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There is a particular kind of strangeness in falling asleep next to your boyfriend, hands clasped loosely between the two of you, and waking up to a baby occupying the space that had suddenly appeared amidst said hands.
“Bruce?”
Bruce grunts, pushing his face farther into the pillows.
“Bruce, wake up,” he tries again and Bruce must have heard that tremble in his voice, the slight panic he is feeling, because his partner blinks both eyes open instead of just one. And then, there is not much to explain, because Bruce sets his own eyes upon the baby and scowls.
It only gets stranger when Clark lifts his hand and there is tissue connecting it to the baby. Palm to navel. An umbilical cord; or something that looks like it.
Bruce’s scowl deepens as he removes his hand from underneath the child, moving it around, inspecting it from front to back. “It doesn’t appear to be connected to me, at least,” he says and then bends over the baby to take a closer look at the umbilical cord.
Clark pushes down the blanket still covering them. The baby — the boy — looks a little too old to be a new-born human, although what did Clark know? He is connected to his palm, for goodness’ sake. There is no reason he should look exactly like a human baby.
“I’ll get Alfred,” Bruce tells him. “He should have some clue about what to do with this.”
Bruce gets up, leaving the boy with Clark and Clark with an influx of worried thoughts ringing through his mind.
It takes Bruce four minutes to return with a medical kit and Alfred in tow. Another minute to sterilise a pair of scissors and clamps and to cut the cord. He watches in wonder as the part of the cord connected to his hand merges back into his body, and then watches in wonder as Alfred pulls out some fresh linen from their closet and improvises a diaper for the child.
Bruce, who has quietly been watching from the end of the bed, clears his throat. “We should drive to the Hall. Victor can analyse the kid and perhaps even find out where it came from.”
And Victor does find out where he came from. Although a lot of the files of the Kryptonian ship are corrupted to the point of no return, there is something about him — about the motherbox within him — that can look past that corruption and find the information they need.
“He’s healthy,” Victor says after he’s finished, “and born through natural processes.”
There is a part of Clark that doesn’t want to know more. It’s unreasonable, he knows, but it’s just that, when he looks at this child, he’s so glad to hear that one word, to hear that it wasn’t anything bad. No evil mastermind who implanted a kid in his hand, no magician who cursed him.
There is a part of Clark that doesn’t want to know more, but he can see the frown starting on Bruce’s face, can see his lips form around the word ‘natural’. But before the word can leave his mouth, their unasked questions are already answered.
“Natural, but magical. There is magic in and around everyone,” he says as a projection of the four of them appears in the air above the table they occupy. Their bodies are slightly translucent, with a faint, blue shimmer running through them and swirling across their skin. “On earth, this magic rarely comes into play, especially not in childbirth, but it was more common in Kryptonians. Because this type of birth was still very rare, it was seen as a gift from Rao.”
The projection changes to show a pair of hands and the space between them grows with the growing of the child in their middle. Clark thinks that the bright blue enveloping the baby is the most breath-taking sight he has ever laid eyes upon. Then he looks down at the baby still lying on the table, bundled up in the softest towels they were able to find, and is reminded of how wrong that thought is.
“You can either accept or reject the gift.”
It takes them a moment to understand the sentence, but when they do, they seize up in unison.
“Reject? Reject the gift? You mean to say—”
“No, Bruce. The baby’s simply not fully corporeal at this point. He’s more magic than anything else. And he’s your magic. He’s made from the two of you, from something that you won’t gain back if you decide to accept him. According to the files, there were some Kryptonians who have opted against losing part of their own magic for a child they didn’t ask for nor want. If you accept him, he’ll slowly become more corporeal and he’ll gain his own magic. If you reject him, the magic will return to you. It’ll be as if he never really existed. And in terms of magic, he doesn’t exist as a person at this point.”
Clark has to admit that this explanation isn’t very reassuring. He doesn’t know what to do. And when he looks at the kid and sees for himself that Victor is right, he isn’t corporeal yet, his indecision only grows.
Apparently finished, Victor gets up. “You have two days to decide. The acceptance is an automatic process, but there’s a rejection ritual, something to pull your combined magic apart. Call me if you need to figure that one out.”
As he disappears, Clark’s gaze is still focussed on the tiny face peeking out of the white towels. It’s nothing but magic, but this little boy is scrunching up his nose and Clark can’t help but smile. He raises his hand and lays gentle fingers on it, strokes those red cheeks. Incorporeal. That doesn’t mean it feels like it. He feels warm, soft. Real.
“What will you do now?”
The sudden question pulls him out of his thoughts.
“You want to let me decide?”
A raised eyebrow and an incredulous expression.
“He’s yours.”
Oh, Bruce...
Only he could come to this conclusion. Only Bruce Wayne could regard all the facts and get hung up on, what, the Kryptonian aspects of it? The umbilical cord being connected to Clark only?
“He’s ours. It’s as much your decision as it’s mine.”
He hopes there is enough conviction in his voice to get it through Bruce’s thick head and into his mind. Clark doesn’t care about what might be usual for humans. Without the addition of Bruce’s magic, this wouldn’t have happened.
Bruce pushes a hand through his hair, then bends down to follow Clark’s lead and gently stroke over his round cheeks.
“I’d like to keep him if that’s fine with you.”
Clark blinks but is careful to try not to let his surprise spook Bruce.
“Just like that? We have two more days to make a decision, don’t you want to use those? Figure out if we’re… ready?”
“You know how it is, Clark. No one’s ever ready for a kid.” Spoken like someone who knows what he’s talking about.
“Right. You’re right.” Clark chuckles, a little overwhelmed, maybe even more so than when he first woke up to a baby on their bed. He shakes his head. “This wasn’t quite how I’d seen my life going. Can’t say I’m not intrigued by it, though.”
“He’s a miracle, isn’t he? One made just for us.”
It’s said so tenderly and with such amazement showing on his face that Clark can only agree.
All they can do is accept.
Quietly thanking Rao, Clark picks up their son to bring him home again.