Family Portraits

[kittymayhem]

Title: Family Portraits
Fandom: DC/JLU
Pairings: Bruce/Clark
Characters: Clark Kent/Superman, Bruce Wayne/Batman, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Tim Drake/Robin, Barbara Gordon
Word Count: 3,922
Rating: PG
Warnings: Severe Angst near the end; mention of a character death
Spoilers: None
Synopsis:

Family Portraits are what you make of them. Sometimes traditional, other times not. For Bruce and Clark, their family portrait is a photo of them surrounded by the ones that matter the most...even the ones who are suddenly dropped into their lives. There's always room to add more, especially when those who are added are innocent little people who ask for nothing but love...and the occasional bottle.
- A look into the not so far future. Told from Clark's POV.



Chapter one: Finding youxml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /

“You’re free then?”

Clark found himself asking this, smiling in his usual manner as he leaned against the marble tiling of the kitchen counter he’d gotten to know intimately in the past few years. The stone gleamed up at him, shined with lemon scented cleanser not an hour ago by vigilant hands that had taken up the responsibility when their usual care taker had gone into the skies and not returned. Cleanser soaked hands stilled themselves, a small indulgent smile on that face his only clue as to what his answer would indeed be.

“I have a meeting around noon,” came the reply. “If you happen to saunter in around one, I wouldn’t object to your company and perhaps a bit of lunch.”

“Is the usual place all right?”

“More than. I’m sure they’ve put a rope around that table by now with some obscene lavish VIP placement cards.”

“Only in your delusional little world, Bruce.”

“You’ve sucked me into it. So technically it’s your fault. Are you finished?”

Clark rolled his eyes skyward, intently not laughing at the jovial dance in those blue eyes when they landed on him. He sat back and turned a bit, producing his handiwork and what was left of it sitting in his lap. “I believe the towels are indeed done,” he announced. “As are your shirts, my pants, and whatever else could be salvaged. Why you let him do the laundry is beyond me.”

“It will be the last time until we have a frank discussion about washer settings. I promise you that much.”

“I suppose he’s on his own now, huh?”

“How he manages to live with those kind of washer lessons is beyond me. When he does that, he’s your kid.”

Clark laughed then, smiling into the kiss left upon the side of his head in passing. Yellow gloves had been abandoned for the sake of dignity and not being able to function in them properly. They lie resting upon the counter aside the folded towels, watching idly as the couple quickly finished their chores and went about their lives as they had without interruption for the last five years.

Bruce finished placing all the dishes away from breakfast, drying the last of them with a cloth he had tied to his waist. He hummed lightly as he did so, the light of the morning brightening his mood as the sun shifted to warm the kitchen with its warm glow. He would have never imagined this for himself…never once thought about having to do something so domestic and loving it silently. It was a far cry from how he used to be, and how he thought he’d live today five years prior to now.

He looked back at the man sitting at the kitchen island, unable to keep the warm smile from appearing when Clark blushed and smiled back at him. His heart thundered as it tended to do now and perhaps forever more if the powers that be allowed it. He welcomed it and the changes in his life with open arms, fully educated in the repercussions of life’s short tendencies and the fickle promise of tomorrow. What was once here could be gone, and having lived life as he had prior to this moment, he wanted to regret nothing.

Everyone knew the beginning tales of how Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent met. It was no secret and they didn’t treat it as such. They weren’t friends, but they weren’t enemies. Outside of their day to day lives, some people knew of the tension between the Bat and the superhero from another world. Some exaggerated it. Others played it down. It was there, but it wasn’t because of some open hate broadcasted by Batman. It wasn’t because of some played up Boy Scout routine and the disdain of Batman’s way of working broadcasted by Superman.

They simply didn’t really know how to talk to one another, nor did they know how to approach something that would settle into a mutual working relationship without overstepping boundaries. Batman was protective of his city, and Superman preferred not to have mortals getting in the way of something that could crush them.

It was a fight within one another’s cities that made them realize there was more to the other man than what lie in the open, and before long, there was a sizable respect for what the other did. It started with an open handshake, one that Batman took with some trepidation when Superman thrust his hand out. It reminded him of his days in elementary school, where one child who had been wrong in their assumptions tried to be the bigger person and stuck out their hand to say so without really talking. Rather than avoid it and provoke more skepticism, he took it at face value and put his gloved hand into the grip of a man who would bench steel.

Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent had a similar understanding later on in life.

An interview, one that had been given to Clark in a hasty last moment of insane judgment had been his undoing. Like most, the public’s view of the billionaire was one of  a man who lived a fast live, drove fast cars, and had a woman in his bed every week if not every night. His smile was the key to getting what he wanted, and he didn’t know much more than what he chose to know. His answers to most questions were simple minded in the past, and for the life of anyone they didn’t know how this man managed to run a company like Wayne Enterprises. People still speculated that Lucius Fox still ran things, but the man had retired and gone to enjoy the rest of his days in the south.

Clark had purposely prepared questions he was sure he was going to dumbfound the billionaire with. It was probably a bit malicious of him, but finding out the truth tended to do that. The interview was supposed to be at a restaurant, but little did Clark know that it was at a Diner.

When he stepped into the little hidden piece of the fifties and spied a tired man drinking his coffee gratefully, it didn’t look to be a man who’d been out partying all night. He had his laptop out, papers strewn out in front of him, and the waitress coming to refill the coffee pot he’d drained on his own. Clark sat down across from him, somewhat startling him out of his thoughts.

The look he’d given the reporter wasn’t one of contempt or one of pure ease. It was a look that Clark had never truly witnessed before, and it unnerved him quite a bit.

Open Honesty.

“My apologies Mister Kent. I’m not exactly presentable for a picture, but I can answer your questions.”

Clark had to recompose himself, shifting himself and his thoughts of pretentious notions forwarded from the now obvious guise worn to fool the basic public. His questions seemed inadequate now, and he quickly rehashed several of them in a moment of quick scribbling.

Bruce watched him, sipping his coffee leisurely.

When the reporter finally looked up from his frantic revamping, the billionaire carefully slid a cup of hot coffee in his direction.

A truce was made, and Clark went about asking his questions with Bruce answering them honestly.

They ended their meeting over a stack of pancakes split between them, Clark once again surprised by the amount of food Bruce managed to shovel into his mouth without stopping to breathe. He mumbled something about being starved for real cooking, and Clark remembered that his butler was in England tending to an ailing member of his family. Bruce gave him the tiniest of sheepish smiles as he devoured the last bite without a lick of remorse.

Clark decided then that Bruce Wayne was a man of many faces, and few saw past the ones he put up.

It took Batman and Superman an equivalent of two years to consider themselves friends. A mutual worry over a little bird named Robin fluttering at the Bat’s side cemented that fragile thing and it only grew.

Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne didn’t quite become friends until they were stuck in a situation that revealed Clark’s out of this world abilities and Bruce’s sharp wit. Being who they were behind those masks, putting two and two together didn’t make it harder for them to understand one another. Rather, it just made them realize what the other went through in order to have some normalcy in their lives.

Sure, they had their ups and downs, falling outs and reconciliations as most friends tend to. It probably would have stayed that way…if it weren’t for meddling children and their outlandish ideas.

Clark chuckled to himself, eyes alit with mirth as Bruce shook his head. “Are you thinking about it again?” Bruce asked. “That disaster of a first date?”

“It wasn’t so bad,” Clark chuckled. “You were covered in mud and I was covered in hay...but we lived.”

“Hn. Our boys are insane.”

“So is Barbara…but they seem to be getting along without meddling too much in our affairs now.”

“That…is because they are grown and out of the house. Can I jump now?”

“And mess up the balance? By all means…”

The kids had all grown up and gone, the last one being Tim as he sauntered off to college. It was reason enough to celebrate, despite all of them coming back to the manor at one point or another to crash, visit, or do laundry. Tim was in the middle of his second year in engineering, Dick was working his way into being a police officer, and Barbara was using her skills to become a top programmer. They had lives of their own and lived them to the fullest, but they didn’t forget the ones who had taught them much of what they knew.

It was amusing to the older gentlemen. Kids always wanted to fly away, but they never stayed away.

Fifteen years had come and gone. They’d spent their youthful days ignoring the other, their maturing days idly watching the other, and their adult days recognizing the friendship they had as something more. Five years to the day they’d wound up here, smothered in white frosting and yellow cake with their friends and family around them laughing at the cake war. It was a sign of good times, despite the tragedies that had befallen them in the later years.

Losing Alfred had been amongst the tragedies, softened only by the loving hands of one another and patience as well as understanding.

Lemon scented hands raked themselves through thick waves of bluish black streaked with silver as age caught up to them. They were considered old men by their young ones; Clark a healthy forty-five and Bruce getting closer to a fit forty-six. Age had taken them out of the game of full time roles in the superhero business, but it gave them time to really enjoy one another as a person, not as an idol for the world to hate or love.

Clark leaned into the soft caress upon his jaw, falling under the spell of darkness wrapped in light once more when their lips touched. He pulled him a little closer, fingers digging into the fabric of the apron Bruce wore until Bruce molded himself against him and relaxed. Clark felt the same little thrill he had felt since the first time Bruce had fully fallen into his arms and hadn’t let go. The kiss was chaste, sweet, and full of promise, a sound echo of the words said silently between them in moments like this. Clark gazed up at Bruce as the billionaire wiped a bit of soap off of Clark’s chin, smiling and kissing the side of his nose.

“You’ll be by the office around one?”

“Provided nothing happens,” Clark agreed. “If it does, I’ll call. I promise.”

“You better.”

As easily as they had come together, they slipped apart, still warm from the kiss and the lingering hand in Clark’s hair.  Bruce’s had begun to salt and pepper itself long ago, but it was only now that the distinguished man let it stay that way for all to see. He winked and left to get himself ready for the day, leaving Clark to smile giddily to himself as he went back to folding the remaining bits of their laundry.

The ring upon his finger still gleamed in the open sunlight, a bit tarnished but valuable all the same.

The blue skies would never change.

It was one thing about this planet that Clark could appreciate.

The silken feel of white drifting lazily amongst the endless blue was only part of the enchantment. The warmth of the midday sun was always welcome, soaked into his invulnerable skin and leaving him breathless in an uplifting moment of pure joy. Head tilted towards the sun’s gleeful shine, he drifted slowly into the soft thick waves of white, hovering within them for a few precious moments as they began to grey.

He fell out of them with the burst of spring rains, laughing to himself as the skies playful sprays left him with a pleasant shiver. There was no better way to be on a morning where peace seemed to reign free.

Alive and feeling better than ever, Clark found his way down into the streets of Gotham, appearing within one of the many abandoned alleys built into the city of the night. During the day the place was quite calm. The night brought to live the concrete woman of many natures, chaotic heading the forefront of personalities once. The quiet of the past few nights were not taken lightly; Clark more than grateful to have Bruce to himself and not share him with the city that claimed to love and hate the dark knight that protected her so fiercely. Lying with the man at night and waking up with him were moments he lived for, and getting them for a week in a row was something scarce; something precious.

It felt like the world had finally given up its grip on some of the madness, and rather than feel restless without something to do or someone to save, Clark was immensely glad for the break.

Whistling lightly, he shoved his hands into his pockets and walked out into the spring rain.

He inhaled deeply…and was assaulted by the smell of fresh blood.

Stopping in his tracks, he sniffed the air again. Rain; concrete; the bratwurst stand a couple of blocks over; someone’s lavender tinted perfume….and blood. A good bit of it.

Heart hammering in his chest, Clark turned in the direction of the smell. It was back through the alley he’d come from, a little further back in the darker corners.  He couldn’t see anyone…but he heard the hurried shuffling of someone as they hurried away, slipping into the building’s back way and disappearing into the crowd moments later. Clark wasn’t concerned about following them. The blood had him pinned to his spot, worrying and hoping that it wasn’t as serious as his mind thought it to be.

He took a tentative step forward…

Something else caught his ear.

He stopped cold, only to thrust himself forward with an urgency he hadn’t felt in quite some time.

Hands scraping against the rubble that he nearly stumbled over, he ripped at the cloth he found under the pile of bricks and hefted them off of the sound he’d heard.

What he found made his heart stop.

Bruce stared worriedly at his watch.

It was going on three. Lunch had been two hours ago, and unlike the others he’d stayed at the office, waiting for some sign of his significant other so they could dine at their usual spot.

It wasn’t uncommon for something to deter those plans. Sometimes it was a late business meeting, other times it was a disaster or some petty thief trying their patience. Nothing ever stopped them from having a meal together afterward, and if not, one of them at least called to reschedule for dinner.

Clark had done neither.

Bruce worried his lower lip in the privacy of his office. The Bat within him was screaming that something was quite wrong and that he needed to get up and find out what it was. The rational part of himself was slow to accept that just yet, willing to wait perhaps another hour for some type of call to verify that feeling. Clark hadn’t called, but neither had anyone else who could possibly know if something major was happening. There were no breaking news bulletins, no evidence of an alien take over, and no one on the league had tapped the emergency line looking for the Bat.

He fingered the phone’s receiver….wanting to call but not wanting to seem completely out of his mind with worry.

Perhaps Clark had just forgotten…

Highly unlikely. No. Something was definitely wrong.

“Mr. Wayne…you have a call on line one,” his secretary said over the intercom. He sighed, not wanting to deal with another voice trying to negotiate contracts over his line. The secretary didn’t announce who it was. Rather, she inhaled a little and said, “I believe you’ve been waiting for this one.”

Bruce snatched up the receiver, tension in his voice and fingers as he nearly snapped the thing in half. “Yes?”

Breathing. Unsteady ragged breathing…and the sound of a lightly choked sob trying to make its way up. He’d heard it several times from various people, but he knew that sound when it came from his spouse. “Bruce…” His instincts had been right.

Bruce felt his chest constrict. “Clark?! What happened?! Something’s wrong…I know it is!”

Clark hesitated, possibly wiping his nose a bit as he sorted himself out. “Yes…and no. Um…can you come to Gotham Mercy?”

Anything was possible, but there was little that could make his spouse sound like he was about to break down. They’d been through the mishaps of their grown children, and little more than broken bones kept them worried. Thoughts of some horrendous accident flooded his mind. He made a mental recap of where everyone was, fighting not to find his cell phone and call them all up. Clark hadn’t said it, but…Bruce was free to think it. And ask it.

Bruce fought the tightness in his chest, thoughts of his grown children plaguing his thoughts. “Is someone hurt?!”

“No! No, the kids…are fine…but I need you down here. Please…”

Clark would have said it. Bruce was relieved, but worried immensely. He couldn’t deny the plea in that voice, nor keep himself from worry and wonder as he got up from his desk. Something horrid had rocked his spouse’s axis, and it was short of undoing him if he didn’t hurry. “I’m leaving now,” he said gruffly. “Don’t move.”

He dropped the phone on its hook and was flying out of the door, barking orders at his secretary to take all his calls for the remainder of the day. The rest of the building had the misfortune of seeing a very anxious, agitated, and decidedly worried Bruce Wayne make his way out of his building and into the car he’d driven here shortly before noon.

It didn’t take Bruce long to find out where his husband was.

He came flying through the main doors of the hospital, looking about frantically as he tried to spot Clark in the sea of faces taking in his disheveled form. He didn’t see him, but one of the nurses recognized him and linked an event from earlier to why he was there looking like he’d lost his mind. She grabbed his hand before he could take off down a corridor in his own attempts to find his lover, and calmly directed him to where Clark was.

Clark was leaning against the clear glass of a monitoring room, face turned into his chest as he fought the unfamiliar feeling of intense sorrow eating him alive. His face was flushed with rage, tear tracks upon his cheeks staining the red flush of his skin when he didn’t wipe them away. He sniffled, rubbing his face tiredly; the stain of blood upon his shirt slapping something cold into the center of Bruce’s chest. Something horrid had happened…something that had upset his lover into a subtle quake of his muscles; his attempt not to punch the wall out.

Bruce called out Clark’s name.

The reporter turned and all but sagged into his questioning but open embrace, hugging his lover to him as Clark clung and didn’t let go.

“Clark…what happened?” he asked when he couldn’t take the silence anymore. He pulled back, thumbs wiping the fresh tears that whelmed and flowed over his fingers and just wouldn’t stop. Clark shook his head and put it back against Bruce’s shoulder.

“Mr. Wayne?” It was the young nurse who’d taken him here. He turned around as best he could with Clark in his embrace, the question on his face growing when she sadly smiled at him. Her soft green gaze fluttered into the window of the monitoring room, urging him to look. She didn’t say much. Her wringing hands did when she couldn’t quite voice what the commotion was all about.

She didn’t need to. Bruce could see…and he felt his heart shatter for Clark and for the little life clinging for what was nearly lost.

“Oh dear god…”

“Mr. Wayne, she’s not doing so well right now,” the nurse said softly. He felt Clark crumble a little more at the news. Instinctively holding on and tightening his grip, the billionaire fought his remorse and urged her to go on. “Granted…if your spouse hadn’t…found her when he did…well, it’s safe to say that this is better than what could have been.”

Not in his eyes. No one should ever be hooked up to so many monitors. Especially a tiny life.

He looked away from the beeping machinery.

“We promised to keep an eye on her…until the proper authorities can take her,” the nurse said. “Your spouse insisted on it…if it’s all right?”

“It’s fine.”

Her shoulders sagged in obvious relief. What little happiness could be found in a situation like this fluttered across her features, a wan smile on her lips as she looked at them. “We’ll call you around noon each day,” she offered. “Please drop by if you like…I’m sure right now she needs someone more than the medical staff.”

Bruce could only nod tersely, his attention on the man in his arms. Clark had straightened himself out somewhat, his red rimmed eyes looking into the clear glass and tearing all over again when they happened upon the frail body that had been tossed under a pile of bricks.

She barely moved…only hours old and with a machine doing the breathing for her.

“Why…would someone do this?” he asked bitterly. “Why? I don’t understand it…”

Bruce didn’t understand it himself. He found himself wishing that his lover had never found that little girl…just so he could protect the overgrown heart that broke so easily for the senseless tragedies. It was a selfish notion, but one he could admit to.

He hugged Clark closer to him, and for the first time in a long while prayed that the little life behind that glass would be all right.

For Clark’s sake if not his own.

Ah... alittle heart breaking yes, but you have to travel down these roads to get to a happier place.

Chapter two up on Friday if it allows.