Work Text:
Bruce is sitting at the edge of the bed when Clark wakes up.
He’s leaning up against the headboard with a book in hand, eyes scanning the pages in an unhurried manner and face for once lacking of any tension. It’s such a rare moment that Clark just stares for a few good minutes.
As if he hasn’t seen this thousands of times before.
Eventually Bruce notices the attention and turns to him with a smile. One that fills Clark with warmth and has him grinning right back.
One that always makes his heart ache in yearning .
“Good morning. You’re up early.” Clark says while shifting to lie on his stomach, head propped up against his arms.
Bruce raises a brow in response.
“What?”
“It’s three in the afternoon, Clark.”
Clark blinks, eyes moving to the clock hanging on the wall.
5:30 am.
“Oh… so it is.” Clark shrugs which causes Bruce to shake his head as if he’s exasperated with his companion’s antics. “What? If you didn’t want me sleeping in, you should have woken me up.”
“You say that now but the moment I so much as tap you to get your lazy ass up, you start pouting like a child. For someone who’s powered by sunlight, you sure are doing a fine job of avoiding it lately.” Bruce has fully closed his book by now to fold his arms across his chest, daring Clark to contradict his claim. Clark could, just for the sake of it. They’ve been bantering back and forth since the forming of the Justice League and by now, they’ve both come to know each other so well, it’d take much more than a few words to truly irritate either of them now. Still, it’s the truth that makes it out of Clark’s mouth rather than a teasing jab.
“Well lately, it’s been so comfortable that I couldn’t help it.”
And though Clark knows he should anticipate the effect his words will have, it still doesn’t quite prepare him for the way Bruce’s expression softens. He doesn’t say anything, but the way his body just relaxes, eyes filling with such affection it has Clark feeling breathless. He’s always thought Bruce was handsome, but times like these when there are no defenses, no snarls or need to prove anything-no Batman-just Bruce… Clark could never tear his gaze away.
Bruce Wayne has always been so heartbreakingly beautiful .
He could feel his eyes stinging, and he lets out a short laugh to distract himself.
There’s a script to follow .
“And besides, aren’t older people more susceptible to the cold? I’m actually doing you a favor by keeping you warm.”
There’s a slight pause, in which Bruce’s gaze suddenly forms into a glare but it’s nowhere near deadly and Clark can see the humor still swimming in his eyes so he’s plastered on a cheeky grin.
“Really? We’re going there?”
Clark pretends to think about it but then shrugs and in response to his unrepentant expression, Bruce scoffs as if he were truly insulted. He takes a swipe at Clark’s head, who dodges by planting his face into the sheets. This way it also doubles in muffling his laughter.
“I don’t have to take this.”
“No, no Bruce I’m just kidding-”
But when Clark looks up, Bruce is already gone. “...Bruce?”
The silence is almost deafening. Clark swallows harshly and counts to ten before throwing his legs over Bruce’s side of the bed to exit out of the room. The sheets are cold when they brush against him but he’s learned to ignore it.
His chest aches.
Bruce is standing in the kitchen when Clark enters. He has a look on his face Clark has seen many times-usually when he’s donning the Batman suit in front of a computer, going over complex calculations in his head. The fact that he’s doing it to an apple on the counter in black slacks and a simple white shirt is both so amusing for the silliness and heartwarming for the domesticity Clark needed perhaps a moment to compose himself.
He smiles, counts to ten and then asks, “What are you doing?”
Bruce turns to him with a puzzled expression.
“Clark? You’re home early.”
Clark shakes his head, “It’s already eight o’clock.”
Bruce blinks in surprise and glances at the clock.
“Oh. I must have lost track of time…”
Clark looks pointedly at the apple on the counter, sitting innocently enough. Bruce follows his gaze and huffed in annoyance to the unspoken question. Clark wants to comment about it, wants to ask what Bruce was planning on doing with the apple. Slice it for a snack? Bake it into a pie?
Follow the script.
“You know I didn’t mean it right? What I said earlier.”
Clark waits, forces himself not to fidget under Bruce’s stare. His face has gone blank-a look Clark knows he uses only when he is truly thinking about what he wants to say. Bruce is blunt, can be downright cruel sometimes but Clark knows he tries to be careful around the people he is close to. So he always tries to give Bruce all the time he needs to finally gather his words in return.
“Clark, there’s something we need to discuss.”
Bruce’s voice is serious, bordering on that low growl he uses whenever he takes on the Bat suit.
He’s learned to dread that tone .
When there is no forthcoming response Bruce suddenly takes a breath, shoulders straightened as if preparing for battle. His face is set with firm determination.
“When I’m gone-”
“No.”
“Clark-”
“No!”
“ Stop interrupting me.” Bruce growls, almost fully Batman now. His glare leaves no room for argument but Clark can’t see it. He’s shut his eyes and covered his ears.
But his memory is perfect. He knows how this plays out.
“Clark… listen to me.” It’s the tone, now soft and careful-as if Bruce is speaking to one of his children-that gets Clark to open his eyes. Bruce is smiling and though it’s gentle, it’s not a happy one.
“Bruce… please…” Clark begs.
But Bruce goes on as if he didn’t hear it.
“When I’m gone and you’re still here, you will move on.”
And suddenly Clark’s legs are too weak to support him. He crashes to his knees and doesn’t hear the floor crack upon impact. He’s too busy burying his face into his hands, breathing hard to keep from sobbing.
“Bruce, please… stop.”
But he never does.
“You’ll be devastated at first, of course. You’ll probably be sad… for a very long time and you might even stop caring about the world after a while.” Bruce’s voice is no longer steady. If Clark moved his hands, if he looked up, he knew he’d see the shocking sight of tears trailing down that handsome face.
“Bruce, please.”
Blunt. Cruel.
“But you’ll pull through. It might take-well… who knows. A month? A year? Ten?”
A hundred. A thousand.
“But you will . You will pick yourself back up.”
He still hasn’t.
“You’re Superman.”
He’s weak.
There’s a pause, Bruce has said his piece but Clark doesn’t move.
“You can speak now.”
The same scene over and over. Follow the script. But-
Clark finally gives in, lets the tears fall as he kneels on the ground. He’ll sound absolutely broken, he knows, but he can’t not say it-
“I miss you.”
He can’t see it but he knows Bruce is smiling, looking right past Clark.
He’s memorized this. Over and over.
“I love you too.”
Clark looks up. Bruce is gone. He waits.
A hundred years. A thousand. He’s lost count.
“Loading sequence number 327. Would you like to proceed, Kal-El?”
Clark closes his eyes. “Yes.”
“Please give ten seconds for start up.”
Clark breathes out a shaky sigh, wipes his eyes and counts to ten in his head.
“What are you doing?”
Clark turns slowly, a warm smile on his face even as his chest aches. At the doorway is Bruce, wearing his black silk pajamas and squinting tiredly at him. He’s barefoot, which explains why Clark wasn’t able to hear him coming closer.
The lies will never catch up to him here.
“Oh, did I wake you? I wanted a midnight snack.” Clark explains as he walks over.
“Seriously?” Bruce sighs, running his hand over his face to hide the amused smile he has on. The gold band on his ring finger catches the light, drawing Clark’s eyes to it. His heart clenches.
“Sorry.” he manages only barely not to choke on his words.
“Just come back to bed.” Bruce pauses then tilts his head, a small grin on his face, “Older people need warmth, remember?”
Clark laughs.
The lies will pile up. But the hollowness will never disappear.