Chapter Text
Clark
Bruce doesn’t come back to our room until it’s well past decent hours. His presence fluctuates the atmosphere of the already cool bedroom colder, and I listen with my back to him as he climbs into his bed with a heavy sigh. I listen to his breathing long enough to hear it go level with sleep, and I finally let myself release the breath I hadn’t known I was holding. Even just having him in the same room with me again is a bit like being kicked in the stomach, and I sit nursing my self-pity for long minutes, pondering his breath and listening to our earlier conversation playing on repeat through my thoughts.
Even just listening to my words threading over and over again in my mind makes me want to scream with frustration. It was so stupid, so fucking idiotic, to think that Bruce would respond well to a head on approach. I knew it the moment I confessed my feelings and his eyes flitted wide with panic. Hell, I knew it before that, when he stubbornly refused to meet my gaze all evening. I squeeze my eyes shut in irritation, hearing my voice cracking in my memories like some lovesick puppy.
What did you expect, Clark? That he would want to link hands and sing kumbaya with you over a romantic bottle of wine? Did you honestly think he would ever admit he has feelings for you?
God, yes! Yes, it’s what I had stupidly expected. Maybe not an outright admission, but perhaps something softer than what I was given. Of course, who am I kidding? This is Bruce. He’s the most intelligent man in any room, capable of solving just about any puzzle you put in front of him, but you’d have catch him on his deathbed to get him to confront any sort of emotional baggage. He’s always been content to let things fester and rot, rather than dealing with them. It’s what makes him so good at his job, and also what makes being his friend so hard. You have to be okay with running into wall after wall after wall, because you know, eventually, you’ll find a door. Eventually, you’ll break through even scar tissue and false gusto that you’ll find the real him. And it will all be worth it.
When did I cease being okay with walls and start wanting doors?
I turn onto my back with a sigh, watching the ceiling as the light starts shifting towards dawn. Bruce’s breathing is still deep and measured, and I risk a quick glance in his direction. His features are hazy in sleep, relaxed and faded like worn jeans. His lips are parted in a slight snore, his midnight hair disarrayed and unkempt. He shifts, scowls in his sleep, and buries his face in the down pillow with a sigh.
The anger in me softens, and in its place, that cool, deadly bit of sorrow makes itself known. I feel it like a pair of fingers climbing up my stomach, making nausea turn in the pit of my abdomen, and I press the heel of my palm to my sternum to stem the pain growing. It doesn’t help. In fact, it only seems to grow.
I suppose it was about a year ago that I really noticed a change. Whereas I had always noted Bruce with respect, some physical attraction, and certain fondness, I had chalked it up to friendly admiration. I had decided not to broach the chemistry between us out of fear, and I’d been content to just be his best friend, because truly, it had been enough. The bond between us was strong, but it hadn’t been something I needed to take further. I’d been satisfied with the silence.
But then…things had started shifting.
I started dreaming about being involved with one another physically and emotionally a few times a week. Whereas passing thoughts had been common and unbothersome, I was suddenly consumed with nighttime fantasies and daydreams of friends turned lovers. I told myself it was just hormonal changes or maybe it was because I hadn’t dated in so long…I was desperate, right? It meant nothing in the grand scheme of things.
So I ignored it. I buried it deep inside myself because I didn’t think it was possible. It faded into my subconscious and I discarded my thoughts of us ever becoming something more. I reasoned that my increased attachment was just another level of friendship, and not, in fact, blooming feelings of love.
But if there’s one thing I’m not, it’s unaware of myself.
And this newest development, this confirmation that we could exist…it changes things for me. It renews all those feelings I smothered out of fear, and it validates them.
I shift out of bed before the night has fully shifted into the day, when the world is still a haze of peachy purples and mourning doves lingering outside window panes. I creep from the bedroom in my borrowed pajamas, trying not to glance at Bruce when I slip out the door. I fail entirely, and I spend the next few minutes with my thoughts replaying his sleeping figure juxtaposed with his harsh words, over and over. Like watching a tragic play based solely on irony from front row seats, only I didn’t buy the tickets.
It would be so much better if I could just shut my mind off.
I sigh heavily when I make it to the kitchen, my thoughts already deviating to images of breakfast food. It’s early enough that I’ll likely have the run of the pantry. I’m surprised then when I round the corner and find Kent leaning out of the fridge with a bowl of cereal tucked into his elbow.
He notes my presence with a friendly smile that is still shockingly reflective of my own, dipping his chin as he pours milk over his corn flakes, “Morning.”
I clear my throat, trying to smother the awkward flare of anxiety that tries to crop up in my middle. “Oh, hey.”
I step around him to the pantry, opening it and staring at the myriad of sugary cereals organized neatly by color. I pull out the lucky charms and pour myself a bowl, trying to ignore the silent study of Kent from across the kitchen island. I can tell he’s noting my appearance, probably wondering why I look so godawful tired. Maybe he knows already.
It’s when I’ve settled a few barstools away from him with my own cereal that he sniffs and lays his spoon down. “Long night?”
I shift uncomfortably, lifting a shoulder. Normally, I would be more inclined to strike up a conversation with myself, if only for the sake of curiosity. But I’m sleep-deprived and feeling just a little bit jealous that this version of myself gets to have all the happiness and domestic tranquility that I am so desperately starved for. If I could be physically green with envy, I would be.
I see Kent adjust on his barstool on my periphery, settling his forearms on the countertop with a soft sigh, “Look, I, uh…I wanted to say sorry for asking if you two were together last night.” I keep my eyes on my cereal, watching the colored marshmallows dissolve in the milk with too much curiosity as he continues. “Bruce and I talked last night, and I…well, I know I probably made you two really uncomfortable by assuming.”
I shake my head, feeling quite small when I murmur, “No, it’s alright. We weren’t offended.”
Kent nods, and I find myself looking up to him without my permission. It’s hard to feel too jealous when he looks so penitent. “Well, even so. I sometimes forget that our dimensional counterparts aren’t the same us, and when you two showed up looking so…”
I hold my breath, “So…”
He shrugs, expression shifting towards chagrin as he offers a small smile, “Friendly…comfortable with each other, I guess? I just assumed you two were a couple.”
I nod, struggling to reign in my heart rate which has been steadily climbing for the past few minutes. I set my spoon down in my unfinished cereal. “It’s okay, really. You couldn’t have known.”
We fall silent for a moment, and the kitchen begins to feel like an old chapel with the light seeping in through the windows. Dawn in the Wayne manor is always painted in soft hues of color, undisturbed by Gotham’s fog, and it’s a truly beautiful sight when you catch it at the right time. Dust motes and beams of weak morning light, the birds singing just beyond midcentury glass and ivy climbing over old stones. The sound of the surf beating against timeworn rocks and the gentle drip of the leaky garden hose outside the back door. Quiet, peaceful, warm. It feels like home.
It grows so peaceful between us that I hardly mind when Kent leans back in his chair, blue gaze flickering over to me hesitantly. My jealousy is fading into something painful and gentle, more like yearning and a strange sort of gratitude. It’s as if I know one of us enjoying a happy ending is better than none.
It takes Kent a moment to speak again, but I’m not surprised when he takes a sip of his tea and inhales softly. “Was he upset?”
I blink up from my cereal, disintegrating into colored milk and soggy remnants. “Who?”
Kent lifts a brow, “Bruce. When you confronted him…was he upset?”
I don’t know why it shocks me that he knows, but it does. I sit in befuddled silence for a moment, feeling like I’m sitting beneath a very discerning microscope. I shift uncomfortably. “How do you know I confronted him?”
“Let’s just say I have a bit of experience in having that particular conversation…and you two were making eyes at each other all night after you found out we were engaged.” Kent doesn’t seem fazed when I look to him with wide eyes, and he just shrugs lightly, expression soft with understanding, “Let me guess, you confronted him, and he curled into his shell like he always does. Got defensive, angry, and probably attacked you with some verbal barbs, right?”
I nod mutely. God, this conversation is unnerving.
Kent sighs, scrubbing a hand through his hair, “I suspected as much. Have you ever heard of sister dimensions?”
I lift a shoulder, “Bruce has mentioned them a few times, but never gone into detail. I was never interested enough to ask further.”
“To put in concisely, sister dimensions are two states of reality that are only separated by very small details. So minute that their past and future are nearly identical. Think of them as…fraternal twins in cosmic terms.” Kent taps his fingers on the countertop, brows knitting into a slight frown, “Bruce, my Bruce I mean…he told me that he identified your dimension when he detected your energy signatures. It’s a sister dimension to ours, which is another reason I assumed you two were involved. Theoretically speaking…”
I swallow, feeling a bit like I stood up too fast. My head is spinning. “Theoretically speaking, we should be together.”
“Yeah…but you’re also a few years behind us in your timeline. You’re, what, thirty years old?” When I nod quietly, he shrugs, squinting against the morning light that has begun slanting through the kitchen windows, “I’m thirty-three, so our dimension has a head start.”
I blink, trying to form a coherent sentence. I manage only a stilted, “But…how…”
Kent shakes his head, taking a deep draught of his tea. “Don’t ask me. I’m only repeating what Bruce told me yesterday.”
It falls quiet once more, and I’m immensely glad that Kent is giving me a moment to process this new information. It changes things again, knowing this. Like tectonic plates shifting us closer to one another, I can feel reality rock back on its heels and settle into a new balance. The pain beneath my breastbone blossoms into something dangerously similar to hope. It fills me with equal parts trepidation and sadness that I’m so easily brought back to childish hope, to believing in the impossible. It means it will hurt that much more when Bruce crushes those hopes again.
But I just can’t seem to help it. The hope, the want crying out from deep inside me, is too strong to ignore.
I pray silently that Bruce will see logic enough to recognize the strands of fate winding us together, because from where I’m sitting…it’s undeniable that something stronger than mere attraction is pulling us in.
Kent rises a few moments later to make another mug of tea, and when he returns to the kitchen island, he’s carrying two mugs. He sets one down in front of me, and I take it gratefully, sipping the Earl Grey as he settles on the stool next to me.
I assess him for a moment, trying to ignore the curiosity plucking at the strings in my mind. I give up when the silence stretches too long for comfort, and instead clear my throat. “So, um…how did you two…”
“Become involved?”
I nod, feeling a bit silly for being unable to say it outright. I suppose with time I could become more comfortable with the verbiage, but it still feels a bit forbidden.
Kent inhales softly, and his expression slips almost immediately into the warm tones of memory, warm like butterscotch. “We were best friends for a long time. Always had feelings for each other, but we never talked about it. I guess we both figured that if we didn’t say it, it didn’t exist. You know how well that works out.” He chuckles, a light sound that feels like spring rain, “But it became harder to ignore the older we got. We’d both stopped dating and people started to suspect we were together before we’d even talked about it. It became a JLA inside joke that we were…affiliated.”
He shrugs, swirling the tea in his mug absently. “I was okay with not taking things further for a long time, and honestly, I was terrified he wouldn’t reciprocate my feelings if I ever spoke about them, so I kept quiet. But, eventually, I…well, I broke. I cornered him after a JLA meeting in his quarters and demanded we have a frank discussion about our relationship.”
I smile lightly, lifting a brow, “I imagine that went well?”
Kent laughs outright, gaze mirthful when he takes a swallow of tea again, “Suffice it say he didn’t talk to me for a couple weeks. He avoided me like the black plague and I avoided him out of shame. I thought I had imagined everything, and naturally, that I had singlehandedly destroyed our entire friendship over a crush.” He rubs his chin thoughtfully, eyes softening to jean blue. “And then one day he just…showed up at my apartment. Went on a rage about how I had complicated everything and that I was going to regret getting involved with him. God, he was mad. Scared out of his mind that I was going to wake up one day and hate him. Scared that he would break me if we took things further. I, naturally, told him how crazy that was. That I was in love with him. That nothing could change that.”
I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until he doesn’t continue, and I’m forced to clear my throat, “And then what happened?”
“Well, then he kissed me.” Kent offers a smile that could be the picture of blissful memory, and the expression is utterly contented, so wrought with joy and shared memories, that I feel a stab of pain in my middle. What I wouldn’t give for that.
He lets out a soft breath, gaze drifting over to mine as he rises from the memory, “And the rest is history.”
It’s unspoken, but I hear it even so when he smiles at me calmly. And maybe, just maybe, it’ll be your history too.
I stare at him, feeling like a kid hanging onto a fairytale. It shimmers between us, the possibility of what might someday be a similar future, and I try desperately to cling to it. If it were possible, I would grab handfuls of that hope, that whimsical kind of assurance, and keep it with me. Just for the days, like today, when I know I have to face Bruce. When I know that I can’t give up on us, not just yet.
Because if this is the future we have waiting for us…why wouldn’t we take the risk? I would be a fool to run from fate. I just hope Bruce agrees.