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Chapter 1: The News

Inside the Daily Planet the sounds of keyboards and insistent ringing of telephones was a familiar comfort. It was a sound as familiar as a heartbeat to Clark.

It has been months since his and Bruce's lavish wedding and even more beautiful honeymoon. Clark was fumbling with a stack of papers, almost dropping them for the third time that morning. His movements, usually a picture of practiced grace, were more awkward. Even his posture is a little more hunched. He has an even bigger secret…bigger than the one his close friend already knew about.

Lois, sitting in her desk chair, watched him from across the room. Clark always had that clumsiness about him, a trait that she had grown to love. But today, he looked... off. A faint sheen of sweat on his brow, a hesitant hand that kept straying to his stomach. He even looked pale, a fact that would be laughable for anyone else, but for Superman, it was cause for alarm.

As he walked past her desk, lost in his own thoughts, Lois moved quickly. She snagged his arm and pulled him into the nearest empty office, shutting the door behind them with a soft click. The sudden movement caught him completely off guard, and he stumbled, his hand flying to his stomach. He looked up at her, his eyes wide and a bit glassy.

"Whoa, easy there, Smallville," she said, her voice dropping to a concerned whisper. "What's going on with you? You look like you're about to lose your lunch. What are you hiding?"

Clark shook his head, a weak smile on his lips. "It's nothing, Lois, I just..." He trailed off, his hand still gently rubbing his abdomen. A familiar wave of nausea rolled through him, and he leaned back against the wall, trying to steady himself.

Lois's gaze hardened…her voice dropped to above a whisper. "Okay, something's seriously wrong, Clark. Superman doesn't get sick. Have you been around Kryptonite? Are you hurt? Tell me what's wrong or I will keep talking."

He looked at her, and the weight of his secret felt too heavy to carry alone. He had to tell her. She was his best friend. His heart was pounding in his ears. He took a deep, shuddering breath and met her eyes.

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Chapter 2: The Secret Revealed 

"Lois," he began in a wobbly whisper, "I... I'm pregnant."

For a moment, the only sound was the muffled clatter of the newsroom outside the closed door. Lois’s mind, a razor-sharp instrument of logic and reason, struggled to process the impossible words. She opened her mouth, closed it, and then opened it again, a single, disbelieving syllable escaping her lips. "What?"

"I'm going to have a baby," he rephrased, a little louder this time, a plea for her to understand. His hand, still resting on his stomach, pressed a little harder, as if to confirm the reality of it all to himself. "I'm five months along."

Lois's eyes, usually so sharp and analytical, went soft with shock and a hint of a familiar, old pain. She looked at him, then at his stomach, and then back at his face. She saw the truth of it in the paleness of his skin and the genuine shock in his eyes.

The journalist wanted to ask a thousand questions: How is this possible? Bruce Wayne is going to be a father? Clark is actually capable of carrying a child?! How did he hide it from her?

She simply took a shaky step back. Her heart was filled with unspoken feelings, and memories of all the times he rescued her….being in his strong arms flashed before her eyes.

The hurt of him choosing someone else for a life she wanted, a family she wanted, was a cold, bitter taste in her mouth. She swallowed it down, replacing it with a hard, impenetrable mask.

"Well…I mean wow. Congratulations!”, she paused, stepping closer to him. She reached out her hands pulling him into a hug.

“That's certainly... something I didn't expect." She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, then headed to the door, her hand on the doorknob. "We should get back, Clark. If you're up to it….we can talk about this later."

She opened the door, and the roar of the newsroom flooded back in, drowning out the silent pain and the unspoken truth. Clark stood alone in the small office, his hand still on his stomach, the weight of his secret no longer a burden, but a terrifying reality.

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Chapter 3: A Gotham Lunch

Later that afternoon, the Gotham skyline glittered under a crisp, autumn sun. At an exclusive rooftop restaurant, Clark sat in front of Bruce, 

"I still can't believe you managed to get a table here," Clark said, a smile playing on his lips as he took a sip of water. "I thought this place had a three-month waiting list."

"It does," Bruce replied, his lips curving into a rare, genuine smile. "But a three-month waiting list is no match for a Wayne reservation." He watched Clark, a quiet content in his eyes. "How was your morning at the Planet?"

Clark’s smile faltered slightly. He set his glass down, his hand slowly going to his stomach. "It was... interesting. I ran into Lois...well actually she pulled me into an office, but still." 

Bruce's face remained impassive. "And?"

Clark hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "I told her. About the baby."

A flicker of concern, a flash of surprise, crossed Bruce's face before he reasserted his control. "Clark, you should have waited. It's a risk. With all the..." He trailed off, the unspoken dangers of their lives hanging in the air.

"I know," Clark said, a tired sigh escaping him. "I know it was a risk. But she's my best friend, Bruce. I had to tell her. I couldn't just keep it a secret from her." He looked at Bruce, a flicker of hope in his eyes. "And from what I got from it, she's... she's happy for us. She's really quite happy."

Bruce didn't reply for a moment. He studied Clark's face, searching for a hint of doubt. "She said that?"

"She did," Clark insisted, the sincerity in his voice absolute. "She was a little shocked at first, but she was... she was happy. I think she really is."

A small, genuine smile returned to Bruce's face. He knew their friendship was important to Clark, he needed to tell someone.

"Then I'm happy too," Bruce said, reaching across the table to take Clark's hand. For a moment, all was right with their world. "You must be starving, let's get this lunch going....oh waiter!"

Bruce lifted his hand slightly into the air, a signal for their waiter. He knew of Clark's appetite, especially now with the baby. And he could not be happier.

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Chapter 4: A Quiet Moment

A few weeks later, Clark found himself a moment of peace in the expansive gardens of Wayne Manor. The sun was a regenerative warmth and a comfort he hadn't fully appreciated until these past months.

He walked slowly, his hands resting on his baby bump. The six month bump was noticeable under his clothes, but he could also feel the subtle changes deep in his body. 

He closed his eyes, as a thought ran through his mind. He could use his X-ray vision to see inside, to see his child. The thought was instantly followed by a wave of guilt. He had to respect Bruce, this was a shared experience, a life they were creating together. He opened his eyes, pushing the thought away.

"Clark?" Bruce's voice, a soft rumble, broke him from his reverie. He was striding down the path, his tie loosened, a rare, tired smile on his face. "I left the board meeting early…I well… I couldn't stop thinking about you."

He reached Clark, his hand immediately going to his, a silent question in his eyes. "Are you alright?"

"I am," Clark replied, a small smile of his own gracing his lips. "Just…thinking. Thinking that I really want to see them.”

Bruce nodded, understanding without words. He led Clark away from the manicured gardens, towards the house. "I have an idea," he said in a loving, low whisper. "Something I've been working on."

He brought Clark to their bedroom, the large, luxurious space a haven of soft light and warm colors. He began to set up a sleek, portable ultrasound machine beside the bed.

"I couldn't stand the thought of waiting another month for our next appointment either," he said, as looked over Clark. His eyes shined with so much happiness and love at his idea. "I've modified this unit to be as gentle and effective as possible, even through your dense cellular structure. We can see them here at home."

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Chapter 5: First Glimpse

"Alright," Bruce said, his voice gentle as he adjusted the screen on the ultrasound machine. He helped Clark gently lay back onto the plush king size mattress.

Clark shifted on the bed, and pulled up his sweater and under shirt. "You modified it? " he whispered and laughed, his little belly bobbing as he did, “of course you did.”

"Yes, I've made sure it's calibrated correctly," Bruce replied, his lips curving into a rare, genuine smile. He placed a hand on Clark's belly, before he picked up the cold, clear gel. "This should give both of us a look at our little one and make sure everything is going the way it should."

Clark smiled as Bruce spread the gel over his abdomen. The cold liquid was a familiar sensation, “Still not used to the gel.”

Bruce smiled as he picked up the transducer, “now no laughing, just relax.”

He held the probe against Clark’s skin, and a grainy, ethereal image appeared on the screen.

The room filled with the soft, rapid thump-thump-thump of a tiny heartbeat. Bruce’s focused expression instantly softened into one of awe, “very strong beat and…” He leaned in, his gaze fixed on the screen.

"There!" Bruce nearly shouts as he marks the top of the baby's head to its bottom. "And by the measurements….right on schedule.”

Clark watched the screen, a tear welling in his eye. It was still so unreal, so miraculous. "They are really doing well in there, aren't they?” he whispered, a contented sigh escaping him. "Just floating....it almost looks as if they are flying."

Bruce shifted the probe slightly, the image on the screen turning. He paused and a soft gasp. "Well, what do you know," he said, a new note of wonder in his voice. "Our little one is cooperating perfectly today. It's a boy, Clark."

Clark’s head snapped towards the screen, his eyes widening. A boy. Their son. Bruce, seeing the awe on Clark's face, felt his own composure crack. He leaned down, closing his eyes and placed a long, deep, and emotional kiss on Clark's lips. It was a kiss that held all his fears, all his hopes, all his love. He pulled back, his forehead resting against Clark's. For a moment, all was silent except for the rhythmic thump of their son's heart.

Finally, he lifted the transducer and wiped the gel from Clark's stomach with a warm cloth. The quiet ritual was over, but the warmth of it remained.

Clark took off his glasses, and wiped his eyes, watching Bruce clean the transducer.

"Simply amazing, my love, thank you. Now we both can see him whenever we want.”

He placed his frames back on and his brow raised up at a jolt from his belly, a kick.

“Don't think he liked being shown off like that…come here. Feel.”

Bruce put down the transducer and sat on the edge of the bed beside Clark. He placed his hand gently on Clark's belly and waited. Then a kick!

His hand jumped a bit, but immediately back down firmly cupping his child. He leaned down kissing Clark's warm firm belly, “we are so happy to have seen you, our sweet boy. This is your Daddy's voice, you just be nice and happy in there and grow strong.”

Clark smiled letting out a soft contented sigh as he ran his fingers through Bruce's hair, “..now, don't forget we have our lunch date tomorrow," Clark said moving his hand as Bruce sat up, "I’ll be sure to remind Lois, too. She loves hearing about my strange cravings.”

"I haven't forgotten,," Bruce said, a small smile on his lips. "It's already saved in my planner, I wouldn't miss our lunch for the world, besides you are the one who is always late" He placed a soft kiss on Clark’s forehead and chuckled softly. "Now, let's get our son something to eat. I'm sure Alfred has something ready."

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Chapter 6: A Day Of Mishaps

The small café in Metropolis was a cozy haven of warm light and the soft murmur of conversation. An unusual rain, a steady curtain of gray, streaked down the large window, making the city outside seem a world away. A sign of unease through the once bright, shining city. Bruce and Clark sat across from each other at a small, round table, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and a faint whisper of baked goods filling the air.

Clark, a whirlwind of apologies, finally settled into his chair, a glass of water already in his hand. “I am so, so sorry, love,” he said, his words tumbling out in a rush. “You’re not going to believe what happened today.”

Bruce’s lips curved into a soft smile. “Try me.”

Clark’s eyes, bright with a familiar mischievous sparkle, looked at him from over the rim of his glass. “It started with a robbery at the jewelry store on Fifth. It was a classic smash-and-grab, and the guys took off in a beat-up sedan. I managed to get the loot back to the owner, but not before I had to turn their car into a very expensive, crumpled mess.”

He paused, his hand unconsciously rubbing the soft fabric of his shirt over his stomach. “Then, on my way here, a truck lost its brakes on the bridge. A whole family was coming the other way...I caught it just in time.”

Bruce’s hand found Clark’s across the table, his thumb stroking the back of his husband’s hand. “Always a hero, aren’t you?”

“I couldn’t just...not do something,” Clark said, his gaze dropping to their joined hands. A small, contented sigh escaped him. “And you know what the weirdest part was?”

Bruce took a sip from his cup, a fizzy ginger ale. He shook his head completely engrossed in Clark's day.

Clark chuckled, the sound a warm, low rumble. “The baby. He was...happy. I could feel him kicking like crazy when I was stopping the truck. It was like he was enjoying the thrill of it all.” He looked up, his expression a mix of wonder and amusement. “We’re going to have a little thrill-seeker on our hands, aren’t we?”

Bruce’s heart swelled with a wave of protective love. “It would seem so,” he murmured, his fingers tracing the faint lines on Clark’s palm. “He is reacting to your body, every emotion you feel, he feels, too.” 

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the ambient city noise a distant hum. Bruce took a sip of his ginger ale then remembered his own day. “I have good news, too, actually. The board approved the expansion of the Wayne Foundation into Metropolis.”

Clark’s face lit up. “That’s wonderful, darling! What’s the first project?”

“A new youth center,” Bruce explained, his voice softening. “Focused on new education and arts programs for underprivileged kids. It will be a place to help them reach their potential, to show them a better way.” He looked at Clark.

“That’s perfect,” Clark said, his smile genuine and full of admiration. He leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm. “So, a few thrilling rescues, a little celebratory kick, and a new youth center. I’d say this was a pretty good day, wouldn’t you?”

Bruce smiled, a rare, genuine expression of contentment. “The best,” he agreed, his gaze fixed on the man who had brought so much light and joy into his life. “The very best.”

As the sun began to dip below the skyscrapers, casting long shadows across the room, Clark got up to stretch. He moved with grace even with his six-month pregnancy, his hand still resting on the gentle swell of his stomach. “We should get an early dinner,” he said, turning back to Bruce. “I’m starving.”

Bruce let out a soft laugh, a low rumble that was all the more endearing for its rarity. He stood and wrapped an arm around Clark’s waist, pulling him close. “We literally just had lunch, Clark. You finished off a club sandwich, two bowls of soup, and a full plate of loaded potatoes.”

Clark shrugged, a hint of a pout on his lips. “My metabolism doesn’t care, Bruce. It only cares about the next meal.”

The corners of Bruce’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “I suppose all that saving and thrilling adventures can work up quite the appetite. Let’s walk back to the penthouse. We can see if Alfred made that new mushroom risotto he was talking about.”

Clark’s face lit up. “Sounds perfect.”

The rain had let up, leaving the city streets glistening under the dimming twilight. They walked hand-in-hand, Clark’s pace easy and rhythmic beside Bruce’s steady stride. They didn’t talk much, simply enjoying the quiet companionship as they wove their way through the city streets.

They were just two men, walking home. Clark would continue their conversation about how he plans of getting the incredible stories of Superman written up before dinner and Bruce would simply squeeze his hand in response. For a moment, all was right in their world.

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Chapter 7: The Light Has Vanished 

Two days later, a similar quiet calm settled over the city, but it was a quiet that would be shattered.

It was raining again as if the city knew there was something amiss. It was a relentless curtain of gray that streaked across the panoramic window of the Metropolis cafe’.

Bruce was impeccably dressed and impatiently tapping his finger against a half-empty glass of ginger ale. He was as looking at his watch….it was six minutes and forty-four seconds past the agreed-upon time for lunch. He wasn't worried yet. Clark was almost always late. It was a well-known fact of their life, an endearing byproduct of his need to help anyone and everyone who crossed his path.

Still, a quiet unease began to prick at him. He pulled out his phone, the screen illuminating Clark's contact photo—a candid shot of him laughing, his glasses askew, a smudge of flour on his nose from a failed baking attempt.

Bruce’s thumb hovered over the call button, but he paused. Maybe he was just stuck in a meeting at the Planet or got caught once again saving a run away train. He’d give him a few more minutes.

He looked at his watch again. Another five minutes had passed. The prick of unease sharpened into a definite thrum of anxiety. He tried calling the Daily Planet. He called Lois, “Is Clark still there? Lois, he hasn't shown up yet. And…”

Lois cut him off, “Bruce no, he isn't here. He left awhile ago, he should have been on his way. I will call you when I see him.”

He hung up, looking at the door of the cafe’. That’s when the knot in Bruce’s stomach tightened. He closed his eyes, picturing every possible scenario, every street corner, every rooftop. He had to assume the worst. He had to be Batman.

His phone buzzed. A single, cryptic message from an untraceable number: "We have him. Wait for our instructions. Do not contact the authorities." The accompanying picture was a grainy, low-light shot of Clark, unconscious and slumped on the floor.

The image sent a cold shiver down Bruce’s spine. They….someone had him, but they didn't know who they were dealing with. They didn't know that for the man who loved him, this was a declaration of war.

Bruce’s jaw set, his eyes narrowing as he looked out at the rain-soaked city. The lunch date was officially canceled. He had a mission now. And the captor was about to find out what happens when you threaten the family of the world’s most dangerous man.

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Chapter 8: A Green Glow

Deep within the cavern of the Batcave, beneath the Manor, Bruce is furiously typing and then...he throws his hands up in a rage. "It's a dead end, Alfred. Every lead, every digital footprint, every single trace… gone!" Bruce's voice was a low growl, he stared at multiple screens. His fingers flew across the keyboard, a blur of motion as he tried to pry open another encrypted file. "They're professionals. Not some random street thugs looking for a ransom."

Alfred, ever the stoic presence, placed a hand on his shoulder. "Master Bruce, your rage will blind you. Focus."

Bruce didn't acknowledge the touch, his gaze fixated on the image on the main screen. The photo from his phone. The photo was a grainy shot of Clark, tied up and on the ground. He was helpless, a rare and terrifying sight.

The light in the photo was dim, a single bulb casting long, menacing shadows against a strange, wavy background. Bruce enhanced the image, zooming in, sharpening the details. That's when he saw it.

In the corner, a faint, sickly green glow.

Bruce’s breath was caught and his mouth dropped. Kryptonite. They weren't just holding him; they were torturing him. The anger that had been a dull, cold ache in his gut ignited into a white-hot inferno.

He slammed his fist on the console, the sound echoing through the cavernous space.

"They're hurting him, Alfred. They're hurting our family." Bruce’s voice was raw, thick with a barely-contained rage that shook him to his core. "His body will be wracked with pain and fever. He's weak... and terrified.  We don't know what Kryptonite will do to the baby. My son, Alfred!"

"Then you must find them, Master Bruce. But not by brute force alone," Alfred said, his voice calm yet firm. "We must think, not just act. The criminals have the advantage now, knowing your heart is clouded."

Bruce slumped back into his chair, running a hand through his hair. "I know. But they're making it personal." His gaze returned to the screen, to the faint green glow, a silent promise of pain and suffering. "I will find you, both of you!" 

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Chapter 9: A Life Line

The Batcave's silence was a heavy, suffocating thing, broken only by the sharp, piercing ring of an incoming call. Bruce tapped a command on his gauntlet, and Lois Lane's face appeared on the main screen, a pale mask of sheer terror.

"Bruce," she gasped, her voice a strained whisper, thin with fear. "Thank God you're there. I've been calling all day."

He said nothing, his jaw a hard line under the cowl. He watched her, his own heart was breaking….it was killing him not having a lead on Clark's whereabouts.

"I'm scared," she confessed, her voice cracking. "I can't imagine what you're going through. Clark... and the baby..." Her eyes, wet with unshed tears, pleaded with his shadowed cowl. "Bruce. How are you holding up?"

"I'm….holding up," he rumbled, the sound a low, strained growl. "And I'm going to find them, Lois. I promise you that." The words, rarely spoken, were an iron-clad vow.

He extended a hand to the console and with a click, projecting a grainy image onto the main screen: Clark, slumped against a canvas wall, bathed in a sickly green glow. "This came with the ransom note. A simple line: 'The world will be rid of the alien nuisance. By the time you find him, it will be too late.' The note directs me to a penthouse in the city, but the image... it's a tent. And that glow is Kryptonite. This doesn't add up."

Lois leaned into the screen, her worry terrifyingly convincing. "Well if it's Kryptonite…then you have to know it's Lex," she said, the name a venomous hiss. "He's too meticulous for a….. A tent? That's not his style. He's trying to get you to chase a ghost in the wilderness while he finishes the job somewhere else."

Her eyes, burning with a frightening conviction, met his. "I've been digging. I got a tip on a delivery schedule for some 'rare minerals.' I followed the shipment myself. It went to an old LexCorp warehouse near the docks of Gotham Harbor. It seems he is branching out."

Batman's mind was a storm of calculations. The image showed a tent, not a warehouse. But the Kryptonite did fit. And the logistics of a mobile unit made a twisted kind of sense for Lex. He had no other leads. He had to take the gamble.

"Location," he commanded, his voice now a hard, unyielding thing.

Lois scribbled an address, showing it to her screen. "It's on an old freight line, a few miles from the docks. There's an unmarked rail spur leading right up to it. It's the perfect place to hide something."

“I am on my way.” Without another word, he launched himself into the stormy air, his cape a dark shadow against the city lights. He was gone, a dark symbol of vengeance swallowed by the night.

She watched him go, the black shape a fleeting promise against the city lights. When he was gone, she disconnected the call. A slow, cold smile touched her lips. The address was real. The warehouse was real. The Kryptonite was real.

Everything she had told him was the truth, but it was a truth carefully crafted to deceive. She knew Lex, yes, but she also knew how to use his obsession to her advantage. The warehouse was a trap — a flawless and deadly one.

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Chapter 10: A Bleak Picture 

In the isolated location of the tent, Clark lay on his side, his hands still bound, the coarse dirt pressing uncomfortably against his cheek. The pain was a constant, searing fire in his veins, a side effect of the glowing Kryptonite rocks scattered around him like malevolent jewels. He didn't know how long he'd been exposed, only that the weakness had settled into his bones, heavy and final.

He brought his bound hands to his stomach, pressing them gently against the gentle curve.

No….not the baby, my boy. He tried to focus, to use his weakened super-hearing to listen for the faint beat of the second heart he'd grown so accustomed to hearing. But there was only static, a painful, high-pitched whine that was the only sound the Kryptonite allowed him to hear. He pressed harder, his breath catching in his throat.

"Please," he whispered, his voice a dry, desperate rasp. "Little one, please. Kick for Daddy."

Nothing. The stillness was a chasm of dread that swallowed his hope. The Kryptonite was hurting them both, draining the life from him and silencing the new life within him. He was supposed to be a hero, a beacon of hope, but here, he was just... helpless.

Just then, a faint sound cut through the silence. Not a whine, but a familiar, sickeningly cruel chuckle from outside the tent. The sound was faint at first, but it grew louder, closer, until a dark silhouette filled the tent's entrance.

The canvas flap was thrown back, revealing a figure he had never seen before. It was a woman, her face a pale mask…void of emotion. She stepped inside making a slow, deliberate trail towards Clark. In her hands, she held a small, black case.

"Well now," she said, her voice a chilling singsong. "Look what we have here. A once beautiful, strong man. A prize that anyone would love to claim for their own, You're looking so pathetic…”

Her eyes, cold and assessing, swept over him, settling on the curve of his stomach. A flicker of something akin to curiosity, and then pure malevolence, crossed her face.

"Don't worry," she continued, her voice dripping with false concern. "You're not going to die…yet. But we are going to have a little chat... about the little bundle you are carrying."

She knelt beside him, a nauseating floral scent mixing with the stale air of the tent. She wasn't carrying a weapon, only the small black case. She opened it, revealing a sleek, unsettlingly sterile-looking device with a glowing screen. A thin, black sensor was attached by a wire.

"You haven't been that discreet now have you?," she cooed, her painted smile never wavering. "A Kryptonian hybrid. Such an unprecedented subject. We have to be thorough."

Clark's terror spiked. He tried to speak, to yell, but only a choked, pained groan escaped his lips.

She ignored him, gently lifting his shirt to reveal his stomach. He flinched, but she just laughed. "Don't be shy. It's for the little one."

She placed the sensor on his skin, and the screen on her monitor flickered to life. A faint, glowing image of a small, curled-up figure appeared. Clark's heart, though weak, ached with a profound mix of relief and fear. The baby was still there. But the image was a picture of dispare.

"Hmm, yes," the woman hummed, her eyes narrowed in concentration. "A bit lethargic, as expected. The radiation is affecting him, of course. But the genetic markers that little being holds....oh they are astounding. It's a miracle, really. A miracle of biology, just waiting to be... molded."

She looked up at Clark, her eyes shining with a chilling, possessive light. "Your dear husband is going to be quite busy tonight, trying to find you. By the time he gets here, he'll have a very special little surprise waiting for him. And you, Superman," she said, her voice dropping to a vicious whisper, "will be broken."

She stood, placing the monitor back into its case with the reverence of a surgeon. She snapped the latches shut with a crisp click, then reached out, her hand slowly lowering until it rested on Clark's stomach. The touch was light, almost a caress, but it felt like a brand. His muscles tensed, every fiber of his being screaming in silent protest at the violation.

"Don't worry, little one," she said, her voice a soft, intimate purr. "We have such big plans for you."

She stood and, without another word, turned and disappeared back into the darkness, leaving Clark alone with his fear and the chilling memory of her touch. The glowing image of his child vanished, leaving in his mind only a new picture with terrifyingly low vital signs. The baby was still. And now, he knew why.

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Chapter 11: A Vicious Battle

The old LexCorp warehouse loomed in the Gotham river district, a monolithic shadow against the night sky. Rain slicked the concrete, and a low mist hung in the air, a fitting shroud for a place that looked long-abandoned.

Batman, perched on a rusted girder, ran a scan. The building was quiet. Too quiet. His sensors picked up no heat signatures, no movement inside. It was an elaborate stage, and he knew it the second his feet touched the ground. Still, Lois's lead was the only one he had. He had to take the gamble.

He moved to the main loading bay door, a dark silhouette against the pale light of a distant street lamp. A controlled explosive charge on the lock was all it took. The door swung open with a groan of metal, revealing a cavernous, empty space. He stepped inside, his batarang at the ready, his senses on high alert.

The trap sprung in an instant. The doors slammed shut, plunging the warehouse into darkness. Then, a blinding array of floodlights snapped on, washing the space in harsh, sterile light. From every corner, every shadow, they emerged.

Not a handful, but dozens. A large group of mercenaries, armed to the teeth. They wore high-tech tactical gear, and their weapons—assault rifles, shotguns, and what looked like specialized energy rifles—were leveled squarely at him.

"Got him," a voice crackled over their comms. "Just like she said."

Batman didn't wait for them to fire. He threw a smoke pellet, the dense cloud instantly filling the air. The mercenaries opened fire, their rounds tearing through the smoke and ricocheting off the steel beams. He moved, a blur of motion and vengeance, becoming one with the chaos.

It was a war. They moved with coordinated precision, their training evident in every step. A shotgun blast clipped his side, a grunt escaping his lips as his armor cracked. He dodged a series of rifle shots, their red targeting lasers a deadly dance on his chest.

He threw a Batarang, disabling a merc's weapon, and took down another with a swift, brutal strike to the head. But for every one he dropped, two more appeared. The sheer number was overwhelming.

A taser round hit his leg, the high-voltage charge coursing through his nerves. He staggered, the pain a white-hot fire in his veins. He nearly went down. He felt the sickening impact of a rifle butt to his head, the world spinning in a dizzying spiral of pain.

He hit the floor, his vision blurring, the sound of boots closing in on him. As he lay there, dazed and battered, a file folder flew past him, dropped by a retreating mercenary. It landed open on the concrete floor, a single sheet of paper exposed. He saw a hastily sketched layout of a campsite, complete with what looked like a small tent.

He didn't have time to process it, but as he moved to grab the file, he saw something else. A long, thin strand of black hair, caught on the edge of the folder. It was too long to be Clark's. He didn't know whose it was, but his mind, even in its fog, noted the anomaly. He snatched the file and the hair, shoving them into his utility belt.

With a desperate cry of effort, he threw a high-yield flash-bang grenade. The blast was deafening, the light blinding. He used the precious seconds of their disorientation to roll to his feet, launching a final, brutal strike.

He was no longer fighting smart; he was fighting to survive. He disabled their tactical comms with an EMP, then used a grapple to propel himself towards a high vent, the mercenaries firing blindly below him. He was out of there, bruised, battered, and defeated.

Finally safe in the cockpit of the Batwing, the aircraft streaked through the dark, star-filled sky. He entered the Batcave and quickly jumped onto the platform.

He ripped off his cowl, his face streaked with sweat and a thin line of blood. He had left the warehouse with a pile of mercenaries. He had won, but at what cost? Lois’s lead was a complete fabrication. A diversion. A trap.

She had sent him on a wild goose chase, buying precious time for a sinister plan. The real damage wasn't the broken armor or the bruised ribs.

It was the lost time. Every second he had spent fighting here, Clark and the baby were still in pain, still in danger. His rage, already a simmering inferno, now raged out of control.

Chapter Text

Chapter 12: A Greater Love

The Metropolis skyline glittered like scattered diamonds, a breathtaking backdrop for the exclusive, high-rise restaurant. A single candle flickered on the table, casting a warm, intimate glow on a glass of expensive wine. Lex Luthor, impeccable in a tailored suit, swirled the wine in his glass, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. Across from him, Lois Lane, looking elegant and composed, watched him with a calm, appraising gaze.

"He bit, took the Super bait as it were," Lex said, his voice a low, pleased murmur. "He's at the warehouse now, I imagine, tearing through my mercenaries like a bat out of hell." He took a slow sip of his wine, savoring the moment. "A brilliant plan, Lois. Flawless, even. A simple, convincing lie that played on his greatest fears."

Lois's knuckles were white as she gripped her wine glass. Her composure, once so absolute, now showed a hairline crack of raw emotion. "It wasn't a lie," she said, her voice a low, bitter hiss. "It was all true. Every word. The warehouse, the Kryptonite... it was all real." She leaned forward, her gaze unwavering. "And so is the fact that he chose Bruce. He chose him to have a family with. He was supposed to be mine. That child was supposed to be ours."

The hatred in her eyes could have been a tangible thing. It was a deep, burning resentment, fueled by a jealousy so profound it had warped her. "But with you, Lex," she continued, her voice softening slightly, a cold intimacy replacing the rage. "With you, I have found a greater love. A love built on ambition and understanding, not on some naive, small-town fantasy."

Lex's smirk widened, his eyes gleaming with a kind of predatory respect. "I understand, Lois. The world has always been too small for those who can't see the bigger picture. Clark and Bruce, they are relics of a bygone era. A world that doesn't understand our genius."

"Exactly," she said, her voice a triumphant purr. "They will no longer interfere with our lives. You will get a world free of Superman, and I... I will get my child." She took a long, slow sip of her wine, the bitter taste a welcome reminder of the price of power. "I sent her in. The specialist. She checked the baby's vitals."

Lex's eyes widened slightly in surprise, a flicker of genuine curiosity breaking through his composed facade. "You did? You were that thorough? Who did you send?"

"Someone who owes me a very big favor," Lois said, her expression unreadable. "She's a specialist in alien biology and on the side, an OB. She confirmed everything. The baby is sick, weakened by the Kryptonite, but still alive. They're a hybrid.” She held her glass of wine, swirling the liquid staring into the center as she continued, “The radiation affects the baby, but not as severely as it affects Clark. She said the baby is 'lethargic' but the genetic markers are 'fascinating.'"

A slow, terrifying smile spread across Lex's face. "The little one is a scientific anomaly. A walking contradiction. Half-human, half-god. The possibilities are... limitless." 

He set his glass down, the clink echoing in the quiet restaurant. "What did she say to him, our special vessel?"

"She told him we have big plans for his son," Lois said, her eyes darkening. "And that he will be broken." She watched him, a silent challenge in her gaze. "It's all in motion, Lex. You have your way of the World, and I have my prize. We will be the ones in control."

Lex raised his glass in a silent toast, his smile one of pure victory. "To us, then, my darling. To the end of Superman and the beginning of a new era. An era of our making."

Chapter Text

Chapter 13: The Fortunate Find 

The Batcave's massive computer screens hummed, casting a pale, clinical glow over Bruce's grim face. He stood before them, his bruised and weary body a testament to the brutal fight he had just endured.

The crumpled file he had taken from the warehouse was now a high-resolution image on the main screen. He ran the crude, hand-drawn map through a topographical analysis program, cross-referencing the markings and coordinates.

"It's here, Alfred," Bruce said, his voice a low, tight growl. A set of precise GPS coordinates flashed on the screen, pinning a location deep within a remote, forested area in the heart of rural Kansas.

Alfred, ever the silent guardian, watched him with a mix of relief and dread. "A fortunate find, sir."

"It wasn't fortunate. It was a mistake," Bruce corrected, his eyes narrowed on the single strand of black hair still in the evidence bag. "A glaring error."

He picked up the hair from the bag and placed it into the microscope.  He ran an intricate beam of light over it and the Batcomputer immediately processed it.

"Just as suspected...this hair belongs to Lois! She would go this far....she has Clark. She wanted me to waste time, to go on a wild goose chase. She didn't account for a careless mercenary dropping the one piece of evidence that could lead me directly to them."

He moved away from the computer, his focus now singular. The pain in his ribs and the exhaustion in his bones were just noise.

His mind was a cold, efficient machine. He knew Clark and the baby were still in that tent. Lois's plan was built on the assumption that he would be tied up at the warehouse, but her accomplice's clumsiness had just given him a head start.

"Prepping the Batwing for immediate launch," Bruce commanded, his voice echoing in the cavernous space.

"Sir, you're injured. Please allow me to bandage….” Alfred began, but Bruce cut him off with a look. There was no room for debate.

"I don't have time...Alfred. They have our family." He moved to the hangar where the Batwing was already waiting. The sleek, powerful jet was built for speed, for silent strikes, and for impossible odds.

He sealed the cockpit, the familiar controls a welcome comfort. The Batwing launched from its hidden cavern, a whisper-quiet streak of black against the stormy Gotham sky. It broke through the clouds, leaving the city's neon glow far behind, and set a direct course for the coordinates on the screen.

The race was on. He was no longer a victim of a cruel game; he was the hunter. He was coming for them....Clark and his son! He would not stop. Not for exhaustion, not for injury, not for anything. The vast, empty miles stretched out before him, a terrifying expanse of time he couldn't afford to lose.

He had to be faster. He had to get to them!

Chapter Text

Chapter 14: Critical Vitals

Clark lay on his side, his body a leaden weight. The pain from the Kryptonite was now a dull, numbing ache that had settled deep in his bones.

His breathing was shallow, each gasp for air a difficult, weary effort. The world outside the tent had faded into a distant, muffled echo.

All that mattered was the terror within. The baby. He had pressed his hands to his stomach so many times, begging for a sign, a kick, a flutter, anything. But there was nothing. The stillness was absolute.

The canvas flap of the tent was pushed aside, and the woman with the grotesque, painted smile re-entered. Her movements were different this time. Gone was the theatrical cruelty; she was all business, her expression cold and clinical. She carried the same black case, and she didn't bother with her sickeningly sweet words.

She knelt beside him, a sense of grim urgency in her posture. She pulled out the monitor, its sterile screen a stark contrast to the grimy tent. Without a word, she lifted his shirt and placed the sensor on his stomach. He flinched, but it was a weak, involuntary response.

The screen flickered to life, and a new, more terrifying image appeared.The vital signs that had been low before were now dangerously critical.

The woman’s expression remained impassive as she pulled a small, secure phone from her pocket. She dialed a number, holding the phone to her ear.

"It's me," she said, her voice low and efficient. "The subjects are deteriorating faster than anticipated. Too much time has passed. The male Kryptonian is near critical, and the secondary subject's vitals are dropping rapidly. There's been no movement for hours."

She listened for a moment, then continued. "He’s been exposed for too long. The radiation is too much for a developing hybrid. I've done all I can."

She glanced at the monitor again, her gaze completely dispassionate. Clark's eyes, wide with a profound, consuming terror, were fixed on her face. He understood. The "extraction" wasn't a choice; it was a necessity. They were going to take the baby.

"Yes," she said, her voice firm. "We need to do the extraction. Immediately. If we wait, we risk losing the asset. I'll prep the location for transport." She snapped the phone shut and dropped it back in her pocket, then began to pack up the monitor with the quiet precision of a surgeon preparing for a difficult operation.

Clark's breath was a silent, choked scream lodged in his throat. He was powerless, a prisoner in his own body. He couldn't move. He couldn't fight. They were going to take his baby, and he could do nothing but lie there and watch. The woman's final words were a death sentence for his hope.

"We're running out of time."

Chapter Text

Chapter 15: The Extraction Room

The canvas flap was thrown back, and a blinding light from a tactical flashlight flooded the small space. A group of heavily armed men, clad in matching black tactical gear, stormed inside. They moved with a cold, terrifying efficiency.

Clark, lying on the ground, could only watch. His body was a leaden weight, too weak to even flinch. He was a helpless spectator in his own nightmare.

The men ignored him at first, their focus singular and direct. One of them, a burly figure, knelt and began to methodically move the glowing Kryptonite rocks, pushing them aside with a pole to clear a path. The sickening, corrosive ache of the radiation never left Clark's body; it was a constant, burning presence in the air.

A second mercenary, a cold-eyed man with a double scar running down his cheek, knelt beside him. He unfastened the Kevlar straps from Clark's wrists, then roughly grabbed him by the shoulder. "On your feet, big man," he grunted.

Clark tried to stand, but his legs gave out. The weakness was still overwhelming, a thick fog he couldn't push through.

The mercenary cursed under his breath, then, with a nod to his partner, they each took one of Clark's arms and hauled him to his feet.

Pain, sharp and searing, shot through his body as his disused muscles were forced into action. His feet dragged on the dirt floor as they pulled him, a dead weight, towards the tent entrance. He was barely conscious, the world a dizzying swirl of color and pain.

They moved with a practiced rhythm, pulling him out of the tent and into the cool, night air. The wind, which had been a low hum in the distance, now howled around him. His senses, dulled by the Kryptonite, could barely register his surroundings.

He caught glimpses of other tents, of sophisticated-looking technical equipment, but it all swam in a blur of agony. He was floating in and out of consciousness, his mind a fragmented landscape of pain and fear.

They dragged him towards the largest of the tents, a sterile-looking medical station. The moment they stepped inside, a different kind of dread settled over him. The air was cool and sterile, filled with the beeping of advanced medical monitors.

The woman with the painted smile was there, waiting for him. She had exchanged her jacket for a crisp white lab coat.

"Get him on the table," she commanded, her voice all business.

The mercenaries lifted him onto a cold, steel examination table. He was a piece of meat on a slab. The woman approached, her painted smile gone, replaced by a focused, predatory intensity.

"Welcome to the operating room, Superman," she said, her hands moving with the practiced ease of a surgeon. She glanced at his face, noticing his almost-unconscious state. "Thanks to the Kryptonite...you will feel every agonizing slice. This will be the worst pain you have felt"

Clark's eyes, wide with a profound, consuming terror, locked on hers. Please, Bruce, my love my darling....find us!! 

Chapter Text

Chapter 16: The Architect Revealed

Clark lay on the steel table, his mind a foggy landscape of pain and fear. The woman with the painted smile had finished her prep work and was standing by a nearby console, her back to him.

Suddenly, the tent flap opened, and two figures stepped inside. They were a world away from the mercenaries and the lab-coated specialist. A man in a tailored black suit and a woman in a sleek, elegant purple dress. Clark’s mind, swimming through a haze of agony, struggled to recognize them.

"Lex," he rasped, his voice a dry, hoarse sound. His eyes, however, were fixed on the woman beside him. The elegant dress, the cold, composed expression... it couldn't be.

Lois!

She was standing right there, her gaze unwavering, her face a mask of bitter resolution. She was not a victim. She was the architect of his nightmare.

"Hello, Clark," Lex said, his voice a low, triumphant purr. He walked over to the table where the Kryptonite was sitting. He picked up one of the largest, glowing green shards.

The pain in Clark's body instantly intensified, a searing fire that made his teeth clench. Then, Lex moved it to a shielded container, and the agony lessened. Just enough for Clark's mind to clear. Just enough for him to understand.

"What is this?" Clark choked out, his voice now filled with a rising fury. "What are you doing?"

Lex's smile was a terrifying thing, devoid of all warmth. "I'm allowing you the clarity to appreciate the artistry of the moment. To understand that this wasn't my idea. It was hers." He gestured to Lois. "She came to me, Clark. A brilliant woman with a broken heart and a plan of revenge. She told me of your... situation. And you know, I've always longed for her. The only woman in this world who truly understands the nature of power."

Clark turned his head to look at Lois, his eyes burning with a desperate, disbelieving rage.

Lois took a step forward, her voice a low, vicious whisper. "How dare you? How dare you choose Bruce? I was there, Clark. I was your partner, your confidante, your equal. I loved you. I was the one who was supposed to be carrying your child."

The hatred in her eyes was a palpable thing, a lifetime of simmering resentment now boiling over. "But you cast me aside for some spoiled, rich boy who plays dress-up in the shadows. He has his billions. He has his city... now Lex and I will have the world to ourselves. We will raise your child as our own."

She looked at Lex, and her expression softened into a chilling intimacy. "My heart is for Lex. He understands my ambition. He has returned my love with such...vigor. Oh Clark, all those years behind glasses and you couldn't see a good thing in front of you."

She laughed while tilting her back slightly. She laced her arm into Lex's, looking back at Clark, "Let's get this over with, I can't wait to be a mommy."

Clark could do nothing but lie there, his chest heaving with a silent, impotent fury. The betrayal was a deeper wound than any Kryptonite could ever inflict. He was about to lose everything, and he was powerless to stop them.

Chapter Text

Chapter 17: Infiltration

The Batwing was a black phantom against the night sky, a single, silent predator moving through the darkness. Bruce piloted it with a grim, focused intensity, his eyes locked on the glowing pinpoint on the main screen—the campsite. 

As he neared the coordinates, his on-board sensors began to ping. The camp was just below, a cluster of tents and mobile generators humming with activity.

Bruce activated his stealth mode, the Batwing's engines dropping to a near-silent whisper as its cloaking system engaged. He flew low and his mind already calculating trajectories and entry points.

His primary objective wasn't a frontal assault. Not yet. First, he had to cut the power. With a single command, he deployed a powerful, wide-spectrum communications jammer. The invisible signal radiated out from the Batwing, instantly scrambling all communications within a five-mile radius of the camp. The mercenary comms went dead, their coordinated chatter replaced by a hissing wall of static.

On the ground, the effect was immediate and chaotic. The mercenaries, their tactical advantage of communication gone, looked around, confused and disoriented. Alarms began to blare, their shrill cries a desperate protest against the sudden, unnatural silence. The camp was on high alert, but it was already too late.

Bruce didn't land in the middle of the camp. That would be suicide. He set the Batwing down silently in a clearing half a mile away, its black frame a stark, menacing shape in the darkness.

He disengaged the cockpit, his armor-clad form stepping out into the cold night air. He had made his presence known, but his true location was still a mystery. Let them search for him.

He was a ghost, a nightmare made real, and he was coming for them.

Chapter Text

Chapter 18: The Baby Kicks

The large piece of Kryptonite Lex had so theatrically moved was gone, leaving only the dull, lingering radiation from the smaller rocks on the nearby table. Clark lay on the steel slab, his body a leaden weight. His mind was still reeling from Lois’s devastating betrayal. 

Just as despair threatened to consume him, a faint, almost flutter rippled through his abdomen. It was so soft, so gentle, he almost thought he imagined it. Then it came again, a distinct, rhythmic push against his stomach. A feeling of soul-shattering relief. The baby was alive. The baby was moving. The removal of the larger piece of Kryptonite, combined with the short time he'd spent away from the rocks, was just enough for his little one to regain some strength.

A fire ignited in Clark's chest, a tiny spark of hope in the suffocating darkness. He didn't dare react. He kept his face a mask of pain and defeat, his eyes closed, his breathing still shallow. He couldn't let them know. He couldn't let Lex and Lois see that their plan had a single, tiny, but monumental flaw. The baby was fighting back.

Just then, the flap of the tent was thrown open, and two armed mercenaries rushed inside, their tactical gear and weapons a chaotic jangle. They were frantic, their voices a hurried jumble of static and panic.

"Mr. Luthor!" one of them shouted, his eyes wide with a fear that had nothing to do with Clark. "The communications are down! All channels are scrambled! The comms unit is dead!"

Lex, who had been savoring the look of defeat on Clark's face, turned with a snarl. "What are you babbling about? Fix it!"

"We can't! It's not a malfunction, sir! It's a jamming signal! A high-powered, wide-spectrum EMP! It had to have come from the outside!"

The realization slammed into Lex like a physical blow. The smug satisfaction drained from his face, replaced by a cold, calculating fury. He looked at Lois, and for the first time, a flicker of genuine fear crossed her expression. She knew.

"There's only one person who could have done that," Lex said, his voice a low, terrifying growl. His eyes, now burning with a cold, terrifying purpose, settled on the mercs. "It's the Bat. He’s here. He’s in the camp."

He turned to the mercenaries, his voice now a commanding roar. "The extraction is on hold! Our priority has changed! Lock this place down! I don't care what you have to do to him, just keep our prize on that table! And find the Goddamn Bat. Find him now! He can't interfere! Find him!"

Chapter Text

Chapter 19: The Final Confrontation 

Batman moved through it all like a ghost, a blur of dark shadow and silent purpose. It was a masterpiece of blaring alarms and screaming men. The guards, disoriented by the communications jammer, were easy prey for his stealth and training.

He moved between the tents. A flash of motion, here and a muffled thud, there. A guard's thick flashlight would swing wildly, catching a glimpse of a black cape before its owner was left unconscious in the dirt.

He took out six men in the span of a minute, a brutal ballet of calculated strikes and disabling maneuvers. 

A mercenary, thinking he was smart, saw him coming and fired a warning shot. A chorus of guns erupted, their bullets tearing through the night.

One of them found its mark, a searing hot poker of pain in his left shoulder. He grunted, the high-caliber round tearing through his armor and lodging itself deep in the muscle. The pain was immediate and blinding, but he ignored it, throwing a series of flash-bang grenades that scattered the group.

Bruce was bleeding, but he had to keep going!  He made his way to the large medical tent, the likely location of his family, only to find Lex Luthor himself striding out to meet him.

Lex quickly powered up a sleek, powerful battlesuit, a weapon of advanced technology and raw power. He was a perfect match for Batman, his cold intellect an even greater threat than the suit's formidable armaments.

"I should have known you would interfere," Lex said, his voice echoing from his battlesuit's speakers, a chilling mix of fury and contempt. "But I won't allow you to ruin everything. Not this time."

With a roar of pure, unadulterated rage, he charged at Batman, leaving Lois and the specialist alone in the tent with Clark. The fight was on, a clash of dark will and corrupted genius, while inside, Clark's fate, and that of his child, hung in the balance.

Chapter Text

Chapter 20: Attempt At Escape 

The beeping of the medical monitors was a cold, clinical symphony in the sterile air of the tent. Lois and the specialist stood over Clark, their faces a mix of icy resolve and predatory anticipation.

With Batman now a very real threat outside, the extraction had to happen immediately. They were banking on Clark's weakness, on the hours of Kryptonite exposure that had left him a shadow of his former self. They were so confident in his helplessness, they hadn't bothered to secure him to the table. It was a fatal mistake.

The specialist, a scalpel glinting in her gloved hand, leaned in. She was methodical, precise, and completely focused on the task at hand. She reached out, her hand poised to begin the incision. It was the moment Clark had been dreading, the nightmare he had been powerless to stop.

But a new voice echoed in the night. A voice he knew, a voice that had been his rock, his refuge. The sound of Bruce's angry roar as he charged Lex outside was a thunderclap of hope. It was all the fuel Clark needed. He wasn't alone. Bruce was here. He was fighting for them.

A surge of desperate, bone-deep fury coursing through his veins, overwhelming the Kryptonite's poison. He may have been weak, his body a battlefield of pain and exhaustion, but his will was unbroken. He wasn't going to lie here and let them take his baby. Not now. Not ever.

With a ragged cry that was more defiance than sound, Clark bucked, pushing off the table with a strength he didn't know he had. The sudden, unexpected movement sent him flying. He hit the specialist square in the chest, his body a clumsy projectile.

The woman cried out in surprise, stumbling backward and crashing into Lois. The impact sent them both sprawling, the scalpel flying from the specialist's hand and skittering across the floor.

He tried to stand, but his legs, still weak from the Kryptonite, buckled beneath him. He pitched forward, falling through the open tent flap. He staggered outside, the fresh air hitting him like wall.

He stopped in the middle of the encampment....his hands still tied and the dizziness, the weakness took over his body. He lay there, his body aching, the fresh air a stinging balm on his skin. He was free from the table. Free from the cold, sterile tent. But he was still weak. And Lois and the specialist were right behind him.

Chapter Text

Chapter 21: A Moment of Hesitation

The clash between Batman and Lex’s battlesuit was a deafening symphony of technology and fury. Lex, fueled by a narcissistic rage, fired a volley of concussive blasts that tore through the ground.

Batman, hampered by the searing pain in his wounded shoulder, dodged and weaved, his movements less fluid but no less determined. He knew he couldn't win a direct slugfest. His only advantage was his mind.

He let Lex's battlesuit get close, absorbing a punishing blow to his chest plate, before launching a series of precisely placed EMP batarangs. They hit their marks: the joints, the power conduits, the external weapon systems.

Lex's suit sputtered, its lights flashing erratically. With a final, desperate heave, Bruce slammed a thermal detonator onto a weak point in the suit's left leg. The resulting small explosion was all it took.

The battlesuit's systems went into total shutdown, its powerful frame crashing to the ground in a dead, silent heap. Lex, trapped inside, roared in frustrated fury. Batman stood over him, battered and bleeding, but victorious. He had incapacitated the man who had orchestrated this entire nightmare.

Then, he saw him.

Through the chaos of the mercenaries now engaged in a disorganized search, he saw a figure laying on the ground. It was Clark. He was a disheveled wreck, his hands still tied in front of him. He was trying to stand.

Thankfully....He is free.

A heavy relief washed over Bruce, so powerful it momentarily stunned him. Forgetting the danger, forgetting the fight, he took a step forward, his single-minded focus now entirely on his husband.

It was a fatal second of hesitation. Once again his world was crashing.

From behind the figure of Clark, a dark silhouette emerged. It was Lois. In one hand, she clutched a jagged, glowing piece of Kryptonite.

Clark, feeling the familiar, dibilitating wave of weakness as she approached. He was completely unable to fight back.

Lois moved with a cold, predatory grace, picking his body up with her free hand and holding the Kryptonite to his back. She reached and in her hand was a scalpel. She held precisely, threateningly, against his throat.

She looked up, her eyes locking with Bruce’s. Her face, in the chaotic light of the alarms, was a mask of triumphant, terrifying madness.

"You win the battle, Bruce," she said, her voice a chilling whisper that carried across the battlefield. "But I have your family!"

Chapter Text

Chapter 22: Crimson Spilled

Lois's voice was a chilling whisper that cut through the chaos of the mercenary camp. "You win the battle, Bruce, but I have your family"

She held the glowing Kryptonite against Clark’s back, the sickly green light illuminating her face. The scalpel, a terrifying silver line, was pressed against his throat. Clark’s body was a dead weight in her arms, a shuddering mass of pain and exhaustion.

Bruce stood frozen, every muscle in his body screaming for action. His eyes, cold and calculating behind the cowl's lenses, took in every detail: the piece of Kryptonite, the scalpel, the angle of her body, the proximity of the unconscious mercenaries.

His injured shoulder throbbed with a white-hot agony, but it was nothing compared to the terror of seeing his husband in such a state.

Lois, seeing his hesitation, let out a triumphant, manic laugh. "Look at you! The great Batman, helpless! You thought you could come here and save the day, didn't you? You thought you could have it all? Your billions, your city... your little family?"

Her voice dripped with poison, a raw, bitter hatred that had been festering for years. "He was supposed to be mine! The father of my child! Not yours, Bruce. Not yours!"

Bruce’s fist clenched. He took a single, small step forward, a calculated risk to test her resolve. The movement was barely unnoticeable, but it was enough.

Lois's eyes, burning with a profound and unhinged fury, snapped to his. "Don't you dare!" she shrieked. "Don't you dare move! You think you have a say in this? You think you have a chance?"

Her smile twisted into a vicious snarl. With a sickeningly casual motion, she drew the scalpel down across Clark's abdomen, a precise cut that instantly blossomed into a line of crimson.

A guttural cry of pure agony ripped from Clark’s throat. His body spasmed, a wave of pain so profound it threatened to send him into unconsciousness.

The sight of Clark’s blood was the final, devastating blow. Bruce didn’t hesitate. He was no longer a man; he was a force of nature. He reached into his utility belt, a black hand a blur of motion, and threw a smoke pellet at Lois's feet. The tiny device hit the ground with a faint thud and instantly detonated, a thick, suffocating cloud of dense, black smoke engulfing them all.

In the sudden, blinding darkness, Bruce moved with a brutal, single-minded purpose. He wasn't relying on sight, but on the precise coordinates of their last known positions.

He felt his way through the blackness, his hand closing around Lois's wrist, the glinting scalpel dropped from her grasp. He held her wrists and a swift motion, he lunged his cowl back and headbutt her. The contact of the unforgiving enforced cowl to her head sent her into unconsciousness, "Don't you ever threaten my family again!"

With speed and agility, he quickly wraps a thin, high-tensile wire around her arms, securing her in a knot that would take her hours to unravel. He picked up the Kryptonite and with a swift motion tossed it far into the darkness.

He didn't waste a second. He found Clark, his body slick with blood and shaking with pain, and hoisted him into his arms.

The man of steel, the savior of worlds, was a fragile weight in his arms. Bruce didn't look back. The mission was no longer about justice or vengeance.

It was about one thing and one thing only: survival. He was a dark specter, a silent wraith, disappearing back into the night with his precious cargo. He had Clark, he had his baby, and he was taking them home.

Chapter Text

Chapter 23: The Ticking Clock

The Batwing was a blur of motion, a silent, black streak against the night sky, its engines screaming. Inside the cockpit, a different kind of storm raged.

Clark was in the co-pilot's seat directly behind Bruce, his hands, still shaking, pressed against the raw, burning cut on his abdomen. The crimson stain on his shirt grew larger by the second.

Beneath his hands, the baby's frantic movements were a powerful, terrifying thrum. But now, with the Kryptonite's poison receding, his super-hearing, still faint and strained, picked up a new sound from within. A rapid, unsteady beat. The baby's heart rate was dangerously elevated, a panicked drum in the tiny chest.

"Bruce," he gasped, his voice a strained, high-pitched plea. "He's... his heart rate is so high. It's so fast.... and oohh oh no he's moving so fast."

Bruce, his face a grim mask of concentration, pushed the Batwing to its absolute limit. He glanced over his shoulder. "Just hold on, Clark. We're going to get you home. I have everything you need at the cave."

But Clark was beyond reassurance. A cold sweat beaded on his forehead, his breath catching in his throat. He shook his head, the panic in his eyes growing. "No, Bruce... I-I can't stop the bleeding... the baby... I'm so weak..." His body tensed again, not with the agonizing ache of the Kryptonite, but with a sharp, undeniable cramp.

A moment later, a powerful, shuddering kick slammed into Clark's abdomen, low and hard. He cried out, a guttural sound of shock and pain, as he felt a distinct, internal pop. A warm liquid immediately gushed down his legs, soaking his pants and the seat beneath him.

"Bruce..." he choked out, his eyes wide with a profound, dawning horror. "Bruce... my water... my water broke."

The words were a hammer blow. Bruce’s hands, which had been a blur of motion over the controls, stilled for a fraction of a second. The sound of Clark's pained gasp, the terror in his voice, and the devastating truth of his words hit him like a physical blow. He didn't turn around. He didn't have to.

The controlled panic that had guided him through the chaos of the night was replaced by a singular, fierce resolve. He wasn't just flying to a destination anymore; he was racing to a deadline that had just been moved up to "now."

He pushed a button on the console, and the Batwing's speed increased, the G-forces pressing them both into their seats. "Hold on, Clark. Hold on for me," he commanded, his voice a low, fierce promise. "We're almost there. I will get you to the med-bay. I have you both."

Chapter Text

Chapter 24: An Unexpected Delivery

The Batwing slammed into the hidden entrance beneath Wayne Manor, its powerful engines roaring as it descended into the Batcave.

The automatic bay doors slid shut with a resounding thud, sealing them off from the night and the world. The moment the craft touched down on the hangar floor, the cockpit canopy slid open, revealing Bruce’s grim face.

Alfred was already there, a gurney prepped and a worried expression on his face. The moment his eyes landed on Clark, however, his professionalism took over.

The grim reality of the situation was written on Clark's face—the pallor, the sheen of sweat, the blood-soaked pants, and the sheer terror in his eyes.

"To the med-bay, immediately, sir," Alfred commanded, his voice as calm as a summer breeze, but still laced with urgency.

Bruce disengaged his restraints, his injured shoulder protesting with a jolt of searing pain. He ignored it, his single-minded focus on Clark. He carefully helped him out of the pilot's seat, supporting his weight. Clark cried out as his feet touched the ground, his legs barely able to hold him.

"It's alright, Clark, I've got you," Bruce murmured, his voice a low, fierce promise. He and Alfred maneuvered Clark onto the gurney, the movement bringing a fresh wave of agony and a pained gasp from Clark.

They rushed to the med-bay, a pristine, sterile space within the cave. The air was cool and smelled of antiseptic. Alfred's movements were a blur of efficiency as he hooked Clark up to a battery of monitors.

"Sir, the bleeding is substantial," Alfred said, his hands already working on the abdominal cut. "The wound is deep but not fatal. It can be sealed once we've tended to the other… issue."

Clark’s body was shaking now, the cramps a rhythmic, undeniable force. He reached for Bruce, his hand trembling. "It hurts, Bruce. He's coming....I am being torn apart."

Bruce took his hand, his grip firm and reassuring. He looked at Alfred, his eyes a silent plea. "Alfred, What can we do?"

Alfred's gaze was steady as he looked from Clark to Bruce. He took a deep breath, his voice filled with a solemn gravitas. "There's nothing to be done, Master Bruce. We cannot stop it. The trauma and the Kryptonite have sent his body into premature labor."

The words hung in the air, a chilling sentence. The beeping of the monitors, the steady rhythm of Clark's contractions, the profound fear in his eyes—it all came together to form a terrifying reality.

"The baby is coming now, sir," Alfred said, his eyes now fixed on Clark, a new, determined purpose in their depths. "And it's a fight for two lives, not just one. We must be ready."

Chapter Text

Chapter 25: The Pushing

The med-bay was a high-tech operating theater, humming with the low thrum of machines and the frantic energy of three men fighting a battle for two lives.

Clark laid on the operating table with his shirt removed. The gash across his abdomen oozing with his precious crimson blood pooling on the metal surface.

His body was wracked with contractions, a pain far deeper and more primal than any bullet or Kryptonite burn. He was pushing, but there was no power behind it. The time spent under the radiation poisoning and the brutal fight had taken too much from him.

"I can't," Clark gasped, his breath ragged, his hands gripping the sheets. "I can't. There's no strength."

Bruce was at his side, holding his hand, his voice a low, fierce anchor in the storm. "Yes, you can, Clark. You have strength, find it for our son. You can do this. You have to."

Alfred, ever the pragmatist, was already in motion. "The baby is not moving into position, Master Clark. The stress is too great. We must assist." He looked at Bruce with a silent command. "Sir, I need you to hold him steady. Hold him as a rock."

He placed his hands on either side of Clark’s belly, his touch firm but practiced. Clark cried out as Alfred palpated his abdomen, guiding the baby's head down, repositioning the tiny body.

The pain was immense, a searing, overwhelming agony that stole his breath. He sobbed, the sound a raw, broken thing, as he felt Alfred's hands move, pushing and prodding.

"Master Clark, you must push now," Alfred commanded, his voice a quiet authority. "With me. On my count."

Clark couldn't. His body was too weak, his mind too fragmented by the pain. Alfred, with the determination to save his family, looked at Clark. Without another word, he moved his hands to the top of Clark's abdomen and applied firm, steady pressure.

"The baby must crown, Master Clark," Alfred said, his voice a low, hard-edged whisper. "We will do this together."

Clark screamed, a long, tearing sound of a man broken. The pressure was immense, a crushing weight that forced his body to obey.

He pushed, the last of his strength pooling into a single, desperate heave. He felt the tearing sensation, a searing pain as the baby's head emerges from his canal. 

A collective gasp went up as the baby’s head fully crowned. His head was small and the perfect amount of dark hair. Alfred's hands, quick and steady, moved to support the tiny form. He looked up at Bruce, his face a mix of exhaustion and triumph.

"He's here," Alfred announced as his excitement echoed through the cave. "

"He's here."

Chapter Text

Chapter 26: Live Saving Incubator 

"He's here," Alfred announced with a call of echoing excitement as the baby’s head crowned. "He's here."

A single, weak wail filled the med-bay, a sound so small, so fragile, it was almost inaudible. But to three men, it was the most beautiful sound in the universe.

Alfred's practiced hands guided the rest of the body out, a tiny, limp form. He quickly clamped the umbilical cord and cut it with a sterile blade. The baby was too small, too quiet. The agonizing amount of Kryptonite exposure and trauma had taken a heavy toll.

"He's incredibly underdeveloped," Alfred said, his voice now a tense, clipped command. "We need to get him into an incubator now, sir!"

But Bruce had anticipated this. Even in the depths of his despair, he had prepared for every eventuality. He knew, with a certainty born of fear and intellect, that if he was going to save them, he had to be ready for the worst.

As soon as the words left Alfred's lips, Bruce was already in motion. He ran to a reinforced cabinet, unlocking it with a series of quick, practiced commands. The door hissed open, revealing a miracle of science.

It wasn't just a simple incubator. It was a self-contained neo-natal unit, a miniature, mobile ICU. The unit was gleaming and sterile, with a constant flow of oxygen and a built-in sensor that would track the baby’s vitals.

Bruce had spent weeks designing it, drawing on every piece of medical and Kryptonian technology he could find. He had called in favors, used his vast resources, and poured all of his fears into creating this perfect, life-saving machine. He had prepared for a normal delivery, but he had prepared for a premature one as well.

He grabbed the unit and brought it over to the table. He helped Alfred carefully place the tiny, listless baby inside. The unit’s door hissed shut, and a gentle, glowing light filled the space around the child.

On a small screen, the baby's vital signs flickered to life. The oxygen saturation, the heart rate, the blood pressure—all of it dangerously low, but there.

"His vitals are critical," Alfred said, watching the numbers climb slowly. "But he's alive, Master Bruce. He's alive."

Bruce’s knees buckled, and he sank to the floor, the tension of the last moments finally breaking. He buried his face in his hands, a single, broken sob shaking his entire body. He had saved them. He had them both. His husband and now....his son! 

Chapter Text

Chapter 27: The Fading Sun

"His vitals are dropping again, Master Bruce." Alfred’s voice, for the first time, held a note of genuine fear.

Clark lay on the med-bay table, the beeping of the monitors a frantic, erratic symphony. The relief of the baby's birth was a distant memory, replaced by a new, terrifying reality.

He was fading.

He was dying.

The exhaustion, the deep cut, and the prolonged exposure to Kryptonite had ravaged his body, pushing him past his limits. 

Bruce was at his side in an instant, his hand holding Clark’s, his face pale with fear. "His heart rate is slowing. He’s cold. Why is he so cold, Alfred?"

"The Kryptonite, sir. It has poisoned his cells, his very core. The radiation has not just weakened him, it has consumed the last reserves of his solar energy. He needs to recharge. He needs sunlight."

The words were a hammer blow. Sunlight. The one thing he couldn't get in a cave a hundred feet underground. The one thing that was as vital to Clark as air was to him. The baby, safely tucked away in the neo-natal unit, was a fragile life they had fought so hard to save. But now, it was Clark who was slipping away.

"I can't take him outside, Alfred. The journey...it's too much. The wound.....he'll die before we even get to the surface."

"Then we must bring the sun to him, Bruce. Or, more accurately, a facsimile of it." Alfred was already moving towards a series of panels on the wall, his mind a whirlwind of contingency plans. "Remember clearly now...I will get the lamps ready."

Clark's eyes fluttered open, his gaze unfocused. He looked at Bruce, a flicker of a smile on his lips. "I'm so tired," he said just above a whisper, "I love you all."

"Don't you dare," Bruce said, his voice a low, fierce promise. "You're not giving up. Not now."

Alfred positioned the array of solar lamps around the med-bay table, their large, powerful lenses focused on Clark's pale form. He threw a single switch, and the room was bathed in a brilliant, golden light. A golden light of perfect, artificial sun.

Chapter Text

Chapter 28: A Golden Glow

The artificial sun, a brilliant golden light, washed over the med-bay table. The change was almost immediate. Clark, who had been on the verge of slipping away, felt a tingling warmth spread through his body.

It was a familiar sensation, a feeling he hadn't experienced in what felt like an eternity. He took a deep, shuddering breath, the first truly solid one in hours, as the energy began to pour back into his cells. His skin, which had been pale and clammy, regained a faint flush of color.

Bruce watched with an immediate sense of relief, his hands still holding Clark's. He could feel the coldness of his husband's skin giving way to a returning warmth. The erratic beeping of the monitors slowly began to stabilize, the numbers climbing steadily back into the safe zone.

In the neo-natal unit beside them, a different kind of miracle was happening. The baby, who had been a listless, pale form, suddenly stirred. A tiny hand curled into a fist, and a faint cry, stronger than his first, escaped his lips.

The light from the solar lamps was reaching him as well, filtering through the transparent shell of the unit and reviving his Kryptonian cells. He was reacting to the sun, just like his father.

Alfred, ever the professional, adjusted the monitors. "His vitals are responding, Master Bruce. Both of them. It seems your genius has saved the day!" 

Bruce didn't say anything. He just squeezed Clark's hand, his eyes filled with happiness. Clark turned his head, his eyes, now a more familiar blue, meeting his. A weak but genuine smile touched his lips.

"I can feel it....Bruce, the lamps" Clark whispered, his voice gaining a little more strength. His eyes opened widely looking around then falling on his husband. "I knew you would save us...oh is he? Is the baby alright?"

"He is," Bruce confirmed, then glanced at the neo-natal unit. "But he'll have to stay in there for a while. The trauma and his premature birth… his body needs to develop more before we can take him out. He'll need to gain a healthy weight and his organs need to mature. He will have to stay at least two months."

"Two months," Clark repeated, his eyes fixed on the tiny form of his son in the protective unit. It was a long time. But in that moment, it felt like a lifetime of possibility. They had survived the impossible. They had won. And now, they had a future.

Chapter Text

Chapter 29: The Warmth Of Family

The nursery was a quiet haven of soft moonlight and tranquil shadows. The baby, no longer a fragile, listless form, lay sleeping in a custom-built bassinet. His skin was no longer pale but a healthy, pinkish-gold, and his breathing was a soft, steady rhythm. The two months he had spent in the neo-natal unit had done their work. He was a healthy, thriving baby boy. 

Clark stood over the bassinet, a silent guardian, his heart swelling with a love so immense it was almost painful. The last two months had been a long, slow road to recovery. His body, poisoned by Kryptonite and ravaged by premature labor, had taken its time to heal. But he was whole again. Strong again. His powers had returned, his wounds had vanished, leaving no trace of the nightmare he had endured.

A pair of strong, familiar arms wrapped around him from behind. Bruce’s chin rested on his shoulder, his breath a warm whisper against his neck. Clark leaned back into the embrace, the perfect fit of their bodies a comfort he never wanted to be without again. Lois and Lex were gone. Imprisoned. Their twisted plan had failed, and in its ashes, a new life had begun.

"I can't believe he's here," Clark was well into relaxing. "I can't believe we made it."

Bruce squeezed him tighter, his grip almost desperate. He had watched over Clark’s recovery like a hawk, never letting him out of his sight. The fear of almost losing him was still a cold knot in his gut.

"I’m never letting you out of my sight again, Clark," Bruce said, his voice a low, fierce promise. He turned him in his arms, his eyes, dark and intense, fixed on Clark’s. There was no need for words. Their shared look said it all: the terror, the loss, and the overwhelming love that had brought them through the darkness.

He lowered his head and gave Clark a deep, passionate kiss, a silent vow over the sleeping child. It was a kiss that held every moment of the past two months: the fear, the desperation, the pain, and the ultimate, beautiful triumph. It was a kiss that said they had survived. They were a family. And they were finally, truly, home.

THE END