Fic: Lost Years | DCU | Clark/Bruce | R | 15/22
Title: Lost Years - Part 15
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Rating: NC-17 (overall); R (this section)
Word Count: 3,909 (this section)
Prompt: For the 2007 World's Finest Gift Exchange, #F46: Batman and Superman are stranded on a lonely planet and are lost for years before returning home. What happens? Universe is writer's choice.
Summary: (this section) On their second Christmas spent on the lonely world, Clark and Bruce welcome new life to the farm, and surprises abound.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own it all. I own nothing. Darnit.
Author's Note: It's been a year and a half tomorrow since I last updated. FAIL. But no more! I'm looking to finish this in 7 more chapters, tops. :D
Previously: When we last saw our boys on their quiet, secluded planet, Clark's waning invulnerability was discovered, and Halloween was celebrated in the little cabin in the midst of winter....
Index Post
Part 15
Watching Bruce hang another ornament on the small tree they brought inside for Christmas as a warm breeze blows in the open window, Clark decides he'll never get used to celebrating the holiday in the spring. Not that he didn't spend his share of winter holidays in the southern hemisphere on Earth, working on some rescue or another, but to actually have the house opened up and the scent of freshly turned dirt wafting in from the field just feels so odd.
He's certainly not complaining, though. This spring has come just as welcome as last year's, after a hard winter with several deep snowfalls impeding their work around the farm.
Training has certainly been a lot easier since the last major thaw. Especially considering the way Bruce has been pushing him to learn techniques to avoid injury and manage pain. It's been quite an eye-opener.
“Earth to Clark,” comes his Bat's voice, complete with fingers snapping in mock-impatience.
With a slight startle, Clark straightens in his chair at the table, pushing away his journal, where he's been documenting the decoration of their first Christmas tree since their stranding. “Sorry,” he chuckles lightly, running a hand through his hair to push it back from his face. Time for a haircut, he notes offhand; not that there's any particular reason to cut his now shoulder-length hair, it's just getting unruly.
“Guess I zoned out there for a bit,” he admits as he joins Bruce by the tree in the corner. Dropping a quick, soft kiss on his lover's lips, he accepts the wooden ornament held out to him―a small, carved bat, stained almost black with the same dye that Clark used on Bruce's clothes the previous Christmas. They've got a boxful of wooden ornaments carved and dyed the same way, more bats, stars, balls, miniature sleds and Rudolph heads, along with knot work and ribbon bows, and dried berries strung as garland, that's already been put on the tree. A select few of the ornaments are even polished metal, some aluminum, a some silver, and even two golden ones. All leftover scrap from the ship, reworked and shining in the mid-afternoon sunlight.
Mind once again wandering as he hangs the wooden bat on a high branch of the tree, Clark hopes Bruce will like the gift he's made for him this year. It took almost every last small scrap from the ship's console, but it's something Bruce can definitely use. He can't wait to see the look on his face....
“You're doing it again,” Bruce interrupts his train of thought, handing him another ornament, this time a gleaming silver star.
Clark can't help chuckling, and just has to kiss his lover again, smirking. “Must be the weather. All I can think about is getting you naked.”
“I'm sure,” his Bat quips back, eyes dark and dangerous. “Can you try to contain your enthusiasm until after we're done with this?”
“Why? You have somewhere you need to be?”
A moment's pause and a raised eyebrow, then, “Touché,” comes Bruce's lighthearted reply as he snakes an arm around Clark's waist and pulls him close for another kiss.
Clark sighs into the kiss, reveling in the heat of his lover's mouth for a long moment. The last few months have held a lot of moments like these, light and lustful, especially after Clark's waning invulnerability was discovered. They really seem to have become closer than ever. And it feels good.
After a while, Bruce finally pulls away, shoving the box of ornaments into Clark's hands with a smirk. “If you can manage to keep it in your pants a little while longer, I'm going to check on Bessie, then we can finish this, together, and we'll have the rest of the afternoon free.”
Nodding with his own smirk, Clark says, “Go on. I'll put a few of these up while you're gone, and we can do the rest when you get back.” He just hopes their woolly cow hasn't gone into labor yet. Once that starts, calving will likely take several hours, effectively putting an end to their Christmas Eve plans. With any luck, Bessie will hold on a few more days.
After Bruce heads out, leaving the front door open to let in even more fresh air, Clark hangs the silver star on a branch at eye-level. “There,” he announces to no one but the cats, Kara lounging on the bed and Kon sitting on the table, both watching intently with large blue eyes. “What do you guys think?” he asks them.
A loud meow of approval from Kon puts a grin on Clark's face, and he can't help another chuckle. “I knew I could count on you for an objective opinion.”
~*~*~*~
Out in the barn, Bruce gives Bessie a quick once-over, making sure she hasn't started labor yet. Mid-exam, the thought hits him that a year and a half ago, he might never have imagined doing this. Before their stranding, he'd never even touched a cow, much less thought about owning or breeding one. Now, as he gently palpates Bessie's abdomen, he realizes just how far he's come. Clark has taught him a lot more about life on a farm than he ever thought was possible.
But he shakes off the line of thought. Doesn't matter now, anyway. Bessie doesn't seem to have started labor yet, or at least, Bruce can't feel any contractions and the cow hasn't started getting too restless. And there aren't any complications to worry about for now, with the calf already turned head and forelegs down, as far as he can feel. Should be an easy labor when it finally happens, unlike like last year's, when Clark had to help pull her calf out, rear legs first. That was a harrowing experience, to say the least, considering the calf didn't survive. That things are going so well this time is a relief for both of them.
Patting the woolly cow on her flank as he finishes, he smooths his hand over her thick fur. “Soon enough,” he tells her as he leaves her to herself, not that she has any idea what he's saying. He isn't quite sure when he started talking to their livestock. Six months ago maybe? Whatever, it's all Clark's fault, anyway, he chuckles to himself.
After a quick wash-up, he makes a detour to the large outbuilding they only finished a few months ago, tucked behind the barn and diagonal to the house. They moved the remnants of the ship here just as soon as they had the roof on, so what little is left is at the back of the large, open room, covered in a burlap tarp. The tarp should've been covered in dust by now, but it's been disturbed so many times, there hasn't been a chance for any dust or dirt to settle.
But this isn't what Bruce came to check out. Behind the ship is Clark's Christmas present, covered in its own tarp. He hopes Clark hasn't seen it, since he's pretty sure his partner has been snaking parts from the console of the ship for his own secret project. Either way, there's not much left of the ship beyond the skeleton of the console and a little floor paneling. It's depressing to look at, so he tries to avoid it when he can.
Pulling the cloth off of the large gift, careful not to disturb anything that Clark might hear―limited hearing now or not―he pulls it out on the wheels he attached to the feet. Just enough time to get it situated now before they get started on Christmas Eve dinner. No way he'll be able to get it in the house without a whole lot of help, not to mention the noise. It's a miracle that Clark hasn't heard it before now as it is, all attempts at hiding it notwithstanding.
With that in mind, he positions the gift in the middle of the room, affixes the large ribbon and bow to it as planned, and arranges the tarp back over it neatly. There, all set.
Now he just has to wait another half a day to see Clark's reaction.
~*~*~*~
December 24th, 2008
Bruce is up to something. Something big. I haven't figured out just what yet, but I imagine I only have a half-day left to wait to find out. All the racket he keeps making out in the storage building has been driving me nuts for weeks. So far it sounds like some strange sort of metalworking, and I know he was building something wooden earlier. Maybe a new kitchen table? That'd be nice, since our current table has been ruined with blood stains―all my fault, of course. I promise not to inadvertently bleed on the new one if that's what he's made.
Heh. Look at me speculating. Like I can't wait a few more hours to find out what he's been up to. Whatever it is, I'm sure it'll be great. He just has this amazing capacity to
~*~*~*~
The sudden low animal whine cutting through the quiet of the night stops Clark's hand mid-sentence. There's no mistaking what it is, or where it's coming from. Having done this last spring, not counting the outcome―all thankfully, two weeks after Christmas―and a few dozen times back home in Smallville, Clark is more than attuned to the signs that a calf is about to make its first entrance into the world.
~*~*~*~
December 24th, 2008 - Late
Bessie's gone into labor. Wouldn't you just know it? Whatever Bruce has made, it's about to be overshadowed by a new calf.
~*~*~*~
“Bruce, wake up.”
The firm voice cuts through Bruce's haze of light sleep, and his eyes are open in an instant, adrenaline pumping at once with Clark's insistent tone. “What, what is it?” he asks, sitting up and throwing back the covers.
“Bessie's in labor.”
“Thought we had a few more days,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his face.
Clark grins crookedly, “Apparently not,” and tosses him a well-worn pair of pants and tunic from the dresser, already dressed himself. “Put on your Bat-boots, you'll need them.”
“As if we haven't done this before,” he replies, dressing in a hurry and noting silently that Clark is already wearing his own red boots, as worn and torn as they are, below faded brown pants and his own grass-stained tunic.
His Kryptonian farm-boy's chuckle is warm and sunny, a complete incongruity for Christmas Eve. “I forget how much you've gotten used to this sometimes. C'mon, calving waits for no man.”
~*~*~*~
Hanging the two oil lamps on the walls of Bessie's stall, Clark and Bruce find the woolly cow already lying down on her bed of fresh hay that Clark put down only a few hours earlier. She's breathing heavily, and her water sac is already protruding from her birth canal.
“Easy, girl,” Clark soothes as he moves to examine her, patting her rump gently. “She's progressing pretty quickly,” he nods to Bruce, “Didn't seem to be at all dilated when I checked her earlier.”
“That's a good sign, right?”
“Mm-hmm. As long as the calf's head doesn't get turned backward in the birth canal, everything should be fine.” Pausing, he listens to Bessie and her unborn calf intently, his hearing still good enough for this, at least, as long as there are no distractions, and when the solid lub-dub of two hearts greets him, he can't help a grin. “Both heartbeats are strong,” he says after a moment. “So now we just wait. Shouldn't be too long, though.”
Naturally, the cow's water sac chooses that moment to break, spilling amniotic fluid over the fresh hay and Clark's pants.
Bruce chuckles darkly at his farm-boy's seeming surprise. “I'll give her this: she has good timing.”
“Hmph,” Clark shoots back with a mock-pout. “Easy, Bessie,” he soothes the cow again as a contraction tightens her abdomen.
Tossing her head back, long wisps of her mane hanging over her eyes, Bessie looses another low whine.
~*~*~*~
A half-hour later, Bruce is helping Clark pull the front end of the calf from its awkward position, both men focused tightly on not hurting either the calf or the mother. With one of the calf's forelegs bent at an odd angle-Bruce mentally kicks himself for not realizing it when he checked her earlier-it's been an intense time for poor Bessie, straining with little progress. At this point, it wouldn't take much for things to go very wrong, but Bruce hopes for all their sakes that they can get the calf out alive. He knows both of them would take another death hard, the way this last year has gone.
“C'mon, girl, you can do it,” Clark encourages as they pull again, finally getting the wayward left foreleg straightened.
Bessie whines with another contraction just as the calf's head follows the legs, and both men breathe with relief, releasing the legs and sitting back on their haunches.
“This was supposed to be easy,” Bruce grumbles halfheartedly, more out of relief and amusement than irritation.
Clark smirks sideways at him. “Story of our lives.”
But there isn't any time to reflect, when Bessie lets out one more pained whine, her abdomen visibly tensing, and suddenly there's a newborn calf on the soaked hay, kicking and bleating its high-pitched cry as it breathes its first real breath. Clark and Bruce both laugh and whoop with glee as they move to wipe down the calf with clean towels, Bessie quickly delivering the afterbirth and resting, watching the men handle her baby.
The calf is mostly brown, like its mother, with a shock of white fur running down one side of its face, and a few spots on one flank, and Bruce can't help but name it on the spot as they discard the towels and Clark cuts the umbilical cord, both noting the calf is a boy.
“We should call him Blaze,” he says definitively as the calf tries to stand, weak and wobbly and seeming perfectly healthy.
Crying again as he gets his legs under him for the first time, the calf turns a dark eye on Bruce, and Clark laughs, “I think that's the stamp of approval.”
Bruce huffs and leans into Clark, secretly smiling and content, and they watch Blaze take his first steps.
~*~*~*~
Neither of them have managed any more sleep when the sky begins to lighten over the farm, and it's only the remnants of adrenaline and a quick shower and coffee that keep them moving through their morning routines after the late night birth. They feed, water, and take care of the animals on autopilot, and once the new calf is sated on its first milk and sleeping soundly in a freshly-cleaned stall with Bessie, Clark and Bruce finally get back inside to start breakfast just as the sun peeks over the hills to the east.
Exhaustion will get them eventually, and hard, but for now, it's Christmas morning, and Clark knows they're both too excited to exchange gifts to crash just yet.
With another pot of coffee on the stove, breakfast is quick work. This year it's eggs, wheat-flour and oat muffins, and apple-cherry preserves. Nothing too fancy, since Christmas dinner will be a little more elaborate, but enough to get them through the extra work they'll have with Blaze. It's a new experience, having the calf on the farm, and Clark's looking forward to it probably as much as exchanging Christmas gifts.
Breaking two eggs into a pan, he waits for them to sit up, standing clear as Bruce pulls the tray of fresh muffins from the stove to let them cool. “You know,” he says absently, tapping the handle of the spatula against his chin, “if we can get another heifer from the herd, we might be able to breed Blaze fall after next, and start our own small herd for-”
Bruce only scowls at him, cutting him off mid-thought. “We don't have the room or resources for that, Clark.”
A frown in return, and Clark shrugs, confused as the excitement of the morning seems suddenly muted. “Okay, true, but-”
“No.”
Clark realizes at the firm tone that Bruce has tensed, and all thought of it being Christmas evaporates, a sad realization working its way through him. “We have to eat, Bruce,” he says quietly, flipping the eggs quickly.
Another scowl, and Bruce turns away to pour their coffee and add a little milk from the icebox. “We have enough chicken-ducks and pigs.”
“Wha-” And it clicks. As much as he's tried to teach Bruce how not to get too attached to feed animals, his Bat has gone and done it.
He shouldn't be surprised, really. The way his partner took to Blaze this morning was, well, not very Bat-like. In fact, he hasn't seen Bruce this protective since... since they named the kittens. Maybe he should've expected it, though; Bruce has never been good with detachment the way Clark had to be, growing up on a farm.
Accepting his coffee, he takes a quick sip, warm and creamy and just right, and then sets down the mug and spatula to capture Bruce's face in his hands and pull him close, making up his mind in an instant. It might not be convenient, and it might fly in the face of the way he was taught to interact with livestock, but for Bruce, he'll gladly do this. “Hey. All right,” he nods, adding a soft smile. “Consider him spared. I'll go to the herd for beef from now on.”
“Thank you,” Bruce murmurs back, voice low and not quite breaking. Clark would swear he almost sounds ashamed of himself, his lover's body relaxing minutely with relief, and at least that's more like the Bat he knows.
Kissing him quickly, Clark breathes out a laugh, “Merry Christmas. Now, let's eat before everything either burns or gets cold!”
~*~*~*~
“I knew it, you made a new table for the cabin, didn't you?” Clark teases later as Bruce drags him out to the workshop, unable to help himself and glad both their moods have improved since the tense moment before breakfast; a little protein goes a long way with them these days, and that's a relief, really. Recharged, they've both been pretty antsy-which is saying a lot for Bruce, certainly-to exchange their gifts, and Clark is practically brimming with excitement. He's positive Bruce will love his gift.
Naturally, Bruce grumbles halfheartedly in return as they reach the door, but just orders, “Keep your eyes closed.”
Grinning, Clark squeezes his eyes shut and lets his Bat lead him into the outbuilding by one hand, Bruce's fingers wrapped tightly around his. The sound of a cloth being drawn back swiftly meets his ears, and even though he almost can't hear it over the hammering of his own heart and the rush of that beat in his head, he's too amped up to care.
“All right. Open your eyes.”
A deep breath, and he opens his eyes quickly, unable to stand the suspense for one more second. The sight that greets him is-
“Is that a... a piano!?” he laughs, feeling the grin split his face in the best way as delight sends new spikes of adrenaline rushing through him. “Bruce, I-I don't know what to say!”
He can hardly believe it, even as he runs his hands over the large bow and the sleek wood of the instrument, stained a sort of deep red-brown and shining, as if Bruce managed to find something to lacquer it with-and knowing his Bat, he probably did. It's an upright, more-or-less, and there's a matching bench with a leather cushion, and even a hinged lid over the keyboard. It must've taken more than a month to build.
And the realization that Bruce managed to build a piano without him hearing the tuning is almost shocking. Even with his diminished hearing, he should've heard that, even more than the sounds of the metalworking to salvage the parts and re-purpose them.
Sneaky Bat.
“You like it?”
Whirling on his lover, he pulls Bruce in for a deep kiss, squeezing him tight, then whispers against his lips, “I love it. Thank you.”
Bruce kisses him back quickly, and smirks, “Try it out.”
Clark complies gladly, pulling away and sitting down. A quick lift of the lid, and he sees the keys at last, actually stained black and white and shining even more than the body of the piano. His heart in his throat, he settles his fingers against the keys, remembers the song his Ma taught him after only a few weeks of lessons when he was ten years old. He hasn't played in so many years, but it's like riding a bicycle, as he finds the first few notes and chords.
Still grinning, he plays, and even on a piano made from scrap metal and alien wood, so far away from Earth, Fur Elise comes out beautifully, the notes warm and rich and sweet.
He couldn't have asked for a more perfect gift than music, when their world has been so quiet for so long.
But all too soon, the song is over, and when the last vibrations die away, he looks to Bruce, finding him smiling broader than Clark has seen in a long while.
“Thank you,” he says again, standing and wrapping his Bat in another tight hug.
“Merry Christmas,” Bruce murmurs in his ear, smug satisfaction clear in his voice. “We can move it into the house later.”
Clark nods, pulling back and taking Bruce's hands. “I guess you want your gift now, too,” he teases.
Bruce only raises an eyebrow at him.
“It's on the table,” he says, gesturing with a jerk of his head to the long bench set up along one wall below the windows. There's another long burlap cloth draped over the length of it, covering a few of the larger scrap remnants from the ship's console and most of Clark's specialized tools. It's been the perfect place to hide Bruce's present, and he can see the pensive look cross his Bat's face as he realizes his gift has been in plain sight the whole time.
Stepping over to the bench, Bruce pulls back the cloth, and his face softens again, eyes widening and mouth dropping open with disbelief when he sees the delicate piece of equipment, adorned with another red bow, the last remnant of Clark's cape salvaged from the wrappings of Bruce's gift last year.
Bruce runs his fingers along the fabric, then unties the bow and sets it aside reverently before turning his attention to his gift fully.
“The mechanics are a little rough, but it works,” Clark explains, enjoying the way Bruce seems to have been struck speechless. Clearly, building him a microscope has hit the mark as intended.
Stepping close behind him, he wraps his arms around Bruce's waist and kisses the top of his ear gently, holds him as his Bat turns the nosepiece to select one of the optics. “It has fifty, one hundred, and two hundred times magnification with the eyepiece,” he explains. “Not quite standard, and certainly no match for the equipment in the Bat Cave, but close enough. I thought it might come in handy in examining the plant and soil samples you've collected.”
Silently, Bruce turns in his arms and fixes him with an intense look, and before Clark knows it, he's being pushed back against the opposite wall, Bruce's tongue in his mouth, body pressing tight against him and fingers tangled in his hair.
Clark reciprocates eagerly, pushing back into Bruce's weight and feeling his excitement against his thigh. It's an even better response than he'd anticipated, and he can't help a gratified laugh into their kiss, making an offhand note to forget about cutting his hair.
“Inside. Now,” Bruce practically growls against his lips, and how could Clark possibly argue with that?
He's really starting to like celebrating Christmas in spring.
~*~*~*~
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Rating: NC-17 (overall); R (this section)
Word Count: 3,909 (this section)
Prompt: For the 2007 World's Finest Gift Exchange, #F46: Batman and Superman are stranded on a lonely planet and are lost for years before returning home. What happens? Universe is writer's choice.
Summary: (this section) On their second Christmas spent on the lonely world, Clark and Bruce welcome new life to the farm, and surprises abound.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own it all. I own nothing. Darnit.
Author's Note: It's been a year and a half tomorrow since I last updated. FAIL. But no more! I'm looking to finish this in 7 more chapters, tops. :D
Previously: When we last saw our boys on their quiet, secluded planet, Clark's waning invulnerability was discovered, and Halloween was celebrated in the little cabin in the midst of winter....
Index Post
Part 15
Watching Bruce hang another ornament on the small tree they brought inside for Christmas as a warm breeze blows in the open window, Clark decides he'll never get used to celebrating the holiday in the spring. Not that he didn't spend his share of winter holidays in the southern hemisphere on Earth, working on some rescue or another, but to actually have the house opened up and the scent of freshly turned dirt wafting in from the field just feels so odd.
He's certainly not complaining, though. This spring has come just as welcome as last year's, after a hard winter with several deep snowfalls impeding their work around the farm.
Training has certainly been a lot easier since the last major thaw. Especially considering the way Bruce has been pushing him to learn techniques to avoid injury and manage pain. It's been quite an eye-opener.
“Earth to Clark,” comes his Bat's voice, complete with fingers snapping in mock-impatience.
With a slight startle, Clark straightens in his chair at the table, pushing away his journal, where he's been documenting the decoration of their first Christmas tree since their stranding. “Sorry,” he chuckles lightly, running a hand through his hair to push it back from his face. Time for a haircut, he notes offhand; not that there's any particular reason to cut his now shoulder-length hair, it's just getting unruly.
“Guess I zoned out there for a bit,” he admits as he joins Bruce by the tree in the corner. Dropping a quick, soft kiss on his lover's lips, he accepts the wooden ornament held out to him―a small, carved bat, stained almost black with the same dye that Clark used on Bruce's clothes the previous Christmas. They've got a boxful of wooden ornaments carved and dyed the same way, more bats, stars, balls, miniature sleds and Rudolph heads, along with knot work and ribbon bows, and dried berries strung as garland, that's already been put on the tree. A select few of the ornaments are even polished metal, some aluminum, a some silver, and even two golden ones. All leftover scrap from the ship, reworked and shining in the mid-afternoon sunlight.
Mind once again wandering as he hangs the wooden bat on a high branch of the tree, Clark hopes Bruce will like the gift he's made for him this year. It took almost every last small scrap from the ship's console, but it's something Bruce can definitely use. He can't wait to see the look on his face....
“You're doing it again,” Bruce interrupts his train of thought, handing him another ornament, this time a gleaming silver star.
Clark can't help chuckling, and just has to kiss his lover again, smirking. “Must be the weather. All I can think about is getting you naked.”
“I'm sure,” his Bat quips back, eyes dark and dangerous. “Can you try to contain your enthusiasm until after we're done with this?”
“Why? You have somewhere you need to be?”
A moment's pause and a raised eyebrow, then, “Touché,” comes Bruce's lighthearted reply as he snakes an arm around Clark's waist and pulls him close for another kiss.
Clark sighs into the kiss, reveling in the heat of his lover's mouth for a long moment. The last few months have held a lot of moments like these, light and lustful, especially after Clark's waning invulnerability was discovered. They really seem to have become closer than ever. And it feels good.
After a while, Bruce finally pulls away, shoving the box of ornaments into Clark's hands with a smirk. “If you can manage to keep it in your pants a little while longer, I'm going to check on Bessie, then we can finish this, together, and we'll have the rest of the afternoon free.”
Nodding with his own smirk, Clark says, “Go on. I'll put a few of these up while you're gone, and we can do the rest when you get back.” He just hopes their woolly cow hasn't gone into labor yet. Once that starts, calving will likely take several hours, effectively putting an end to their Christmas Eve plans. With any luck, Bessie will hold on a few more days.
After Bruce heads out, leaving the front door open to let in even more fresh air, Clark hangs the silver star on a branch at eye-level. “There,” he announces to no one but the cats, Kara lounging on the bed and Kon sitting on the table, both watching intently with large blue eyes. “What do you guys think?” he asks them.
A loud meow of approval from Kon puts a grin on Clark's face, and he can't help another chuckle. “I knew I could count on you for an objective opinion.”
~*~*~*~
Out in the barn, Bruce gives Bessie a quick once-over, making sure she hasn't started labor yet. Mid-exam, the thought hits him that a year and a half ago, he might never have imagined doing this. Before their stranding, he'd never even touched a cow, much less thought about owning or breeding one. Now, as he gently palpates Bessie's abdomen, he realizes just how far he's come. Clark has taught him a lot more about life on a farm than he ever thought was possible.
But he shakes off the line of thought. Doesn't matter now, anyway. Bessie doesn't seem to have started labor yet, or at least, Bruce can't feel any contractions and the cow hasn't started getting too restless. And there aren't any complications to worry about for now, with the calf already turned head and forelegs down, as far as he can feel. Should be an easy labor when it finally happens, unlike like last year's, when Clark had to help pull her calf out, rear legs first. That was a harrowing experience, to say the least, considering the calf didn't survive. That things are going so well this time is a relief for both of them.
Patting the woolly cow on her flank as he finishes, he smooths his hand over her thick fur. “Soon enough,” he tells her as he leaves her to herself, not that she has any idea what he's saying. He isn't quite sure when he started talking to their livestock. Six months ago maybe? Whatever, it's all Clark's fault, anyway, he chuckles to himself.
After a quick wash-up, he makes a detour to the large outbuilding they only finished a few months ago, tucked behind the barn and diagonal to the house. They moved the remnants of the ship here just as soon as they had the roof on, so what little is left is at the back of the large, open room, covered in a burlap tarp. The tarp should've been covered in dust by now, but it's been disturbed so many times, there hasn't been a chance for any dust or dirt to settle.
But this isn't what Bruce came to check out. Behind the ship is Clark's Christmas present, covered in its own tarp. He hopes Clark hasn't seen it, since he's pretty sure his partner has been snaking parts from the console of the ship for his own secret project. Either way, there's not much left of the ship beyond the skeleton of the console and a little floor paneling. It's depressing to look at, so he tries to avoid it when he can.
Pulling the cloth off of the large gift, careful not to disturb anything that Clark might hear―limited hearing now or not―he pulls it out on the wheels he attached to the feet. Just enough time to get it situated now before they get started on Christmas Eve dinner. No way he'll be able to get it in the house without a whole lot of help, not to mention the noise. It's a miracle that Clark hasn't heard it before now as it is, all attempts at hiding it notwithstanding.
With that in mind, he positions the gift in the middle of the room, affixes the large ribbon and bow to it as planned, and arranges the tarp back over it neatly. There, all set.
Now he just has to wait another half a day to see Clark's reaction.
~*~*~*~
December 24th, 2008
Bruce is up to something. Something big. I haven't figured out just what yet, but I imagine I only have a half-day left to wait to find out. All the racket he keeps making out in the storage building has been driving me nuts for weeks. So far it sounds like some strange sort of metalworking, and I know he was building something wooden earlier. Maybe a new kitchen table? That'd be nice, since our current table has been ruined with blood stains―all my fault, of course. I promise not to inadvertently bleed on the new one if that's what he's made.
Heh. Look at me speculating. Like I can't wait a few more hours to find out what he's been up to. Whatever it is, I'm sure it'll be great. He just has this amazing capacity to
~*~*~*~
The sudden low animal whine cutting through the quiet of the night stops Clark's hand mid-sentence. There's no mistaking what it is, or where it's coming from. Having done this last spring, not counting the outcome―all thankfully, two weeks after Christmas―and a few dozen times back home in Smallville, Clark is more than attuned to the signs that a calf is about to make its first entrance into the world.
~*~*~*~
December 24th, 2008 - Late
Bessie's gone into labor. Wouldn't you just know it? Whatever Bruce has made, it's about to be overshadowed by a new calf.
~*~*~*~
“Bruce, wake up.”
The firm voice cuts through Bruce's haze of light sleep, and his eyes are open in an instant, adrenaline pumping at once with Clark's insistent tone. “What, what is it?” he asks, sitting up and throwing back the covers.
“Bessie's in labor.”
“Thought we had a few more days,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his face.
Clark grins crookedly, “Apparently not,” and tosses him a well-worn pair of pants and tunic from the dresser, already dressed himself. “Put on your Bat-boots, you'll need them.”
“As if we haven't done this before,” he replies, dressing in a hurry and noting silently that Clark is already wearing his own red boots, as worn and torn as they are, below faded brown pants and his own grass-stained tunic.
His Kryptonian farm-boy's chuckle is warm and sunny, a complete incongruity for Christmas Eve. “I forget how much you've gotten used to this sometimes. C'mon, calving waits for no man.”
~*~*~*~
Hanging the two oil lamps on the walls of Bessie's stall, Clark and Bruce find the woolly cow already lying down on her bed of fresh hay that Clark put down only a few hours earlier. She's breathing heavily, and her water sac is already protruding from her birth canal.
“Easy, girl,” Clark soothes as he moves to examine her, patting her rump gently. “She's progressing pretty quickly,” he nods to Bruce, “Didn't seem to be at all dilated when I checked her earlier.”
“That's a good sign, right?”
“Mm-hmm. As long as the calf's head doesn't get turned backward in the birth canal, everything should be fine.” Pausing, he listens to Bessie and her unborn calf intently, his hearing still good enough for this, at least, as long as there are no distractions, and when the solid lub-dub of two hearts greets him, he can't help a grin. “Both heartbeats are strong,” he says after a moment. “So now we just wait. Shouldn't be too long, though.”
Naturally, the cow's water sac chooses that moment to break, spilling amniotic fluid over the fresh hay and Clark's pants.
Bruce chuckles darkly at his farm-boy's seeming surprise. “I'll give her this: she has good timing.”
“Hmph,” Clark shoots back with a mock-pout. “Easy, Bessie,” he soothes the cow again as a contraction tightens her abdomen.
Tossing her head back, long wisps of her mane hanging over her eyes, Bessie looses another low whine.
~*~*~*~
A half-hour later, Bruce is helping Clark pull the front end of the calf from its awkward position, both men focused tightly on not hurting either the calf or the mother. With one of the calf's forelegs bent at an odd angle-Bruce mentally kicks himself for not realizing it when he checked her earlier-it's been an intense time for poor Bessie, straining with little progress. At this point, it wouldn't take much for things to go very wrong, but Bruce hopes for all their sakes that they can get the calf out alive. He knows both of them would take another death hard, the way this last year has gone.
“C'mon, girl, you can do it,” Clark encourages as they pull again, finally getting the wayward left foreleg straightened.
Bessie whines with another contraction just as the calf's head follows the legs, and both men breathe with relief, releasing the legs and sitting back on their haunches.
“This was supposed to be easy,” Bruce grumbles halfheartedly, more out of relief and amusement than irritation.
Clark smirks sideways at him. “Story of our lives.”
But there isn't any time to reflect, when Bessie lets out one more pained whine, her abdomen visibly tensing, and suddenly there's a newborn calf on the soaked hay, kicking and bleating its high-pitched cry as it breathes its first real breath. Clark and Bruce both laugh and whoop with glee as they move to wipe down the calf with clean towels, Bessie quickly delivering the afterbirth and resting, watching the men handle her baby.
The calf is mostly brown, like its mother, with a shock of white fur running down one side of its face, and a few spots on one flank, and Bruce can't help but name it on the spot as they discard the towels and Clark cuts the umbilical cord, both noting the calf is a boy.
“We should call him Blaze,” he says definitively as the calf tries to stand, weak and wobbly and seeming perfectly healthy.
Crying again as he gets his legs under him for the first time, the calf turns a dark eye on Bruce, and Clark laughs, “I think that's the stamp of approval.”
Bruce huffs and leans into Clark, secretly smiling and content, and they watch Blaze take his first steps.
~*~*~*~
Neither of them have managed any more sleep when the sky begins to lighten over the farm, and it's only the remnants of adrenaline and a quick shower and coffee that keep them moving through their morning routines after the late night birth. They feed, water, and take care of the animals on autopilot, and once the new calf is sated on its first milk and sleeping soundly in a freshly-cleaned stall with Bessie, Clark and Bruce finally get back inside to start breakfast just as the sun peeks over the hills to the east.
Exhaustion will get them eventually, and hard, but for now, it's Christmas morning, and Clark knows they're both too excited to exchange gifts to crash just yet.
With another pot of coffee on the stove, breakfast is quick work. This year it's eggs, wheat-flour and oat muffins, and apple-cherry preserves. Nothing too fancy, since Christmas dinner will be a little more elaborate, but enough to get them through the extra work they'll have with Blaze. It's a new experience, having the calf on the farm, and Clark's looking forward to it probably as much as exchanging Christmas gifts.
Breaking two eggs into a pan, he waits for them to sit up, standing clear as Bruce pulls the tray of fresh muffins from the stove to let them cool. “You know,” he says absently, tapping the handle of the spatula against his chin, “if we can get another heifer from the herd, we might be able to breed Blaze fall after next, and start our own small herd for-”
Bruce only scowls at him, cutting him off mid-thought. “We don't have the room or resources for that, Clark.”
A frown in return, and Clark shrugs, confused as the excitement of the morning seems suddenly muted. “Okay, true, but-”
“No.”
Clark realizes at the firm tone that Bruce has tensed, and all thought of it being Christmas evaporates, a sad realization working its way through him. “We have to eat, Bruce,” he says quietly, flipping the eggs quickly.
Another scowl, and Bruce turns away to pour their coffee and add a little milk from the icebox. “We have enough chicken-ducks and pigs.”
“Wha-” And it clicks. As much as he's tried to teach Bruce how not to get too attached to feed animals, his Bat has gone and done it.
He shouldn't be surprised, really. The way his partner took to Blaze this morning was, well, not very Bat-like. In fact, he hasn't seen Bruce this protective since... since they named the kittens. Maybe he should've expected it, though; Bruce has never been good with detachment the way Clark had to be, growing up on a farm.
Accepting his coffee, he takes a quick sip, warm and creamy and just right, and then sets down the mug and spatula to capture Bruce's face in his hands and pull him close, making up his mind in an instant. It might not be convenient, and it might fly in the face of the way he was taught to interact with livestock, but for Bruce, he'll gladly do this. “Hey. All right,” he nods, adding a soft smile. “Consider him spared. I'll go to the herd for beef from now on.”
“Thank you,” Bruce murmurs back, voice low and not quite breaking. Clark would swear he almost sounds ashamed of himself, his lover's body relaxing minutely with relief, and at least that's more like the Bat he knows.
Kissing him quickly, Clark breathes out a laugh, “Merry Christmas. Now, let's eat before everything either burns or gets cold!”
~*~*~*~
“I knew it, you made a new table for the cabin, didn't you?” Clark teases later as Bruce drags him out to the workshop, unable to help himself and glad both their moods have improved since the tense moment before breakfast; a little protein goes a long way with them these days, and that's a relief, really. Recharged, they've both been pretty antsy-which is saying a lot for Bruce, certainly-to exchange their gifts, and Clark is practically brimming with excitement. He's positive Bruce will love his gift.
Naturally, Bruce grumbles halfheartedly in return as they reach the door, but just orders, “Keep your eyes closed.”
Grinning, Clark squeezes his eyes shut and lets his Bat lead him into the outbuilding by one hand, Bruce's fingers wrapped tightly around his. The sound of a cloth being drawn back swiftly meets his ears, and even though he almost can't hear it over the hammering of his own heart and the rush of that beat in his head, he's too amped up to care.
“All right. Open your eyes.”
A deep breath, and he opens his eyes quickly, unable to stand the suspense for one more second. The sight that greets him is-
“Is that a... a piano!?” he laughs, feeling the grin split his face in the best way as delight sends new spikes of adrenaline rushing through him. “Bruce, I-I don't know what to say!”
He can hardly believe it, even as he runs his hands over the large bow and the sleek wood of the instrument, stained a sort of deep red-brown and shining, as if Bruce managed to find something to lacquer it with-and knowing his Bat, he probably did. It's an upright, more-or-less, and there's a matching bench with a leather cushion, and even a hinged lid over the keyboard. It must've taken more than a month to build.
And the realization that Bruce managed to build a piano without him hearing the tuning is almost shocking. Even with his diminished hearing, he should've heard that, even more than the sounds of the metalworking to salvage the parts and re-purpose them.
Sneaky Bat.
“You like it?”
Whirling on his lover, he pulls Bruce in for a deep kiss, squeezing him tight, then whispers against his lips, “I love it. Thank you.”
Bruce kisses him back quickly, and smirks, “Try it out.”
Clark complies gladly, pulling away and sitting down. A quick lift of the lid, and he sees the keys at last, actually stained black and white and shining even more than the body of the piano. His heart in his throat, he settles his fingers against the keys, remembers the song his Ma taught him after only a few weeks of lessons when he was ten years old. He hasn't played in so many years, but it's like riding a bicycle, as he finds the first few notes and chords.
Still grinning, he plays, and even on a piano made from scrap metal and alien wood, so far away from Earth, Fur Elise comes out beautifully, the notes warm and rich and sweet.
He couldn't have asked for a more perfect gift than music, when their world has been so quiet for so long.
But all too soon, the song is over, and when the last vibrations die away, he looks to Bruce, finding him smiling broader than Clark has seen in a long while.
“Thank you,” he says again, standing and wrapping his Bat in another tight hug.
“Merry Christmas,” Bruce murmurs in his ear, smug satisfaction clear in his voice. “We can move it into the house later.”
Clark nods, pulling back and taking Bruce's hands. “I guess you want your gift now, too,” he teases.
Bruce only raises an eyebrow at him.
“It's on the table,” he says, gesturing with a jerk of his head to the long bench set up along one wall below the windows. There's another long burlap cloth draped over the length of it, covering a few of the larger scrap remnants from the ship's console and most of Clark's specialized tools. It's been the perfect place to hide Bruce's present, and he can see the pensive look cross his Bat's face as he realizes his gift has been in plain sight the whole time.
Stepping over to the bench, Bruce pulls back the cloth, and his face softens again, eyes widening and mouth dropping open with disbelief when he sees the delicate piece of equipment, adorned with another red bow, the last remnant of Clark's cape salvaged from the wrappings of Bruce's gift last year.
Bruce runs his fingers along the fabric, then unties the bow and sets it aside reverently before turning his attention to his gift fully.
“The mechanics are a little rough, but it works,” Clark explains, enjoying the way Bruce seems to have been struck speechless. Clearly, building him a microscope has hit the mark as intended.
Stepping close behind him, he wraps his arms around Bruce's waist and kisses the top of his ear gently, holds him as his Bat turns the nosepiece to select one of the optics. “It has fifty, one hundred, and two hundred times magnification with the eyepiece,” he explains. “Not quite standard, and certainly no match for the equipment in the Bat Cave, but close enough. I thought it might come in handy in examining the plant and soil samples you've collected.”
Silently, Bruce turns in his arms and fixes him with an intense look, and before Clark knows it, he's being pushed back against the opposite wall, Bruce's tongue in his mouth, body pressing tight against him and fingers tangled in his hair.
Clark reciprocates eagerly, pushing back into Bruce's weight and feeling his excitement against his thigh. It's an even better response than he'd anticipated, and he can't help a gratified laugh into their kiss, making an offhand note to forget about cutting his hair.
“Inside. Now,” Bruce practically growls against his lips, and how could Clark possibly argue with that?
He's really starting to like celebrating Christmas in spring.
~*~*~*~