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The wind howled around the two superheros, harshly bringing Clark back from the place his mind had wandered. He took in his surroundings as it all came back to him, he was with Bruce on a rooftop in Gotham. They'd both came here to recoup some after a fight with members of a drug smuggling gang that had mysteriously gotten their hands on some Kryptonite. Clark had taken quite a few blows and barely made it up to the top of the nearby building without Bruce's help.
"-check if Luthor is involved," Bruce finished and turned to Clark for a reply. Clark froze, trying his best to not look guilty as he tried to remember the beginning of the conversation before he zoned out, but the symptoms of the Kryptonite were still muddling his brain.
Clark nodded, aiming to look like he'd been paying attention the entire time, "Uh, yeah, that sounds like a great plan."
Bruce looked over at him, eyes unreadable, but Clark felt their assessment of him, the way they scoured him from top to bottom. Clark's heart raced and he felt a blush rise to his cheeks under that watchful gaze. "You're still not at one hundred percent yet," Bruce said.
The statement was not posed as a question but Clark answered it like it was one anyways, "No, sorry, B. I only caught about half of what you said. I have this brain fog and-" he stopped talking when he noticed Bruce's forearm slightly trembling. In milliseconds, he did a scan of his friend's body with his x-ray vision, finding nothing out of the ordinary bruising, hairline fractures, and cuts that were always present. "But you don't look too hot yourself, B. Are you feeling alright?"
Clark could see Bruce try to stop the small tremors from passing through his body and fail. "Quit looking at me like that, I'm fine," Bruce said grumpily as he pointedly looked away, a scowl bringing the corners of his mouth down. "Not all of us can be perpetually warm in this type of weather."
Rao, I'm an idiot. I didn't even think of the cold. The wind was supposed to be biting tonight, or at least that's what Clark had heard a Gotham weatherman say. He was also pretty sure it was going to snow soon, the air smelt like it. Looking over at the small shivers Bruce was trying to hide, Clark was more grateful than ever he was invulnerable to the elements. "I thought you told me once that your suit had heating components in it," he said.
Bruce nodded absently, still looking out at the city over the rooftop - away from Clark. "It does, but I'm not as young as I was when I first installed them," the man paused, as if contemplating if he really wanted to open up to his friend. Clark guessed he passed whatever test Bruce put him up against in his mind when he heard him sigh and say quietly, "And with every passing year I think I feel the cold even more."
Clark didn't answer, letting Bruce's confession die out on the wind. He knew that if he acknowledged it, his best friend would most likely withdraw into himself and away from Clark. The curmudgeon, Clark thought affectionately. Another stiff wind blew past them picking up some snow on the rooftop and swirling it around in the air in a dance. After a few more moments, Bruce picked back up where they had left off discussing their case notes and pretty soon it was time for Clark to head back to Metropolis.
Bruce advanced towards the edge of the rooftop before abruptly stopping, turning around to face Clark. Even though he was unable to see Bruce's eyes, Clark felt himself being evaluated again. Bruce took a few steps towards him. "Are you sure you're alright to fly back tonight? You can always stay at the Manor if you don't think you can do it," he said.
Clark gave a small smile, heart warming at the gesture. When Bruce asked him things like this, questions filled with care that he never asked anyone other than his children, it left Clark's heart yearning for more. More than just the concern of a friend for a friend. "I'll be fine, the fog is gone. No need to worry!" He reassured Bruce.
Bruce didn't back away like Clark expected him to, instead just staring at Clark's face longer. The silence between them stretched into something charged, waiting for either of them to break first. Right when Clark felt his heart couldn't take it any longer Bruce turned around again and stalked towards the roof's edge, cape swirling. "Christmas is at four again this year." Bruce said, taking out his grappling gun and shooting it at a nearby building. "And I'll always worry about you, Clark."
The air Clark didn't need rushed from his lungs. Wait, what? Did I hear that right? Did he really just say that? He watched, stunned into silence, as Bruce lept from the building and swung away. And the hope he had thought was long extinguished came to light again.
=-=
Bruce had always told Clark no gifts when he came to celebrate the winter holiday season at Wayne Manor. Right when Clark would walk through the door some bags in hand, Alfred would take his coat, and Bruce, without fail, would shoot him a half-hearted glare and say, "You better not have brought any presents in those bags."
And without fail, Clark would raise his hands in mock surrender and say, "No presents, promise. All that's in these bags are some food and Christmas cookies Ma and I made that she insisted I bring with me."
So Clark was feeling somewhat guilty as he sat on his couch in his apartment, drinking hot cocoa and watching whatever Christmas movie was on the Hallmark channel, making Bruce a gift.
He had just taken up knitting a few months ago and he had to say he was getting pretty good at it. His apartment was now littered with evidence of his new crafting obsession. New balls and skeins of yarn in a basket near the TV, knitting needles of different sizes were scattered on the coffee table and kitchen counter, little plush animals Clark had found free patterns online for decorated what had once been many empty spaces. He was shocked that this new hobby of his actually stuck, and that he was rather good at it. Initially he had been worried that it would go like any other activity he tried (baking - he always ended up burning the food and setting off the fire alarm; paint-by-numbers - he just got bored with them; punch needle rugs - he could never get his strength quite under wraps with this one and just ended up punching holes in the rugs themselves). However, knitting, knitting stuck around.
His fingers moved mindlessly on their own working on a row as he watched the movie on the TV, not really paying too much attention to what he was doing. He enjoyed the feeling of the soft yarn against his fingers and looked down, admiring the color. It was so dark it was almost black, but when it hit the light just right the person looking could tell it was a deep, deep blue.
When Clark had entered the local knitting supply store earlier on this week he had felt, as usual, extremely out of place. Usually he ordered his supplies online and got them shipped right to his door, but he'd thought it would be good to change things up and support a small Metropolis-based business instead. He'd had to work himself up into going into the store, the new store with new people and a new layout that he didn't have memorized - and what if he got lost or worse he couldn't find what he needed and he had to wander around aimlessly looking like he knew what he was doing - but he'd walked himself to the shop door, taken a deep breath, and had gone inside.
The bell above the door had jingled as he had walked inside and everyone in the shop had turned to look at him. He'd frozen in place, feeling like a deer in the headlights. It's okay, Kent. You know you don't look like the usual clientele and that's okay. Just ask where the yarn is and they'll be more than willing to help you, Clark had told himself as he stood still near the doorway. Breathe in and breathe out.
One of the workers that had been stocking in one of the aisles near the front must have seen his panicked expression and had taken mercy on him, "Hi there! Is there anything I can help you find?"
Clark had let out a small sigh of relief. At least I won't have to find what I'm looking for on my own. "Yes," he'd said, "Would you show me where your yarn is? And if you have any that are merino wool based?"
The worker had been more than happy to show them the store's yarn collection and answer any questions Clark had asked regarding the yarn itself, knitting patterns, what the worker preferred themselves. They'd even talked about the knitting group for beginners that met every Tuesday afternoon.
"Of the wool based yarn we have, I've liked using this brand the best. They even source their wool from a local supplier. I think it gives you the warmest knits," the worker had said, gesturing to a collection of skeins on display.
Clark had immediately zeroed in on the dark blue that was off to the side, tucked behind some yellow. The moment he'd reached out and felt the material under his fingers, he'd known that this was the one. It reminds me of how his eyes look when we're on a rooftop late at night. He'd grabbed several of the color and a couple patterns, the shape of his project already in his mind before he'd checked out.
I still think it looks like his eyes, Clark thought as he looked at the yarn in his lap. He looked back at his laptop where he had the knitting pattern he was using pulled up. Repeat rows one to four thirty more times and then switch to… "Shoot," Clark said inspecting his work closely. He'd forgotten the purl three stitches ago.
Clark put down the needles and ran his hands through his hair. Rao, this is more difficult than I thought. He turned his head and looked over at one of the animals he had sitting on one of his shelves. Maybe he would accept a bat instead? But the moment Clark thought it he dismissed the idea. If Clark was going to give Bruce a gift, the very first gift between them, he didn't think that would meet the mark. It had to be something special, it had to be evident that it came from Clark's heart.
He and Bruce had known each other for years. They've been on off-world missions with one another, went to literal hell and back, alternate universes, gotten through the death of loved ones together, they'd saved each other's lives countless of times. All this and they never said thank you to one another, it was just a given that it would be done, because no words were needed. That's just what best friends did for each other.
But even though Bruce never expected any more of him, Clark wanted to give him this. He wanted to give Bruce something that was useful and maybe, just maybe, when he looked at it he would think of Clark. The thought left a pang in his heart, a lovesick feeling Clark had become used to at this point.
He picked up his needles again and started to fix his mistake. "At least you have a few weeks until the holiday," Clark murmured to himself.
=-=
The sweater was nearly complete with just a few finishing touches remaining a few days before Christmas. Clark walked into his kitchen and held the sweater up to the light, admiring the deep blue before analyzing it further for any imperfections or mistakes he may have missed. He'd already had to redo different parts of the sweater several times. He angled it this way and that, already being able to tell that one of the sleeves was going to be the tiniest longer than the other after he blocked it and that there was the seam on the left-hand side bowed out slightly more than the other (there was no fixing it he had tried).
He was finding this to be his most difficult knitting undertaking yet. Doubt flooded him as he continued scrutinize his work; the more he looked the more he thought about tossing the sweater and saying 'to heck' with the whole thing. He dropped it on the counter and sat down heavily in one of the stools, propping his head in his hand. Maybe this just isn't meant to be. Maybe I just can't do this. What if he doesn't like it? He probably won't even like it Rao what were you thinking giving a homemade sweater to a billionaire?
He peeked over his hand and glared at the pile of knit. The one thought he could never get out of his mind when he looked at it was that the color reminded him to Bruce's eyes. Bruce's eyes…Clark's mind saw arms shivering, a body trying to not show that it's cold. The memory made him sit up straighter as a new sense of determination washed over him. He never wanted to see that again. Clark Kent would finish this sweater or die trying. I will block this sweater if its the last thing I do!
=-=
Clark landed near the front entrance to Wayne Manor, brushing idle snowflakes from his shoulders. He glanced at his watch. 3:55, made it with time to spare. He took the extra moments to admire the groundskeepers handiwork around the front drive. Clark wasn't sure he'd seen so many strings of lights fit on evergreens before. There were also snowmen that were so symmetrical they looked scary and Clark had to tamp down the urge to give them just one imperfection.
He must have been standing outside looking at the decorations longer than he thought because soon he heard someone clear their throat and say, "Are you going to stand out there all day or come inside?"
Clark turned around and saw Bruce standing in the front doorway of the Manor, pulling a grin from him. Seeing Bruce halfway in and half way out the door, as if waiting for him to come home after a long day of work… it made his heart do funny things. "Did you realize that those snowmen are so symmetrical they're giving an uncanny valley sort of effect?" he asked as he jogged up to the front door.
Bruce quickly closed the door behind them, shutting out the cold air. "Yes, it help keeps the paparazzi away."
"Master Kent, I will take your coat now if you please," Alfred said, seemingly appearing out of no where. "I can also take those bags to the kitchen."
Clark froze. One of those bags contained Bruce's present and he couldn't chance Alfred finding it. He was pretty sure Alfred wouldn't snitch on him if he found out, but at the end of the day the butler's allegiances remained firmly with Bruce. It was a risk he couldn't afford to take. "Ah, no, that's okay Alfred! You've taken enough of my bags over the years so I can do it this time. I've also been here enough times so I think I remember where the kitchen is and where to put the food. The food that's in the bags, because there is only food in the bags. All of this is to say that I'll take the bags. Please don't take the bags, Alfred." He punctuated the end of his ramble with a wide smile, hoping he appeared unsuspecting.
It must not have worked because both Alfred and Bruce looked at him like he'd grown two heads. Clark's smile became more of a pained grimace as the two men continued to stare at him. It was Alfred who took mercy on him, "Very well, Master Kent. Though, may I ask," the butler paused, "Are you feeling quite alright?"
Clark felt his cheeks heat up. "Oh yes, I'm fine. Just want to get these into a refrigerator," he said, holding up the bags.
"If you weren't an invulnerable alien who never got sick I would have asked if you were having an aneurysm," Bruce muttered, still eyeing him.
"Ha, that's so funny, Bruce!" Clark said, inwardly cringing at his awkwardness. He quickly walked away towards the direction of the kitchen, trying to escape the mess he may have inadvertently caused.
"Clark," Bruce called, "The kitchen is the other way."
Clark did a one-eighty and sped in the opposite direction. "I knew that!" he called. Oh Rao, could you be anymore obvious, Kent?!
He was still berating himself under his breath when he finally reached the kitchen. He set the bags down and started putting some of the items that needed refrigeration away, using a little super speed to help move things along. He carefully left the bag containing the sweater in the middle of the others as to not appear out of the ordinary. He had to figure out a place to stash the bag in the Manor until it was the right time to give it to Bruce, but the problem was figuring out where. In a house full of Bats, whose literal job was finding things out, it was going to prove to be a more difficult challenge than Clark had originally thought. "To be honest I didn't even think this far ahead," he muttered placing a plate of cookies in the fridge.
Just as he was rearranging one of the shelves he heard a voice pipe up behind him, "What'd you bring us this year, Clark?"
Clark had been so deep in his thoughts he hadn't been focusing on or listening to anything else. The unexpected sound startled him, causing him to jump and hit his head against the top of the fridge, denting it a little. "Merry Christmas, Dick!" he said as he turned around guilty, reaching a hand up to try and fix the dent he caused.
Dick winced, mirroring the guilty expression on Clark's face, "I'm sorry, I thought you would have heard me come in. Do you need any help?"
The young man reached for the remaining bag on the counter, the bag that held the sweater. "No!" Clark exclaimed loudly, snatching the bag from Dick's grasp and holding it close to his chest. He let out a sigh of relief that he had the bag back in his possession and said again, in a normal volume this time "No, it's okay. I don't need any help."
Now it was Dick's turn to look at Clark like he'd grown two heads. Both of Dick's hands were up in surrender and he took a step back, a stricken look on his face. "Okay, if you say so."
Just then Jason walked into kitchen, glancing over at Clark. "Oh Clark, you're here! Do you need any hel-" the rest of his question became muffled against Dick's hand. Jason glared at his brother affronted.
Realizing that what he had done would most likely result in a fight, Dick forcefully steered them both out of the room. "Clark doesn't need any help, so let's just get out of his way," he said quickly, glancing over his shoulder to give Clark one last "two-heads" look before shoving his brother out.
Clark only breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the pair bickering as they began to make their way down to the Batcave, but the anxiety came back just as quickly as it had left. I need to find a place to hide this and NOW. He walked around the room, trying to find the perfect hiding spot, a spot where none of the resident Bats would look. On his fifth turn around the kitchen Clark gave up. When he thought he could set the sweater in a corner here or behind the flour there, his brain came up with a scenario where someone would find it.
He sped out to the hall and over to where the grand staircase was, where one of the tallest spaces in the Manor was. He looked up and saw just what he was looking for. Rafters. The Manor had chandeliers hanging over the staircase and he could tuck the bag up at the top of one of them with no one the wiser. He extended his senses to make sure no one was near to see him, finding that thankfully the family members were either in one of the libraries or in the Batcave. Clark flew to the top of the Manor and placed the bag carefully atop a rafter, making sure it was hidden from all angles. Once satisfied he sped back to the kitchen where he finished arranging his food in the fridge.
=-=
The night went without a hitch, with the exception of Clark being oddly tense the entire time (but the group tried to not mention that). The group had all helped Alfred make dinner before they all sat down and ate, they'd discussed cases they were working on, the boys had opened presents in the library, they'd watched a Christmas movie (Damian had insisted on 'The Muppet Christmas Carol'), and now everyone had went to bed. Which left Clark and Bruce alone in one of the studies, Bruce swirling a pour of expensive scotch in his glass.
This was also one of the traditions, they'd come in here after everyone had fell asleep, talk through more cases, Bruce would talk about his boys, Clark would talk about work at the Daily Planet. They would just spend time in each other's company. It was one of Clark's favorite way to end the day. However, this year he was having a little bit more of a hard time enjoying the moment when all he could think about was the bag he had hid up in the rafters. Clark had kept a close eye and ear on everyone throughout the night and he was positive no one had noticed its presence.
Clark looked through the arching window to his right, watching the snow swirl in the light coming from the study. Even though he was so excited to give Bruce the sweater, he found himself putting it off. The self-doubting thoughts came swirling back to the front of his mind. He probably doesn't even want a homemade sweater when he can buy literal designer brands. What was I thinking? Oh, that's right, I wasn't.
Bruce got up to get himself a refill of his drink all while saying something about Condiment King that Clark wasn't truly paying attention to. That was when he snapped, finding he couldn't wait any longer. He had to give Bruce the gift now or he never would, he would just leave it up in the Manor rafters to collect dust. He flew out of the study and grabbed his gift, making it back before Bruce even turned around from the wet bar. He positioned himself near the window, hiding the present behind his back.
But of course, Bruce being Bruce, he knew Clark had left the room and that something was up. "Clark, be honest with me. Are you all right? You've been acting strangely all night," Bruce said, cocking his head. "You are also are holding something in your left hand."
Clark swallowed thickly. You can do it you can do it you can do it. "Yeah, so, about that… I may have broken one of your rules-"
Bruce's body went tense, his eyes darkening with suspicion as his face wore his signature Batman scowl. "What do you mean? Which rule?" he interrupted gruffly.
"Oh nothing actually bad, I promise!" Clark rushed to reassure the other man. Quit going about this all wrong. "I got you a Christmas present, B! You've always said no gifts at Christmas but I guess I…I just thought…" he trailed off, unsure of how to get the words out. I just wanted to show you that I love you.
Bruce's shoulders drooped with relief. "Oh, that's it," Bruce said, voice back to normal. He fixed Clark with what could only be described as fond exasperation before continuing, "I said that because you really don't have to. I can buy whatever I want for nothing. You don't need-"
"I did this because I wanted to!" Clark broke in, cutting Bruce off. "I understand that you don't need anything but I made this gift for you because I-"
"Wait, you made something for me?" Bruce asked, setting down his glass while making his way over to where Clark was standing. "Did I hear that right?"
"Yes," Clark said quietly looking away, cheeks feeling permanently flushed.
He was just about to throw the sweater at Bruce when he heard it, when he heard Bruce's heartbeat speed up for two seconds before settling into its steady pace. Clark turned back to see the tops of Bruce's cheekbones and ears had turned a bit pink. Oh no, is he sick? I don't think he is showing any symptoms. Clark looked into Bruce's eyes, looking for any indication that a fever may be setting in. Bruce's heartbeat skipped.
"Are you going to give it to me?" Bruce asked.
Clark paused his impromptu examination of Bruce's face, "Give you what? Oh right! Here!" He presented the slightly crumpled bag to Bruce. Bruce took it carefully, as if it were carefully wrapped in the best wrapping paper instead of just a plain paper bag Clark had used to blend it in with the others. His insecurities began to rise again as he watched Bruce look at it. "It isn't much but-"
"Whatever you choose to give me will always be enough," Bruce said quietly, making eye contact with Clark before pulling the sweater from the bag.
Bruce walked over to the fireplace, Clark following, on the other side of the room and examined it under the light, turning parts of it inside out so he could see the inner stitching. After he was finished with his preliminary inspection Bruce just held the sweater, looking at the color and running his thumbs back and forth over the knit. Silence permeated the space.
Bruce made a small, quiet sound that Clark couldn't discern before asking again, "You made this for me?"
"Yes I did! I took up knitting maybe two months ago and then that night we were on the roof when it was really cold out you were shivering, even though you didn't want me to know, so I thought 'what a perfect excuse to use my newfound hobby!' and I made it with merino wool so that you could we warmer and it turned out thin enough that you could probably wear it underneath your suit if you wanted and then I'll know you're warm…and, and safe," Clark rambled, looking at the mantle on the fire place, the fire itself, some books on a nearby shelf, anywhere but Bruce.
Oh Rao he hates it, this is going to be the worst day of my life. How will I -we- ever recover from this? The thoughts kept flooding his mind, chipping away at his earlier confidence, until he heard it again. Bruce's heartbeat changing rhythm, speeding up and this time, not slowing.
"B, are you okay?" Clark asked, forgetting all insecurities over the handmade gift. He stood in front of Bruce and looked him over, both with regular and x-ray vision. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Bruce's cheeks were still flushed but maybe that could be due to how close they were to the fire. "You're heart is racing and you look like you have a terrible blush - are you warm?" He reached out and placed a hand on Bruce's forehead only to have Bruce slap it away. "Do you think it's a fever? Do you feel alri-"
"Shut up, Clark," Bruce choked out, sounding strangled.
"Look, I'm just trying to figure out if you're okay-"
Bruce quickly stepped forward and pulled Clark down so they were at eye level. What the heck? "I said," Bruce said quietly, heart still racing, pupils dilating, "Shut up, Clark," and pulled Clark into a mind-melting kiss.
Clark leaned into the kiss, every cell in his body rejoicing at the turn of events. He had waited for this moment for years and now it happening. He teased his tongue against the seam of Bruce's mouth, asking for permission to enter. The other man opened willingly and Clark took the time to explore every inch. He ran his tongue over Bruce's bottom teeth before pulling back and biting the man's lower lip, eliciting a gasp, the sound working its way through Clark like fire. He pulled back even more, resting his forehead against Bruce's, the both of them breathing heavy, exhales intermingling.
"I should give you gifts more often if I know you're going to act like this after," Clark joked between breaths he didn't need.
Bruce grinned, his eyes were nearly black, like the sweater, as he leaned forward and nibbled Clark's ear, causing a full-body shiver. Clark groaned. "I can think of a few more gifts you can give me."
Clark felt a shiver pass through him again at the words. Rao, all it took was a sweater? "Good think I'm a quick learner."