacked Jason. It's part of why I haven't gone back to the farm. You can't surprise me... so you're safe. I'm safe with you.

"So you're telling me that you are twitchy enough that you feel the need to monitor my vital signs to prevent me startling you and getting killed, but in turn you're also twitchy enough that if you notice a change in them you're going to assume you're doing something to upset me."

Yes. Sure. That was workable.

And that... hurts. His hands on the desk don't tap but one of them curls in, not into a fist but it's definitely clenched. Something about Bruce's words... his throat feels tight and what had seemed like such a simple issue, such a simple solution, apparently wasn't. Because he's not-- he doesn't know what he feels but it hurts and he's actually ashamed of the fact that the thought swings through his mind. The one wild, stupid, insane thought that said that at least the wasteland had been simple.

Hell, but a simple hell.

He couldn't put this on Bruce. Bruce shouldn't have to handle him like this, this shattered bastardization of the person he loved. He'd never felt like he lived up to half of what people thought of Superman and now he knew he didn't because he was just such a live wire, ready to spark at the least thing. Ready to strike. Bruce's own kid had suffered for it already. How long until Alfred tried to sneak in to leave him breakfast and something happened. Or he did as Bruce had asked and--

"You're right," he said, and the first word was strangled but the second was dead. "That isn't feasible."

You invited Superman to live with you and you expect it to be Superman and if I can't even help myself from hurting the person I love more than anything without tracking his every twitch and beat and breath--

"I'll go to the Fortress until I'm less... volatile."

Edited 2015-12-06 00:34 (UTC)

"Don't. You. Dare." Clear, concise and staccato, and accompanied by a downright piercing look - not glare, just a very, very intense stare.

He couldn't follow Clark to the Fortress easily, and if Clark ran off this conversation was dead in the water and they were both fucked. Clark, especially, was fucked. He was not going to get less volatile in isolation.

"Come here. Please."

Look, he said please. That's... big.

It wasn't often that Clark got petulant and difficult. He knew how terrifying it could be for people, because while others might dent a wall or kick a can, Clark could to so much more damage in a state like that. That's why he made a point of keeping calm, of reminding himself how ridiculous he was being... why he always tried to be the mature one.

Right now, he didn't have the bandwidth for it. Not even a little. So that 'please' was probably the best decision Bruce had made since he'd entered the room. That 'please' dropped Clark's shoulders an inch on either side and had his throat loosening up enough for him to feel like he could breath.

He still couldn't speak, but he walked over and, still teetering on the edge of something incredibly foolish, looked Bruce in the eyes and waited.

For several moments, Bruce did nothing.

At least he did nothing that was outwardly obvious.

He held Clark's eyes - or let Clark hold his - while his blood pressure dropped, his breathing slowed and deepened and his pulse settled into a perfect, resting, sort of steadiness.

When he moved, it was slow and not at all cautious and put one hand on Clark's shoulder, and then the second lightly against Clark's jaw. No grip - none at all - just open, calloused palms, and kept holding Clark's eyes.

All he said, once he'd said anything at all was, "Stay with me."

Literally Clark. Follow what he was giving you.

for knightbynight: For now and hereafter...

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