Fic: Lights Through a Shining Prism | DCU | Clark/Bruce | PG | 1/1
Title: Lights Through a Shining Prism
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2,442
Prompts: For the World's Finest Gift Exchange: F27 - just an expression out of which you can make anything you want (and on every imagery level you want) - "black and blue"; For dcu_freeforall/ The 2008 DCU Free For All Winter Holiday Challenge: T05; P08: Silver/Magic Kryptonite & T15; P29: Christmas Tree
Summary: Experiencing a long sequence of strange events, Clark has an astonishing revelation.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own it all. I own nothing. Darnit.
Author's Notes: Plenty of angst and WAFF ahead! I pretty much ran with the prompt, so whoever requested it, I hope you enjoy it! :D
Lights Through a Shining Prism
It takes a while for the cobwebs to clear out from Clark's head as he wakes up. Must have been a rough patrol, is all he can figure, as sparkles and a bit of dizziness dance around the edges of his vision. But... he can't quite remember. Someone probably hit him with a piece of kryptonite, he realizes, making a mental note to ask Bruce later. His lover will fill in the blanks with excruciating detail, no doubt.
So out of bed he rolls, heading to the bathroom to shower and dress, brushing off the odd feelings and working the soreness out of his back and shoulders with the high-powered water jets in the shower stall. The too-hot water feels heavenly, loosening knots in his muscles, and for a while, he wishes he could just stay there all day.
That's when he notices the bruises. Dark patches of black and blue wind up both his arms from wrist to shoulder like vines, spreading out to cover his chest and his legs. How did he not see this before?
Standing in the shower until the water runs cold, he stares at the marks, examining himself like some exotic specimen. He has absolutely no memory of being in a fight this bad. None. It looks like... like he dove into a wood chipper, or tried to stop a falling jet and failed, or... had his entire body nearly ripped to pieces. No wonder he's sore...
Just how did he get so beat up? And what else is he missing? Finally shutting off the icy water, he steps out of the stall to check himself in the wall-height mirror. It's just bruises, the black and blue splotches covering him almost from head to toe. Not a single welt or cut or abrasion. Nothing. Just bruises.
What the hell happened?
Just then he hears the tell-tale clean steps of expensive shoes on marble floors in the foyer. Bruce is home.
Bruce. All he wants in this moment is Bruce, for his lover to come and fix everything and tell him what's going on and hold him tight. His chest aches with that need so acutely, he thinks he might die from it any instant, and the thought sends him into an unexpected tailspin of panic.
Trying and failing to calm himself, he can't help but call out in a trembling voice, “Bruce!!” before the sparkles around the edges of his vision begin to close in around him.
* * * * *
Shaking his head, Clark shrugs off the weight of his sleepiness. Darned Christmas turkey, he laments. Of all the things to be vulnerable to, he'd never have guessed that tryptophan would be on that list. But he supposes it's amusing, in a way, especially judging by the way Bruce is smirking at him from the other end of the sofa. It's only a quarter to eight, after all, and there are traditions to uphold before anyone will be getting any sleep. Carols to sing, The Night Before Christmas to read, stockings to finish hanging, and the first of the presents to open. Not to mention the customary candy cane and hot cocoa combination that Alfred fixes every year. No nodding off now, nuh-uh.
When Bruce chuckles at him, Clark sits up a little straighter, smiling tiredly. “Sorry. Busy week, I suppose,” he explains sheepishly.
“Right,” Bruce shoots back with a good-natured grin. “As if that turkey didn't have anything to do with it.”
“Hmph,” Clark mock-pouts in return, turning his attention to where the boys and Kara are decorating the family Christmas tree. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”
His lover's dark chuckle tells him he really is as bad a liar as he's been known to be.
But now both their attention is on the kids and the tree. The lights have been strung, blue and white this year, and the glass balls have all been hung, silver and blue and white and a dark chrome so close to black you couldn't tell the difference if you tried, and now Dick, Jason, Tim, Kon, and Chris are all debating the proper placement of the little chrome bats and “S” shields while Kara just watches them bemusedly. Each wants their own particular family symbol displayed more prominently, but cooler heads prevail when Tim decides that the spirit of the holiday requires equal placement.
In the end, it's a positively beautiful sight, the kids happily working together on the tree while trading good-spirited jabs and noogies, the lights twinkling and the ornaments and blue and black tinsel shining and shimmering, freshly-strung popcorn and black and blue striped candy canes finishing it off. Clark can hardly take his eyes off of it, it's so welcoming. Their tree. Their family tree....
Suddenly Bruce is pressing something into his hands, and Clark realizes with a start that he was starting to doze off again.
“Go ahead, it's your turn this year,” Bruce says, smirking at him.
Clark looks down at the thing in his hands, a glittering star just waiting to be added to the top of the tree, and he can't help grinning. In a moment, he's floated up to the top and set the star in its place, attached its plug to the end of the string of lights, and come back down to admire the sight.
Gleaming in black and blue with touches of red and yellow, their symbols intertwined in the center, the star announces the joining of their two families, as it has every year since the beginning. His heart swells with pride and love, even as his eyes begin to drift shut....
* * * * *
The thick, black smoke trailing from the falling Bat plane chokes Clark's lungs, and he can hardly breathe, diving for it as it drops from the endless blue of the sky toward the equally endless blue of the ocean. No!! He can't let this happen, can't let Bruce die. Not like this. Not here!!
His mind feels like it's wrapped in dark cotton, and his eyes sting with the toxic smoke billowing into the sky. He can't reach Bruce fast enough. Can't reach him....
Black plummeting through blue fills his vision as a choked scream rips from his chest.
“Bruce!!!”
* * * * *
Blinking with a lazy grin at the sight before him, Clark sets the breakfast tray down on the side table and slides into bed next to his lover. He runs a hand down an exposed arm, watches goose-bumps rise in the wake of his fingertips, and can't help a light chuckle at Bruce's involuntary shiver.
“Mmph,” his lover groans, face still smashed into the pillow, hair wild around his head.
“Time to wake up, sleepy head,” Clark smiles at him. “I brought breakfast.”
A single brilliant blue eye beneath dark black hair peeks open at that. “Coffee?” he grunts.
“Coffee,” Clark nods in confirmation. “And eggs over medium, buttered wheat toast, and bacon.”
At the description of breakfast, Bruce rolls over and slides back to sit up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “You sure know how to charm a guy.”
“My Ma taught me well.” Sitting up himself and turning to place the tray over Bruce's lap, Clark goes on, “Happy anniversary,” and leans over to give his lover a firm kiss, morning breath be damned.
“Mmm, same to you,” Bruce purrs. Waking more fully after a long sip of coffee, the Bat notices the flowers in the vase on the tray. “You raided the greenhouse, I see.”
Clark chuckles, feeling a little color rise in his cheeks. “Caught me. It was the closest place with black and blue roses, and I didn't feel much like wasting time on a trip to Holland when I could be spending it with you.”
“Yep, Martha Kent definitely taught you well,” Bruce smirks back, eyes twinkling with his own mischief.
Clark thinks he could drown in those eyes, and he can't remember a time when he didn't have them every day....
* * * * *
Fatigue seems to press in from all sides as Clark trudges toward the locker room and showers on the Watchtower, fresh from a heavy battle with... whoever, it doesn't matter. Probably this week's evil megalomaniac. Luthor in his power suit. Or Grodd on Bane's serum. Or Darkseid wielding a kryptonite sword. Same crap, different day. It all tends to blur together after a while, anyhow.
Beside him, Bruce grunts with his own exhaustion as they finally make it into the locker room and start to strip out of their uniforms. Clark pretends not to notice the black and blue bruises on his lover's back and shoulders as the Bat peels off his lightweight body armor and the skin-tight thermal shirt beneath it, tossing the clothes onto the bench between them.
In a moment, Clark's cape and uniform shirt joins the pile, and it's a mess of black and blue and red and....
Dizziness overwhelms him for a moment as his vision swims with dark sparkles, and he feels Bruce's hand on his shoulder, steadying him as he sways to the right.
“Whoa, Clark,” the Bat says gently. “Take it easy. You all right?”
Clark's chest aches, and he grips Bruce's arm to hold on. “I... dunno. I....”
Bruce's voice is warm and concerned and full of love. “Let's get you to the infirmary.”
Nodding minutely, Clark blinks at the pile of discarded uniforms. Black and blue. Yes.
“Okay,” he agrees, as dizziness sweeps over him again.
* * * * *
The Fortress is quiet. Well, except for the sound of eight heartbeats thundering against the wall of silence. Of course they're here. And he can pick them all out just by the sound of their hearts alone.
Smiling to himself as he descends into the glimmering structure through the forcefield at the apex, he listens to their hearts and their quick, short breaths. As if they actually had any chance of surprising him....
“Bruce?” he calls out as he lands on the raised dias in the center of the cavernous main chamber. “I'm here. What's wrong?” Feigning concern for his Bat's well-being, he calls out a few more times as he makes his way through the Fortress to the living quarters.
But the crystals around him only gleam with their otherworldly shimmer in the cold Arctic light, not giving anything away. The place would seem deserted to the casual observer.
But it's so very much not deserted.
Reaching the spacious living room at last, Clark is met with a sight that makes his heart swell. The entire room is decorated in black and blue decorations. Streamers, balloons, confetti, gifts wrapped in silver, black, and blue mylar, the whole nine yards. And in the middle of it, sits a cake that looks like it must have taken weeks to make: a miniature Fortress gleaming and shining with all the splendor of the genuine article.
“Surprise!!” shout eight voices as the entire family leaps from their not-so-hidden hiding spots.
Clark lets out an enthusiastic chuckle, grinning from ear to ear at them. “Oh my God, I had no idea!” he laughs. “Thank you so much!”
Bruce slides up next to him to pull him further into the room, and whispers in his ear, “You'd better change out of that uniform, before you get cake on it.”
Hearing the promise in his lover's voice, Clark kisses him quickly, and rushes out to change, returning only a few seconds later in jeans and a blue flannel shirt. “Better?” he smirks.
“Definitely.”
Clark can hardly wait to get into the cake, and as he starts forward to pass around hugs to his family, the sounds of the party all seem to blend together, the gleaming decorations shimmering in his vision. He can't thank them all enough....
* * * * *
Sucking in a deep breath, Clark feels the world tilt around him. Sparkles fill his vision as he tries to blink his eyes open, failing and letting them fall closed again.
“Clark,” a voice says next to him, sounding weary and worn down. “It's all right. You're okay. Easy now.”
“Wh-what happened?” he manages to croak out, his own voice sounding like sandpaper. “Where-?”
“You're in the Cave, on the med level.”
It's Bruce. Bruce, thank God....
“Had a nasty accidental exposure to silver kryptonite. Been out of it and hallucinating most of the night.”
“I....” is all Clark can manage for a moment. Hallucinations.... Is that what they were? The visions were so clear, so real.... His chest suddenly aches with the loss. “What-?” he starts, but it comes out closer to a sob than a question.
“Shh....” Bruce says quietly, soothing him with a hand brushing the hair back from his sweat-slicked forehead. “Just relax and try to get some rest. It's okay now. Looks like your system's finally purged itself of the radiation, with the help of the sun lamps.”
He can't help but comply with the Bat's instructions, with little energy to do anything else. “Okay....” he says. Then, “Magic K?” His mind feels like it's wrapped in steel wool and stuffed with cotton, but he's starting to understand, if only a little.
“Well, we didn't classify it as such, but yes. The same pieces that we found last year.”
“That... made me see things....”
“Exactly.”
“And was destroyed?” His stomach twists a little.
“Um....”
Clark can hear the strain in Bruce's voice at that, and he turns his head and manages to open his eyes to look at his... friend. Just friend. Not lover. His heart aches with the weight of reality.
Grief-stricken blue eyes gaze at him tiredly from beneath mussed black hair. Black and blue.
“It's okay,” he whispers, realizing that he absolutely means it, and he lifts his hand to rest it atop Bruce's. “I'll be okay.”
The Bat gives him a tight smile, taking a deep breath through his nose.
A flash of black smoke and endless sky passes before Clark's eyes. The shine of blue and dark chrome on a Christmas tree. Laughter and family. Roses. Bruises.
And he knows what happened. What the kryptonite did. What it showed him.... What could be.
With his heart clenching in his chest and his stomach knotting tight, he squeezes Bruce's hand and whispers, “It's all right. I... I love you, Bruce.”
Bruce startles, blinking heavily for a moment. Then, with a heavy sigh, he hesitantly leans down and brushes a light kiss over Clark's brow. “I... love you, too.”
Glimmering tinsel, discarded uniforms, firm kisses.
Black and blue. As it's meant to be.
Clark's heart swells.
* * * * *
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2,442
Prompts: For the World's Finest Gift Exchange: F27 - just an expression out of which you can make anything you want (and on every imagery level you want) - "black and blue"; For dcu_freeforall/ The 2008 DCU Free For All Winter Holiday Challenge: T05; P08: Silver/Magic Kryptonite & T15; P29: Christmas Tree
Summary: Experiencing a long sequence of strange events, Clark has an astonishing revelation.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own it all. I own nothing. Darnit.
Author's Notes: Plenty of angst and WAFF ahead! I pretty much ran with the prompt, so whoever requested it, I hope you enjoy it! :D
Lights Through a Shining Prism
It takes a while for the cobwebs to clear out from Clark's head as he wakes up. Must have been a rough patrol, is all he can figure, as sparkles and a bit of dizziness dance around the edges of his vision. But... he can't quite remember. Someone probably hit him with a piece of kryptonite, he realizes, making a mental note to ask Bruce later. His lover will fill in the blanks with excruciating detail, no doubt.
So out of bed he rolls, heading to the bathroom to shower and dress, brushing off the odd feelings and working the soreness out of his back and shoulders with the high-powered water jets in the shower stall. The too-hot water feels heavenly, loosening knots in his muscles, and for a while, he wishes he could just stay there all day.
That's when he notices the bruises. Dark patches of black and blue wind up both his arms from wrist to shoulder like vines, spreading out to cover his chest and his legs. How did he not see this before?
Standing in the shower until the water runs cold, he stares at the marks, examining himself like some exotic specimen. He has absolutely no memory of being in a fight this bad. None. It looks like... like he dove into a wood chipper, or tried to stop a falling jet and failed, or... had his entire body nearly ripped to pieces. No wonder he's sore...
Just how did he get so beat up? And what else is he missing? Finally shutting off the icy water, he steps out of the stall to check himself in the wall-height mirror. It's just bruises, the black and blue splotches covering him almost from head to toe. Not a single welt or cut or abrasion. Nothing. Just bruises.
What the hell happened?
Just then he hears the tell-tale clean steps of expensive shoes on marble floors in the foyer. Bruce is home.
Bruce. All he wants in this moment is Bruce, for his lover to come and fix everything and tell him what's going on and hold him tight. His chest aches with that need so acutely, he thinks he might die from it any instant, and the thought sends him into an unexpected tailspin of panic.
Trying and failing to calm himself, he can't help but call out in a trembling voice, “Bruce!!” before the sparkles around the edges of his vision begin to close in around him.
* * * * *
Shaking his head, Clark shrugs off the weight of his sleepiness. Darned Christmas turkey, he laments. Of all the things to be vulnerable to, he'd never have guessed that tryptophan would be on that list. But he supposes it's amusing, in a way, especially judging by the way Bruce is smirking at him from the other end of the sofa. It's only a quarter to eight, after all, and there are traditions to uphold before anyone will be getting any sleep. Carols to sing, The Night Before Christmas to read, stockings to finish hanging, and the first of the presents to open. Not to mention the customary candy cane and hot cocoa combination that Alfred fixes every year. No nodding off now, nuh-uh.
When Bruce chuckles at him, Clark sits up a little straighter, smiling tiredly. “Sorry. Busy week, I suppose,” he explains sheepishly.
“Right,” Bruce shoots back with a good-natured grin. “As if that turkey didn't have anything to do with it.”
“Hmph,” Clark mock-pouts in return, turning his attention to where the boys and Kara are decorating the family Christmas tree. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”
His lover's dark chuckle tells him he really is as bad a liar as he's been known to be.
But now both their attention is on the kids and the tree. The lights have been strung, blue and white this year, and the glass balls have all been hung, silver and blue and white and a dark chrome so close to black you couldn't tell the difference if you tried, and now Dick, Jason, Tim, Kon, and Chris are all debating the proper placement of the little chrome bats and “S” shields while Kara just watches them bemusedly. Each wants their own particular family symbol displayed more prominently, but cooler heads prevail when Tim decides that the spirit of the holiday requires equal placement.
In the end, it's a positively beautiful sight, the kids happily working together on the tree while trading good-spirited jabs and noogies, the lights twinkling and the ornaments and blue and black tinsel shining and shimmering, freshly-strung popcorn and black and blue striped candy canes finishing it off. Clark can hardly take his eyes off of it, it's so welcoming. Their tree. Their family tree....
Suddenly Bruce is pressing something into his hands, and Clark realizes with a start that he was starting to doze off again.
“Go ahead, it's your turn this year,” Bruce says, smirking at him.
Clark looks down at the thing in his hands, a glittering star just waiting to be added to the top of the tree, and he can't help grinning. In a moment, he's floated up to the top and set the star in its place, attached its plug to the end of the string of lights, and come back down to admire the sight.
Gleaming in black and blue with touches of red and yellow, their symbols intertwined in the center, the star announces the joining of their two families, as it has every year since the beginning. His heart swells with pride and love, even as his eyes begin to drift shut....
* * * * *
The thick, black smoke trailing from the falling Bat plane chokes Clark's lungs, and he can hardly breathe, diving for it as it drops from the endless blue of the sky toward the equally endless blue of the ocean. No!! He can't let this happen, can't let Bruce die. Not like this. Not here!!
His mind feels like it's wrapped in dark cotton, and his eyes sting with the toxic smoke billowing into the sky. He can't reach Bruce fast enough. Can't reach him....
Black plummeting through blue fills his vision as a choked scream rips from his chest.
“Bruce!!!”
* * * * *
Blinking with a lazy grin at the sight before him, Clark sets the breakfast tray down on the side table and slides into bed next to his lover. He runs a hand down an exposed arm, watches goose-bumps rise in the wake of his fingertips, and can't help a light chuckle at Bruce's involuntary shiver.
“Mmph,” his lover groans, face still smashed into the pillow, hair wild around his head.
“Time to wake up, sleepy head,” Clark smiles at him. “I brought breakfast.”
A single brilliant blue eye beneath dark black hair peeks open at that. “Coffee?” he grunts.
“Coffee,” Clark nods in confirmation. “And eggs over medium, buttered wheat toast, and bacon.”
At the description of breakfast, Bruce rolls over and slides back to sit up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “You sure know how to charm a guy.”
“My Ma taught me well.” Sitting up himself and turning to place the tray over Bruce's lap, Clark goes on, “Happy anniversary,” and leans over to give his lover a firm kiss, morning breath be damned.
“Mmm, same to you,” Bruce purrs. Waking more fully after a long sip of coffee, the Bat notices the flowers in the vase on the tray. “You raided the greenhouse, I see.”
Clark chuckles, feeling a little color rise in his cheeks. “Caught me. It was the closest place with black and blue roses, and I didn't feel much like wasting time on a trip to Holland when I could be spending it with you.”
“Yep, Martha Kent definitely taught you well,” Bruce smirks back, eyes twinkling with his own mischief.
Clark thinks he could drown in those eyes, and he can't remember a time when he didn't have them every day....
* * * * *
Fatigue seems to press in from all sides as Clark trudges toward the locker room and showers on the Watchtower, fresh from a heavy battle with... whoever, it doesn't matter. Probably this week's evil megalomaniac. Luthor in his power suit. Or Grodd on Bane's serum. Or Darkseid wielding a kryptonite sword. Same crap, different day. It all tends to blur together after a while, anyhow.
Beside him, Bruce grunts with his own exhaustion as they finally make it into the locker room and start to strip out of their uniforms. Clark pretends not to notice the black and blue bruises on his lover's back and shoulders as the Bat peels off his lightweight body armor and the skin-tight thermal shirt beneath it, tossing the clothes onto the bench between them.
In a moment, Clark's cape and uniform shirt joins the pile, and it's a mess of black and blue and red and....
Dizziness overwhelms him for a moment as his vision swims with dark sparkles, and he feels Bruce's hand on his shoulder, steadying him as he sways to the right.
“Whoa, Clark,” the Bat says gently. “Take it easy. You all right?”
Clark's chest aches, and he grips Bruce's arm to hold on. “I... dunno. I....”
Bruce's voice is warm and concerned and full of love. “Let's get you to the infirmary.”
Nodding minutely, Clark blinks at the pile of discarded uniforms. Black and blue. Yes.
“Okay,” he agrees, as dizziness sweeps over him again.
* * * * *
The Fortress is quiet. Well, except for the sound of eight heartbeats thundering against the wall of silence. Of course they're here. And he can pick them all out just by the sound of their hearts alone.
Smiling to himself as he descends into the glimmering structure through the forcefield at the apex, he listens to their hearts and their quick, short breaths. As if they actually had any chance of surprising him....
“Bruce?” he calls out as he lands on the raised dias in the center of the cavernous main chamber. “I'm here. What's wrong?” Feigning concern for his Bat's well-being, he calls out a few more times as he makes his way through the Fortress to the living quarters.
But the crystals around him only gleam with their otherworldly shimmer in the cold Arctic light, not giving anything away. The place would seem deserted to the casual observer.
But it's so very much not deserted.
Reaching the spacious living room at last, Clark is met with a sight that makes his heart swell. The entire room is decorated in black and blue decorations. Streamers, balloons, confetti, gifts wrapped in silver, black, and blue mylar, the whole nine yards. And in the middle of it, sits a cake that looks like it must have taken weeks to make: a miniature Fortress gleaming and shining with all the splendor of the genuine article.
“Surprise!!” shout eight voices as the entire family leaps from their not-so-hidden hiding spots.
Clark lets out an enthusiastic chuckle, grinning from ear to ear at them. “Oh my God, I had no idea!” he laughs. “Thank you so much!”
Bruce slides up next to him to pull him further into the room, and whispers in his ear, “You'd better change out of that uniform, before you get cake on it.”
Hearing the promise in his lover's voice, Clark kisses him quickly, and rushes out to change, returning only a few seconds later in jeans and a blue flannel shirt. “Better?” he smirks.
“Definitely.”
Clark can hardly wait to get into the cake, and as he starts forward to pass around hugs to his family, the sounds of the party all seem to blend together, the gleaming decorations shimmering in his vision. He can't thank them all enough....
* * * * *
Sucking in a deep breath, Clark feels the world tilt around him. Sparkles fill his vision as he tries to blink his eyes open, failing and letting them fall closed again.
“Clark,” a voice says next to him, sounding weary and worn down. “It's all right. You're okay. Easy now.”
“Wh-what happened?” he manages to croak out, his own voice sounding like sandpaper. “Where-?”
“You're in the Cave, on the med level.”
It's Bruce. Bruce, thank God....
“Had a nasty accidental exposure to silver kryptonite. Been out of it and hallucinating most of the night.”
“I....” is all Clark can manage for a moment. Hallucinations.... Is that what they were? The visions were so clear, so real.... His chest suddenly aches with the loss. “What-?” he starts, but it comes out closer to a sob than a question.
“Shh....” Bruce says quietly, soothing him with a hand brushing the hair back from his sweat-slicked forehead. “Just relax and try to get some rest. It's okay now. Looks like your system's finally purged itself of the radiation, with the help of the sun lamps.”
He can't help but comply with the Bat's instructions, with little energy to do anything else. “Okay....” he says. Then, “Magic K?” His mind feels like it's wrapped in steel wool and stuffed with cotton, but he's starting to understand, if only a little.
“Well, we didn't classify it as such, but yes. The same pieces that we found last year.”
“That... made me see things....”
“Exactly.”
“And was destroyed?” His stomach twists a little.
“Um....”
Clark can hear the strain in Bruce's voice at that, and he turns his head and manages to open his eyes to look at his... friend. Just friend. Not lover. His heart aches with the weight of reality.
Grief-stricken blue eyes gaze at him tiredly from beneath mussed black hair. Black and blue.
“It's okay,” he whispers, realizing that he absolutely means it, and he lifts his hand to rest it atop Bruce's. “I'll be okay.”
The Bat gives him a tight smile, taking a deep breath through his nose.
A flash of black smoke and endless sky passes before Clark's eyes. The shine of blue and dark chrome on a Christmas tree. Laughter and family. Roses. Bruises.
And he knows what happened. What the kryptonite did. What it showed him.... What could be.
With his heart clenching in his chest and his stomach knotting tight, he squeezes Bruce's hand and whispers, “It's all right. I... I love you, Bruce.”
Bruce startles, blinking heavily for a moment. Then, with a heavy sigh, he hesitantly leans down and brushes a light kiss over Clark's brow. “I... love you, too.”
Glimmering tinsel, discarded uniforms, firm kisses.
Black and blue. As it's meant to be.
Clark's heart swells.
* * * * *