Chapter Text
That night, when Bruce returned to Clark’s bedside, his friend was all ears.
“So what did you say then?”
“I told her I would make a reservation.”
“This is great,” Clark sighed happily, sitting up to look at Bruce who was currently hovering by the door, watching for signs of fatigue in his Kryptonian friend as he begrudgingly told his story.
Bruce’s eyes instinctively sharpened to a glare as he squashed his agreement far below the surface. “You are currently undergoing the irreversible physical side effects of an unbreakable spell. Nothing about this situation is ‘great.’”
“I mean, you going on a date, Bruce! How long has it been?” Clark rolled his eyes. It wasn’t a behaviour Superman would have done, Bruce noted, bemused.
“Twenty-four days ago, I took Jessica Hornes to a private jazz bar in downtown Gotham.”
Clark’s smile faded a bit.
“We…kissed on her doorstep,” Bruce added.
“You know that’s not what I meant. I mean how long since you actually cared about the person you were going on a date with?”
Silence.
“See. It’s been too—” Clark’s words cut off with a pained groan. Bruce jolted forward, alarmed, but a hand held up stopped him. Under the power of the yellow sun, his friend was indestructible. Inside and out. Bruce had had to lace the painkillers with kryptonite in his Metropolis safehouse so they would weaken Clark enough to be metabolised. If this hadn’t worked after all the experiments…but then Clark smiled, wide, genuine and comfortable again. “Too long. And you said she's pregnant?”
“...Yes,” Bruce nodded.
“Huh,” Clark looked away, scratching his chin in thought. “What do you think you'll do if this goes well? I don't want to ask if you, of all people, have a plan, but you can be pretty sporadic when it comes to your personal relationships compared to… other things.”
Bruce shook his head, resting his weight on the door frame. “If it comes to that, it comes to that. For now, I just…”
“You just want to enjoy it,” Clark finished. “Yeah, no, I agree, I think that's good. Ignore me, don't worry about that yet. Besides, if she really was so against the idea of having another man in her life during this period, then she wouldn't have asked you. You might be exactly what each other needs.”
Bruce pondered the thought.
When playing up his socialite persona, Bruce dressed as extravagantly as possible. As a businessman in boardrooms, he tended to wear three-piece suits. Tonight, on this date a couple of weeks later, he wanted to be more true to himself. So Bruce dressed in a pressed white button-down, brown belt and black slacks. He hoped, as he he drove to Metropolis and waited in the lavish reception of one of your city's finest private restaurants, that he wouldn’t come across as too snobbish.
The few paparazzi that followed him there were not allowed to enter but hovered by the restaurant's floor-to-ceiling glass windows. The sight of their obsession led more than a few passersby to whisper, but his eyes weren’t focused on them. Instead, Bruce was studying the streets, watching the clock as the time for your meeting neared, and you were…you were…you were here.
There.
Summer made Metropolis’ evenings just as sunny as its days. The sun was brighter than Bruce originally expected, but none of its rays stunned him as much as your natural beauty or the radiance living in your skin. Bruce felt rejuvenated by the look of you in a long gown, by the glitter in your eyes as you calmly approached him and caressed your swollen middle.
You were glowing.
You were precious.
Bruce's protective instincts were untamable as he paced over to assist you, ignoring how the paparazzi’s yelling increased exponentially at the sight. You smiled and let him lead you upstairs until you sat down across from him, separated only by menus, napkins and cutlery.
“I take it you're famous?” You said, in greeting. And he supposed it was one.
Bruce hummed, thoughtful. “You could put it like that.”
When you had initially exchanged names via text messages, he had been worried. But either Bruce wasn't as well known by Metropolitans, or you weren't interested in celebrities, because it was clear his name didn't register for you enough to search it up.
“And you didn't think to tell me that because…?”
Your eyes were sharp now, analysing, just as you had back in that parking lot. It was an incredibly attractive trait.
“I didn't think it was the most important thing about me.”
“...Those people seem to think differently,” you surmised, approval in your tone.
Bruce’s jaw clenched as he attempted to keep his voice just as light. “Those people have no sense of boundaries. I don't particularly care what they think.”
You choked on a laugh, shifting heavily in your chair and filling out the seat just right. “I guess so. I can't imagine it, being followed I understand. I've experienced that, but the shamelessness of it all? It's an industry that needs to be abolished, that's for sure.”
Bruce nodded in agreement and let a quiet fall on you both.
It was times like these on his usual dates that he would start asking the standard surface questions, complimenting your appearance and flirting with the waitress. But you didn’t deserve that. He didn’t ask you to come here to be a headline to keep the press from prying for a while. He asked because looking at you made Bruce, a man frequently confronted with death and sorrow, believe in life all over again.
So instead he said, “How was the travel here? I hope it wasn't too inconvenient,” truly curious about the answer for once.
You shook your head, still smiling. “It was fine, I just took an Uber. I thought I'd splurge since it's a special day.”
“Is it?” Bruce prodded. “And what is so special about today?”
“Not what,” you sent him a gentle look. “But who.”
Oh.
Bruce felt his athlete’s heart quicken to a more regular beat.
“I am flattered,” he breathed under your soft gaze. Flirty, his mind supplied. Motherly, he dreamed. “But I think I'm the one having the better day.”
Your smile widened as you licked your lips and took that to be the right opportunity to look at the menu. It only took a moment for your eyebrows to rise. Bruce looked down at his but wasn’t sure what the problem was. Was there a hidden message on yours? How had that slipped his notice?
“What made you pick this place?” You continued before he had the chance to speak. There was a hint of embarrassment in the creases of your face, your suddenly avoidant eyes. “I didn't want to admit it when you sent me the reservation, but I can't pay for more than a starter.”
So that was it.
“Pay?” Bruce was taken aback. When was the last time one of his dates didn't expect him to cover the cost? He couldn’t remember. It was refreshing, but he absolutely refused. “Do not worry about the bill.”
“...I'm not a gold digger,” you seemed almost offended. Bruce couldn’t have that.
“No, but you are a future mother, and I would like to treat you as such. I have the means, and you should hold onto the money you have to take care of your baby,” Bruce kept his voice firm. “Allow me to do this for you.”
You stared at him.
“Please. I want you to eat your fill.”
“...Fine,” you relented, looking pretty in your abashment. “Thank you. You didn't answer my question, though.”
Bruce nodded as he tried to rein in his intense relief from showing on his face. You would let him pay after all. “This is a haute cuisine restaurant, but unlike the others, it avoids dishes involving raw seafood, raw eggs, many cheeses and prides itself in serving experimental juices in place of alcohol.”
“You were being thoughtful,” you mumbled after a beat.
Those were all things that women were advised not to indulge in during pregnancy. Bruce chose it so you could order from the menu without having to worry about what you were consuming. He hadn’t expected you to notice that and he wasn’t entirely sure how you felt about it now that you had.
So Bruce stiffened then, awkwardly clearing his throat. “I apologise if I—”
You batted your eyelashes. “I like that.”
God.
Bruce harshly swallowed at the sight, and you both placed your orders.
“So…” his mind raced across various conversational topics once you were finished. It was abnormal for him to be the one to break the silence twice in a row, but he found himself too interested in you to care. “How have you been?”
“I’ve been alright,” you smoothly answered, looking as though you knew what was going on in his head, and maybe you did. Bruce had alluded to his thinking habits back in the parking lot two weeks ago. “My back has been aching since that night, but my friends came over the other day and cheered me up. They brought me food for my cravings so I didn't have to go out and buy them.”
“That's nice,” Bruce grunted, meaning it. “It's good you have them to help.”
You laughed under your breath. “It is. What about you? What have you been doing since we last met?”
“A growing community project I have been sponsoring met their financial goals for the year.”
“That sounds good,” you said, amicably. “What is the program about?”
Bruce hummed. “Assisting metahuman 0-18s in finding more appropriate guardians in the foster care system and training those guardians to be better prepared for what such care entails.”
“That's amazing, Bruce,” you looked almost in awe but it was undeserved. He couldn’t accept it. “What did you say you did again?”
“I'm…a businessman.”
You tilted your head, eyes narrowing. “Hm…you don't act like one.”
“Excuse me?” Bruce asked, mirth warming his abdomen.
You waved him off, taking your drinks from the waiter. “I didn't mean to offend you. You just have a demeanour about you that's very down-to-earth. You've barely asked me any questions about my background or why I'm single. I'm not someone who is used to this kind of luxury but you're treating me like I can have a place here and it's nice,” you can have a place here. “Maybe you really do have ulterior motives, after all.”
Bruce fondly shook his head and sipped his drink to hide his building amusement. “What is the theory this time?”
“Well, the bank heist theory is unrealistic,” you replied, playfully. “So now I'm thinking embezzlement. Do you—?”
Bruce laughed before you could ask.
“Don't laugh at me,” you gaped, but it was a game, a joke. He felt refreshed once more by your presence and it was as if you were someone he knew. Someone he already trusted. Bruce couldn’t understand the feeling, and that in itself was an even stronger draw.
“I’m sorry, it was just…funny,” he told you simply. “I think I should be the one asking the questions, perhaps.”
“Fine, what would you like to know?”
“Everything,” Bruce admitted.
You only smiled. “Everything…might be a bit of a mouthful. How about I tell you about this year?”
So you did. You told him about becoming pregnant. You told him about how it felt to grow bigger and bigger. How scary the checkups were when your friends were busy, when your family couldn’t visit, once your ex abandoned you. But then you also told him about the kicking, the parenting books, designing rooms with your baby in mind, filling out forms and thinking of all the things you would do together.
You told him about how happy you were despite it being the most stressful period of your life, a time where you couldn’t truly rely on anyone but yourself to take care of you and Bruce thought of the case of the first metahuman orphaned children this project saved, bruised, battered, but not broken as they breathed life into their little hands. Vulnerable, the papers wrote. Brave, the project leaders stated.
Precious, Bruce believed.
You looked like them to him now, as the pair of you ate food you enjoyed to the fullest. You looked just as lively, and he wanted to be there. He wanted to be the one you relied on in the coming months. He wanted to ask this question again in a year and hear his name scattered around until he was fed up with it. But you weren’t a child, and you had a choice. He needed to know you wanted this.
Midway through your talk on maternity leave, Bruce stopped you to say, “You're beautiful.”
“...Thank you,” you studied him, eyes drooping ever so slightly. “So are you.”
Bruce froze. In four decades on this planet, he was sure he had never heard that particular compliment pointed towards him.
But you insisted. “You are. Your eyes, your hair, your cheeks, your nose…you're breathtaking, Bruce. How did you not know that?”
The thing was, he did know. At least, he knew he was conventionally attractive. But it sounded like new information when uttered by your lips. Like a revelation he was unaware of.
Bruce suddenly leant in and desperately grasped your hand, revelling in the way your smile turned crooked and your hand grasped your swollen middle.
“I want to see you again,” he confessed lowly, like it was a secret, like his emotions weren’t leaking out of his wrists, turning towards your sunshine.
“We haven’t even finished eating yet.”
“Please.”
“...Me too,” you whispered.
“I want to take care of you,” he kept going, mind a mess.
“I know.”
“Will you let me?” Bruce prodded.
There was a pause where he prayed to everything he ever knew that you would— that you would— until.
“Yes,” you smiled, choosing him.
And that, in itself, was precious too.