fic: Baking Cookies with Batman (DCU; Bruce, Martha; g)
Baking Cookies with Batman
DCU; Bruce Wayne, Martha Kent; g; 1,020 words
In which Batman bakes cookies with Martha Kent.
I have wanted this story for a very long time and no one else would write it for me. Sigh. As for canon, it's mostly animated Justice League (mostly set during "Hereafter") with some comics details thrown in.
~*~
Baking Cookies with Batman
Bruce is familiar with grief. It's his constant companion; it infuses his shadow and gives it weight he can wrap around himself even when he's not wearing his cape.
He doesn't believe that Clark is truly gone, and he refuses to give into this particular grief, but Alfred looks at him reproachfully, and then at the memorial case behind him, the message clear. Bruce knows what it is to lose a son.
He arrives at the farm several hours later, awkward and unsure for all his urbane exterior, still that heartbroken little boy on the inside, and perhaps Martha Kent has a measure of her son's x-ray vision, or perhaps she's simply a woman who sees her own sorrow reflected back at her in his face, because she doesn't look surprised to see him.
"Please come in," she says. Her voice doesn't shake and her posture is as perfect as ever, but she looks old to him now, old and small and fragile. "Jonathan is in town, but he should be back soon." She leads him into the kitchen, which smells of vanilla. There's a dusting of flour on the table and several trays of cookies in various states. "Tea?"
He doesn't fidget. He's Batman. But he wants to flee the warm, brightly lit kitchen. He doesn't do that either; Alfred would be mortified. "Thank you." He sits at the table, careful not to dredge his sleeves in the flour or jostle any of the cooling cookie trays. "I'm sorry for your loss. He was," Bruce forces the past tense out, "he was a good friend, and a good man." Things he hadn't said often to Clark, but Martha needs to hear them, and maybe he needs to say them now. Not that he believes Clark is really dead.
"Thank you, Bruce." Martha puts a hand on his arm and squeezes lightly. "He's often said the same of you." She pours the tea then, and for a few moments, they're both occupied with milk and sugar, pouring and stirring, the clink of spoons on china the only sound. A timer buzzes, then, and she stands slowly, pushing herself up out of her chair as if every one of her years weighs on her.
"Do you need help?"
She hands him the oven mitts, her eyes bright with tears and a watery smile on her face. "Clark loves to--loved to bake with me."
"Alfred doesn't let me near the kitchen," Bruce says with a small, wry grin. "I'm a disaster waiting to happen." He manages to get the tray out of the oven and onto a rack without mishap, though.
Martha's smile steadies. "Clark used to burn everything. It's a good thing he's fireproof. He learned, though." She indicates the KitchenAid on the counter. "You can, too."
"I don't want to burn down your house," he says, letting a little Brucie seep through, but once again, she sees right through it.
"I'm sure you won't," she answers. She digs around in a drawer and pulls out an apron that says, Kiss the Cook on it. "So you don't get flour on your suit."
Adaptation is Batman's watchword, and he knows when he's in a fight he can't win. He takes his jacket off, folds it neatly over the back of the chair, and puts his cufflinks in his pocket so he can roll up his sleeves. Martha smiles at him, wide and genuine, and though there's no real family resemblance between her and Clark, the warmth of it feels exactly the same.
Aside from feeling completely out of place in the homey farmhouse kitchen, he feels vaguely like he's betraying his own mother when he measures out sugar and flour into the mixing bowl, even though he knows (and certainly Alfred would tell him) that's nonsense. He never baked cookies with his mother, and after one disastrous attempt at muffins when he was a boy, Alfred never let him near the oven again.
He watches the beater spin, combining butter and sugar, eggs and flour, lost in his own thoughts until Martha say, "It's soothing, isn't it?" She peers into the bowl and then switches the mixer off. "That should be enough. Don't want to overwork it."
She shows him how to fold the chocolate chips into the batter, and then drop it onto the cookie sheet using a pair of spoons.
Jonathan arrives as the second tray of Bruce's cookies is going into the oven, and if he's surprised to see Batman baking cookies with his wife, he doesn't show it. He nods once in greeting. "Bruce."
"Jonathan." Bruce nods back and gestures to the tray cooling on the table. "Cookie?"
"Don't mind if I do." He takes one and pops it into his mouth. "Good job," he says when he's finished chewing. "Ma'll turn you into a baker in no time."
Bruce laughs softly in response.
He stays longer than planned, and when he returns to the Cave, he hands Alfred a tin of homemade cookies. "From Martha," he says. And then just after Alfred's taken a bite, "I helped."
Alfred raises an eyebrow. "And there was no need to call the fire department?" Bruce shakes his head and Alfred smiles. "Splendid."
Of course, Bruce is right and Clark isn't dead at all (and one day, the others will just listen to him instead of letting their emotions get the best of them). He shows up at the Cave the Sunday morning after his triumphant return and says, "Ma wants you to come over for brunch."
Bruce opens his mouth to refuse the invitation--he has work to do--but Alfred harrumphs softly and he finds himself saying, "Fine, Clark. But only because it's your mother asking."
When they arrive at the farm, Martha hugs him warmly and then hands him an apron. "With my two best assistants here, brunch will be ready in no time."
Bruce doesn't even mind when Lois laughs uproariously at this announcement. (Afterwards, though, he deletes all the pictures off her phone.) And under Martha's watchful eye, the corn muffins turn out fine.
end
~*~
Feedback would be delightful.
~*~
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/553299.html.
people have commented there.
DCU; Bruce Wayne, Martha Kent; g; 1,020 words
In which Batman bakes cookies with Martha Kent.
I have wanted this story for a very long time and no one else would write it for me. Sigh. As for canon, it's mostly animated Justice League (mostly set during "Hereafter") with some comics details thrown in.
~*~
Baking Cookies with Batman
Bruce is familiar with grief. It's his constant companion; it infuses his shadow and gives it weight he can wrap around himself even when he's not wearing his cape.
He doesn't believe that Clark is truly gone, and he refuses to give into this particular grief, but Alfred looks at him reproachfully, and then at the memorial case behind him, the message clear. Bruce knows what it is to lose a son.
He arrives at the farm several hours later, awkward and unsure for all his urbane exterior, still that heartbroken little boy on the inside, and perhaps Martha Kent has a measure of her son's x-ray vision, or perhaps she's simply a woman who sees her own sorrow reflected back at her in his face, because she doesn't look surprised to see him.
"Please come in," she says. Her voice doesn't shake and her posture is as perfect as ever, but she looks old to him now, old and small and fragile. "Jonathan is in town, but he should be back soon." She leads him into the kitchen, which smells of vanilla. There's a dusting of flour on the table and several trays of cookies in various states. "Tea?"
He doesn't fidget. He's Batman. But he wants to flee the warm, brightly lit kitchen. He doesn't do that either; Alfred would be mortified. "Thank you." He sits at the table, careful not to dredge his sleeves in the flour or jostle any of the cooling cookie trays. "I'm sorry for your loss. He was," Bruce forces the past tense out, "he was a good friend, and a good man." Things he hadn't said often to Clark, but Martha needs to hear them, and maybe he needs to say them now. Not that he believes Clark is really dead.
"Thank you, Bruce." Martha puts a hand on his arm and squeezes lightly. "He's often said the same of you." She pours the tea then, and for a few moments, they're both occupied with milk and sugar, pouring and stirring, the clink of spoons on china the only sound. A timer buzzes, then, and she stands slowly, pushing herself up out of her chair as if every one of her years weighs on her.
"Do you need help?"
She hands him the oven mitts, her eyes bright with tears and a watery smile on her face. "Clark loves to--loved to bake with me."
"Alfred doesn't let me near the kitchen," Bruce says with a small, wry grin. "I'm a disaster waiting to happen." He manages to get the tray out of the oven and onto a rack without mishap, though.
Martha's smile steadies. "Clark used to burn everything. It's a good thing he's fireproof. He learned, though." She indicates the KitchenAid on the counter. "You can, too."
"I don't want to burn down your house," he says, letting a little Brucie seep through, but once again, she sees right through it.
"I'm sure you won't," she answers. She digs around in a drawer and pulls out an apron that says, Kiss the Cook on it. "So you don't get flour on your suit."
Adaptation is Batman's watchword, and he knows when he's in a fight he can't win. He takes his jacket off, folds it neatly over the back of the chair, and puts his cufflinks in his pocket so he can roll up his sleeves. Martha smiles at him, wide and genuine, and though there's no real family resemblance between her and Clark, the warmth of it feels exactly the same.
Aside from feeling completely out of place in the homey farmhouse kitchen, he feels vaguely like he's betraying his own mother when he measures out sugar and flour into the mixing bowl, even though he knows (and certainly Alfred would tell him) that's nonsense. He never baked cookies with his mother, and after one disastrous attempt at muffins when he was a boy, Alfred never let him near the oven again.
He watches the beater spin, combining butter and sugar, eggs and flour, lost in his own thoughts until Martha say, "It's soothing, isn't it?" She peers into the bowl and then switches the mixer off. "That should be enough. Don't want to overwork it."
She shows him how to fold the chocolate chips into the batter, and then drop it onto the cookie sheet using a pair of spoons.
Jonathan arrives as the second tray of Bruce's cookies is going into the oven, and if he's surprised to see Batman baking cookies with his wife, he doesn't show it. He nods once in greeting. "Bruce."
"Jonathan." Bruce nods back and gestures to the tray cooling on the table. "Cookie?"
"Don't mind if I do." He takes one and pops it into his mouth. "Good job," he says when he's finished chewing. "Ma'll turn you into a baker in no time."
Bruce laughs softly in response.
He stays longer than planned, and when he returns to the Cave, he hands Alfred a tin of homemade cookies. "From Martha," he says. And then just after Alfred's taken a bite, "I helped."
Alfred raises an eyebrow. "And there was no need to call the fire department?" Bruce shakes his head and Alfred smiles. "Splendid."
Of course, Bruce is right and Clark isn't dead at all (and one day, the others will just listen to him instead of letting their emotions get the best of them). He shows up at the Cave the Sunday morning after his triumphant return and says, "Ma wants you to come over for brunch."
Bruce opens his mouth to refuse the invitation--he has work to do--but Alfred harrumphs softly and he finds himself saying, "Fine, Clark. But only because it's your mother asking."
When they arrive at the farm, Martha hugs him warmly and then hands him an apron. "With my two best assistants here, brunch will be ready in no time."
Bruce doesn't even mind when Lois laughs uproariously at this announcement. (Afterwards, though, he deletes all the pictures off her phone.) And under Martha's watchful eye, the corn muffins turn out fine.
end
~*~
Feedback would be delightful.
~*~
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/553299.html.
people have commented there.