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It was dim in the Watchtower. Most of the lights were off, and the stars were prominent against the expanse of space.
Technically, Diana was here on Tower duty. Off the record, the Justice League had just faced Darkseid. The battle had been grueling. Most of the League had slunk home by now, exhausted, and now it was just her, Clark, and Bruce in varying states of quiet cooldown.
Clark was slumped in a chair, head resting on his arms against the table across from her- he hadn’t left his seat since the debrief. The red cape was pulled around him like a blanket, and he’d kicked his boots off. He was listening to the news through his headphones. But he changed channels whenever the battle came up, Diana noticed.
Bruce had taken his cowl off, leaving his hair fluffed and unruly, abandoning it as well as his belt, cape, and boots in a pile on the floor. Under the dim lighting, the shadows under his eyes were prominent; it didn’t help that he was sitting in the dimmest part of the room. He was sipping some unremarkable electrolyte drink- they all blended together for Diana. His primary occupation, though, was swiping at something on a tablet, expression pensive, the light reflecting off the planes of his face.
Diana, the only one to fully change out of her costume, had given up on her book about five minutes ago. And though the stars were beautiful, they could only entertain for so long. Sitting unoccupied was… a bad idea, right now.
Considering the two men before her, Diana caught Clark’s eye when he glanced up. She raised an eyebrow. Want to talk? she didn’t say.
He offered her an apologetic half-smile, more a hitch of his lips, really. Not right now, sorry, he meant.
Diana shrugged, ignoring the way her shoulder twinged. That’s okay. She cast a considering look toward the Bat. Should I?
Clark nodded slightly; go for it, it said. His eyes slipped closed, though he didn’t switch off his phone.
Reaching across the table, Diana brushed a soft hand over Clark’s knuckles, hearing his soft sigh. Then she slowly pushed herself out of her chair, careful not to upset any of her sore muscles. She shuffled toward Bruce, snagging a chair and sliding it next to him, but didn’t sit yet, choosing instead to lean against the table opposite his chair.
Bruce didn't look up. “Bored with Wuthering Heights already?”
“Maybe,” Diana replied casually. “I never could stand much prose. Entertain me.”
“Yes, your Highness,” Bruce said dryly. Maybe it was because he was exhausted, but Diana could hear the fondness in his tone.
“You know what I meant.” Diana ran a hand over his shoulders, smoothing the tension in them. “What are you doing?”
In reply, he tilted the screen so she could see it. A heart rate monitor. Eight of them, in a row, and next to them, pictures. Each one of them, Diana could recognize as a member of Bruce’s family, except one monitor at the bottom of the screen that didn’t have a picture. She and Bruce sat in silence for a moment, watching the asynchronous rhythms, breathing softly. Some pulses were faster than others, but all were steady and strong.
Diana broke the silence first. “Tell me about them?”
“You already know about my children.”
“I know,” she said, easing into her chair, “but tell me anyway. Pretend I’ve never heard about them. Who’s that?” She pointed to the first pulse.
Bruce’s mouth twitched upward. “Alright.” He clicked the corresponding picture, and it expanded, displaying a familiar, handsome masked face smiling at the camera with black, styled hair and tanned skin. “Who’s that?” Diana prompted again, smiling softly.
“That’s Dick,” Bruce rumbled, wearing the fond talking-about-the-kids look that only a few people knew him well enough to recognize. “He’s my firstborn, twenty-one years old. You might know him as Nightwing.”
“I might. I’ve heard impressive things about him. You must be very proud.”
“I am,” Bruce responded, clicking off Richard’s picture and pulled up another, next to one of the faster heart rates.
Another black-haired boy, balefully wearing a domino. He had freckles and thicker eyebrows, as well as a white streak in his hair. “This is Jason,” said the Bat quietly. “My nineteen year old. He’s on patrol right now, but I hear it’s a quiet night.”
Diana rubbed a hand up his arm. “He looks like a lovely young man. Resilient,” she added, thinking of Jason’s hard-fought recovery.
“He is,” Bruce intoned, already clicking the next picture. This one was of a girl, smiling sweetly under her domino, black hair jaggedly cut. The fondness rolling off Bruce was nearly tangible, even though he barely moved. Diana even saw Clark shooting warm glances at them. “This is Cass, my daughter. She’s also nineteen.”
“I’ve heard of her,” Diana noted, as if she really was unfamiliar with Cassandra. “She sounds like a very formidable warrior. Amazon material.”
“You can’t have her.”
“Why must you deprive me so,” she teased.
Bruce’s face scrunched in mock jealousy. “Mine.”
The next picture was next to the slowest heart rate. A pale teen with black locks that brushed his cheekbones. “Tim,” Bruce murmured, voice low as if somehow, Timothy would hear them and wake up. “He’s sixteen, and he’s on mandatory bed rest because he stayed up for four days solving a citywide caper case as Red Robin.”
“Smart young man.”
“Indeed.”
“Sounds a bit like you.”
“ Hn . Maybe. He’s the one who took all the photos.” Bruce swiped onto the next portrait- a dark-skinned youth smiling at the camera. “This is Duke, AKA Signal, my fifteen year old. He should also be asleep, he’s got patrol in two hours.” Diana hummed.
“Sounds like a dedicated young lad.”
“Of course.” Bruce pulled up the next picture. A blonde girl with a sharp smile.
“And this is?”
“Stephanie. The newest Batgirl. Technically not mine.”
“You didn’t adopt her?”
“I’ve been told I have an addiction,” Bruce deadpanned.
From his chair, Clark spoke up, having taken one of his headphones out. “You do. Only works on black haired kids.” Diana laughed softly, unphased when Bruce leveled them both with a flat look.
“He’s not wrong,” Diana pointed out, selecting the next picture herself. Another familiar face- this one an almond-skinned, spiky-haired boy. The expression on his face was sour, which just made him look more like the young child he was. Bruce’s own face softened again.
“This is my eleven year old, Damian. He’s Robin.”
“He looks very sweet.”
Bruce almost snorted. Clark actually did. “He would be very indignant if you said that to his face.”
“But it’s true.”
“Well. He is my son, after all.”
“Of course,” Diana agreed pleasantly. “And the last one?” she asked, referring to the pulse that didn’t have a picture. She could guess who it was…
“Alfred,” Bruce said. “My butler.”
Diana grinned. “I knew it.”
“I know you knew it.” Bruce turned his gaze on Clark. “Your turn.”
The Kryptonian huffed, smiling. “I don’t need a heart rate monitor. I can hear my boys. Both Kon and Jon are sound asleep. So’s Lois.”
“Lucky you,” grumbled Bruce.
“Am I detecting jealousy, Bruce?” Diana said slyly, earning another look . “Well, I don’t need to hear or see Cassie’s pulse. I have faith in her abilities as a warrior.” She could imagine it, though- Cassie's pulse was always strong.
“Spoken like someone who has never had to pay for their worth of collateral damages before.”
“Your children aren’t exactly careful either,” Clark pointed out, stifling a yawn.
Bruce sniffed. “My children are exactly as destructive as they can afford to be. They have a limited insurance cost allowance.”
“I don’t think it counts as an allowance if you’re giving each kid millions each month.”
“Don’t tell me how to parent my kids. At least I can get better disguises than fake glasses.”
Diana settled in to watch the light bickering, boredom forgotten. The fatigue in the air only made the moment seem warm and sweet, and Diana knew the three of them would fall asleep soon. Later, there would be press conferences and reports and disgruntled officials to soothe, but tonight there was just the three of them, the good soreness of a battle well-fought, and the steady pulses of their loved ones.
High above them, the stars glittered against the endless night expanse.