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It was a particularly bad day for Clark, he was overstimulated, he had a headache, and the gender dysphoria he rarely got was hitting him hard because his binder had gotten ripped. All of this was making him irritable and grumpy, and he’d actually snapped at Perry earlier, which he felt bad about.
It didn’t help that he was stuck in a Justice League meeting, one of the mandatory, monthly ones that he usually had to play mediator for because the meetings usually made Hal pissy and irritable, and a pissy Hal was a troublesome Hal. This just served to add to Clarks irritation and Diana was starting to notice.
He thought maybe Bruce started to notice as well, but everyone noticed when Hal spoke again.
“I really don’t see a point to these meetings or why we all have to attend-”
“For the love of Rao, shut up .”
Everyone turned to stare at Clark and Hal looked deeply offended, and maybe a little scared. It wasn’t every day that Clark snapped at people, especially others in the Justice League. He had really avoided it when the JL was first formed, when Bruce still had his reservations about Clark suddenly turning evil.
Clark exhaled sharply, intending it as a sigh, but it came out as an exasperated huff.
“Sorry.”
They all continued to stare, making him acutely aware that he wasn't wearing his usual binder but instead had wrapped himself in some heavy-duty bandages from the med-bay. It was less effective, and it made his chest more noticeable than he would have liked.
“What.”
He could hear everyone's heartbeats, the blood rushing through their veins, the air they pushed and pulled through their lungs. He turned and stalked out of the meeting hall, trying to distance himself from all of the noise . He just wanted to find a quiet little corner to curl up in and breathe.
Bruce was following him, his familiar, yet intrusive bootsteps echoing behind Clark. His heartbeat sounded like drums in Clarks ears. He didn’t bother trying to evade the Bat; Bruce would find him no matter where he went on the Watchtower.
Clark made it to the furthest room he could from the meeting hall, the sound of the automatic door opening grating in his ears. He sat down, his back to the wall furthest from the door and pulled his legs up to his chest so that he could rest his forehead on his knees.
He was waiting for Bruce to walk in and ask Clark what his problem was, or reprimand him for interrupting the meeting, or antagonizing Hal, or something .
None of that happened when Bruce stepped in the room, instead the man just locked the door, sat on the floor in front of Clark with his legs criss-crossed, and waited.
He waited while Clark took deep breaths and tried to get his damn dysphoria under control because Clark was sure he was overreacting. His binder had torn, but he had a replacement on the way. It would only be a day or so. Then he wouldn’t feel an ache deep in his soul because he wasn’t born with a body that matched the way he felt.
His breath shuddered on an inhale, and got a little stabler on the exhale.
Bruce inhaled, preparing to speak, and Clark braced himself for a reprimand.
“What's wrong?”
What?
“What?” Clark looked up at Bruce, who had removed his cowl and now looked concerned.
“I asked what’s wrong, you’ve been acting off and you’ve never snapped at Hal for complaining before.”
Clark winced, “I’m just a little overstimulated, is all. It’s different for me, super hearing and all.”
“That's not all.”
Dammit, Bruce. It didn’t necessarily surprise Clark that the other man had noticed something else was off, but he wasn’t really expecting Bruce to call him out on his half-truth.
“I…” Clark didn’t know if Bruce knew that Clark was born as a biological woman, well, the Kryptonian equivalent of a human woman. He didn’t think Bruce would treat him differently, but then again, Clark didn’t know what Bruce's views on queer people were, he’d never bothered to ask.
“My…binder got ripped the other day.” Clark flushed a bit, it sounded like such a silly thing to be upset about. “The dysphoria because of it is affecting me much more than it usually would.”
Bruce blinked, he looked momentarily stunned. “I wasn’t aware that you were not biologically male.”
“I didn’t give you reason to think otherwise.” Clark said, watching as Bruce observed his tense, defensive posture.
They sat in a quiet, slightly awkward silence.
“I guess you wouldn’t be able to get any sort of surgery, because of your invulnerability.” Now, Bruce looked thoughtful, but he didn’t stare at Clarks chest. He just watched Clarks face for his reaction.
“No. It’s frustrating, but I can live with it.” Clark narrowed his eyes. “Why do you care?”
Bruce didn’t say anything for a second, and when he did, he changed the subject. “I could make you a more durable binder, for when you’re Superman, and a less durable one for when you’re Clark Kent.”
It was Clarks turn to blink, stunned. “You would do that?”
Bruce’s head tilted to the side in a way that reminded Clark of an owl. “I don’t see any reason why I shouldn’t, unless you don’t want me too.”
Clark actually considered the offer. It would be nice to have a more durable binder that wouldn’t rip as easily if he got thrown into a building, which is something that happens often enough that replacing binders has gotten a little annoying. He didn’t need Bruce to make one for civilian Clark Kent, though he did suppose that it would be nice to have a better fitting one.
“Sure, yes. That-that would be nice, actually.” He winced at the stuttering, but this wasn’t a conversation he was expecting to have.
Bruce nodded, “I’ll have a lead-lined room made, so you can have somewhere to go that won’t overwhelm you.”
His tone didn’t leave much room for argument, which was fine, Clark hadn’t been planning on arguing that idea. Clark was pretty sure Bruce had filled his quota for emotionally charged conversations for the week, so all he did was breathe a quiet ‘thank you’ before letting his head rest on the wall behind him.
He went back to breathing slowly, reining in his hearing until he was only concentrating on the sounds within the room. He knew it made Bruce uneasy when he listened to his heartbeat, but what Bruce didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Clark used it to focus on a steady, consistent noise.
Eventually, he wrinkled his nose, “I should probably apologize to Hal for snapping at him, right?”
“You don’t have to.”
Clark barked a sharp laugh, his eyes opening to look at Bruce.
“I don’t have to, but I’m going too. It’s the polite thing to do.”
Bruce squinted at him, or at least did the Bruce-microexpression of squinting, “Sure, Kansas, if you insist.”
Clark had the brief thought about introducing Bruce to Ma. Now wouldn't that be an interesting experience.