Fic: Lost Years | DCU | Clark/Bruce | PG-13 | 9/18+
Title: Lost Years - Part 9
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Rating: NC-17 (overall); PG-13 (this section)
Word Count: 4,158 (this section)
Prompt: For the 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) Springtime December. Clark and Bruce have visitors, and Christmas comes. Bruce has a little breakdown.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own it all. I own nothing. Darnit.
Author's Note: I can't believe how long I took with this one. O_o Grr... But the chapter came out a bit longer than I'd intended, and I managed to include all the stuff that my muses have been hounding me about. *hugs all my readers*
Index Post
Part 9
Warm sun overhead. Cool breeze tousling his hair. Birds singing their mating songs. Dirt turning over under foot behind the plow, filling his nostrils with that sweet scent of the earth.
Clark thinks it might just be the best December he's ever had.
Which is surprising.
He's certainly not at all thrilled about being stranded here, but it's a gorgeous day, he's working the land like his father taught him when he was just a boy, and he's with Bruce. What could be better?
“You're gonna get sunburned,” his Bat admonishes him from in front of the woolly cow - now not so woolly since they shaved him and his friends in the barn - where he's leading the animal across the field they laid out for planting.
Clark smirks at Bruce's broad, crude straw hat. “Maybe. But it'll be the best sunburn ever. It'll be earned honestly.”
“Wha-? Are you telling me you've never been sunburned?” Bruce's blue eyes squint at him from the shadow beneath the hat's brim.
“Um... yeah,” the Kryptonian admits, feeling a little sheepish as he guides the plow through the ground. “Well, not by any normal means, anyway. And taking a trip through a red sun doesn't count.”
“Hmph. Don't come crying to me for that aloe stuff when you get inside all lobsterized. You're on your own.”
“Suuuuuurree...” Clark drawls. “You know you'll break out the first aid kit the moment you detect a hint of pink to my cheeks.”
Silent for a moment, Bruce finally grumbles, “Shut up.”
“Yes, sir,” comes his teasing, light-hearted reply, before he focuses again on the work. It's not that easy, really, keeping the plow steady behind the cow, and he wonders how his Pa managed it that spring the tractor broke down and they couldn't get it fixed in time to plant. His hands are starting to blister from the friction against the handles.
Not a pleasant feeling at all. But then, neither was getting struck by lightning all those months ago, but who's counting? Pain is pain, apparently.
But this pain, in particular, is more than worth it. Once they get the fifty by fifty foot field area plowed, they'll be able to plant a few crops that will eliminate about eighty percent of the need for foraging. Sure, they'll still need to stock up on fruits and such from the warmer climates - especially for the vitamin C-laden sun fruits they'd had too few of over the winter - but they'll have a variety of corn, a wheat-type grain, almost-potatoes, purplish almost-tomatoes, a good variety of beans and savory herbs, several types of summer melons, and those ground berries that resemble pink clusters of wild grapes. Plenty to ensure good summer and fall harvests, if they're here that long.
Just thinking about it makes his mouth start to water, and finally, finally, he begins to understand why his Pa always seemed to be starving after a hard day's work. All this contemplating food tends to make a man hungry!
Chuckling to himself, he hardly notices Bruce's smirk back at him.
* * * * *
Bruce is having the best dream he's had in months.
“Take my advice, Batsy,” the Clown shrieks between waves of laughter, “don't even bother! I'll be out again in- hurck!”
Sharp edge of a Batarang to the neck, and Joker's insanity stops. He's not dead, but there's more than enough blood pouring out of his wound to knock the Clown out cold. “For the last time, I told you to shut up,” Bruce growls as he slams the unconscious body of his longest-lived adversary against the filthy concrete of the Gotham rooftop. It feels good. Really good.
“Batman!” the velvet tone of one of his former partners rings loud in his ear as he begins to secure his prey.
“Go ahead, Oracle.”
“We've got intel that puts Scarecrow three blocks south of your location.”
“On him. Joker's trussed and ready for GCPD,” he finishes, leaving the Clown to his fate and readying a jump line. The hard pop of the grappling gun fills his ears, followed by the swoosh of the cable flying out before him, and finally the metallic clang of the grapple when it finds its target. He crouches, ready to loose himself to gravity, blood and adrenaline rushing all the way to his fingertips and toes, and-
“Bruce, do you hear that?”
Clark's voice pulls him out of the dream with a sharp tug that leaves him instantly cranky and missing the night air of his city. Grumbling, he blinks into the semi-darkness, searching for his companion.
“Wha... what is it, Clark? More mice in the barn?”
“No, no... I'm not exactly sure what it is, but-”
Annoyed, the Bat cuts him off with a snap. “For the love of God, Clark! Every night for the past three weeks, you've woken me up, hearing something outside. What the hell is wrong?”
Heaving a hard breath in protest, Clark just glares back at him. “Hey, I'm sorry I haven't found whatever it is, yet, but would you just let me finish! Whatever it is, it's-”
SCRITCHITY-SCRATCH!!
“The hell?” Bruce breathes, hearing the scratching outside the door. In an instant, he's on his feet and grabbing a well-used Batarang from the top drawer of their dresser.
“As I was trying to say...” Clark scolds him, climbing out of bed himself and shrugging on a pair of pants.
SCRATCH-SCRATCH-SCRITCHITY!!
“-I think we have a visitor.”
SCRITCHITY!!
Standing together, they swing open the door.
Clark and Bruce exchange surprised glances as the tiny animal makes her way into the house, tail high in the air behind her, ears perked, curled infant clenched gently between her teeth and four more on the porch behind her.
“What the-?”
“Well, now we know what it is I've been hearing the last three weeks,” Clark smiles as the tension finally evaporates into a giggle. “She must be a pretty good mama to have kept them so well hidden.”
“Oh, no. You have got to be joking,” Bruce grumbles, ignoring his partner and rubbing his face with frustration. “A cat!? Here!? No. Just... no!” But he can't help watching as she pads lightly through the room to the space beneath the wide bed, disappearing into the shadow. Oh, of all the places...
Clark lights the oil lamp next to the bed quickly, and drops down with it to seek out their guest, a grin shining on his face in the illuminated circle. “Come on, Bruce. You know this is probably the safest place on the entire planet she could have chosen to bring her litter.”
“Clark...” the Bat warns, not willing to admit defeat to a nine pound feline, even as she makes her way back out to retrieve another kitten and bring it inside.
“Better give it up. I don't think we could evict her if we tried. Besides,” he says, pulling Bruce down to the floor to glimpse the slowly growing pile of kittens beneath the bed, “you're a cat person at heart, and there's no way you can deny it.”
Eying the litter, the Bat thinks it over. Tiny feet and claws scrambling for purchase against the wooden floor, silken ear tufts not quite standing all the way up yet. Pot bellies from their mama's milk. Tiny mewling cries drawing said mama back to flop over and open the bar for service once the final infant is deposited. It's chaos. And it reminds him far too much of a certain Gothamite. Finally, “Am not.”
“You are, too. Even Krypto knows it,” comes the smirking reply as Clark twists around to rummage through the bottom drawer of the dresser. Quickly, he comes out with his tattered uniform shirt, balling it up to present to the family of cats for bedding.
Bruce glares at his companion. “Hmph. That dog hates everybody.” But he knows his eyes are betraying him, and watching his lover so easily giving up the one thing still tying him to his identity makes his gut constrict. “Fine. But you get to set up and maintain their litterbox. And feed them.”
Clark kisses him on the temple, grinning fully. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”
A half-hearted scowl. “Once or twice.”
* * * * *
“Where did you find holly?” Bruce stares, wide eyed, at the dark green sprigs with their bright red berries Clark has hung around the little house, over the fireplace mantel, on the table, on the bed knobs.
“Like it? I found a whole grove of it about two hundred miles north of here. Luckily, they just happened to be past blooming, so they're chock full of berries,” the Kryptonian smiles, pulling Bruce into a warm hug around the waist.
The Bat shakes his head. “Amazing. I didn't think this world had anything like that.”
“Well, you know, climate differences, and all. Each species with its own home range. The life forms in the tropical regions would really surprise you.”
“I'll bet.”
Clark hears the slight jump in his partner's heartbeat, and suddenly feels a little guilty. But before he can offer an apology, something tugs at his pants leg. Breaking away from Bruce, he looks down in time to see the little kitten climbing his leg like a tree. The tiny claws prick him just a bit, but he can't be upset with the ball of fluff. She's just too adorable. “Hey, what are you up to?” he says, scooping the kitten up into his hands to rest her against his shoulder.
A high-pitched kitten cry greets him from her little pink mouth, her already golden eyes bright and shining.
“I see,” he chuckles, stroking her dark brown and cream speckled fur with one hand as he looks back to Bruce.
“They only do that to you, you know,” his Bat grumbles.
“Aww... are you jealous?” he teases in return.
“No.”
“Mm-hmm. Right.”
“Shut up.”
Laughing heartily, Clark grabs Bruce around the waist again with his free arm and pulls him in for a long kiss. Finally pulling back a little, he gazes at his lover thoughtfully. “We should name them.”
Bruce looks contemplative for a moment, staring at the little thing that's started to climb up to Clark's shoulder. Her eyes... “Selina,” he says at last.
Clark can't help a soft smile. “Selina it is, then. And for the mama? How about Diana?” The parallel is there; the mama cat is fierce, but friendly, protecting her brood violently when a snake got in the house, and lovingly grooming and snuggling them in equal measure.
The Bat nods slowly, glancing at the black and cream tuxedo-patterned cat as she watches over her litter, intermittently grooming her long fur. “It fits. And the other four?”
“Hmm... two girls, two boys...” Releasing his grip on Bruce's waist, Clark kneels to inspect the other kittens. The two boys are nearly identical, dark brown with cream paws and bellies, one with a sprinkling of cream around his green eyes, the other with vibrant blue eyes.
Bruce follows his companion to the floor, scooping up the green eyed kitten. He's a rough little boy, alternately biting, licking, and kicking Bruce's hand. “Jay.”
Again, Clark smiles, and he lays a hand on his lover's shoulder, knowing how much his Bat's heart must be breaking just thinking about his wayward son, the son he never ever talked about unless he was half asleep and beyond exhausted.
After a moment, the Kryptonian scoops up the blue eyed boy, thinking about his own lost progeny as the kitten nuzzles his hand, purring. “Kon,” he says finally.
Bruce nods at him, returning his own sad smile. “That just leaves the girls.”
Clark looks to the two girl kittens, tangled up in their own play fight and tumbling across the floor. A grin splits his face. “Kara,” he suggests, for the all cream one with her blue eyes.
“And Cass,” Bruce names the all black one with dark brown eyes.
A sharp kitten cry next to Clark's ear settles it, and he chuckles light-heartedly, ducking when the kitten ascends to the top of his head and starts to lick and chew his hair.
* * * * *
The mellow aroma of warm apple-cherry cider slowly wakes Bruce from his heavy sleep, infiltrating his dreams until he can no longer ignore the call of breakfast. “Mmm...” he groans happily, stretching and blinking in the shining spring sunlight as it meets his face through the open window. Tossing back the comforter, he feels the breeze whispering across his mostly naked body. God, this is nice, he muses, right before four tiny feet land on his chest, claws out. “Gaahh!!”
And he's fully awake, eyes wide to find little Jay stalking up his chest to sniff around his face, whiskers forward and nose crinkling.
Clark's laugh from the kitchen area is teasing. “Morning, sleepyhead. Merry Christmas.”
“Hmph,” Bruce snorts, plucking the kitten gently off his chest and depositing him amidst the thick covers, before rising and padding over to kiss his lover on his way to the bathroom. “Merry Christmas,” he whispers against Clark's lips. With a mischievous smirk, he reaches down and squeezes his Kryptonian's behind through his pants.
“Hey!” Clark protests, grinning all the while as Bruce ghosts away and disappears into the bathroom. “Hurry up,” he calls after him. “Breakfast is almost ready, and I wanna open gifts!”
Already stepping into the hot shower, Bruce calls back, “You're just a big kid, aren't you?”
“Be glad I didn't wake you at dawn!”
Bruce can't help a shudder at that, followed by a long chuckle, remembering Christmases past at the Manor. God, but Dick was enthusiastic about the holiday.
A few minutes later, the Bat emerges from the bathroom, clean and wrapped in a fluffy cotton/wool bathrobe of Clark's design. Joining his companion at the breakfast table, he reaches for the warm cider, taking a long sip. The sweet tang is a wonderful treat, even if it won't clear out the cobwebs still dancing around his brain from a good, long sleep. There'll be coffee later, anyway.
Letting a languid smile briefly grace his face, he leans back, taking in the table. Boughs of holly. God, what a cliché. Nut flower pancakes with butter and... His smile is replaced with a confused scowl. “What is that?”
“Took you long enough,” Clark smiles from the other side of the table. “It's honey.”
“Honey. As in... bees,” Bruce blinks.
His Kryptonian nods. “Exactly. It took a while to find enough hives to harvest a jarful, but it was worth it.”
“But...” the Bat looks over his partner. “You don't have a sting on you!”
“Nope,” Clark's grin widens. “Apparently, these bees don't have stingers.”
Bruce's eyes are saucers. “Damn.”
“I know. Now eat!” the other man gestures to Bruce's plate with his fork, practically bouncing in his seat. “I want you to open your gift.”
Shaking his head at Clark's unbound excitement, the Bat digs in.
Heaven has never tasted so good.
* * * * *
Clark just can't sit still any longer. He's only been waiting for three weeks to give Bruce his Christmas present, and his companion chooses now to take his time? Ugh! “Hurry up, will you?” he presses, not caring that they literally have all the time in the world. He just can't hold out any longer!
Fingering the package as he sets it on the end of the table, he stares at Bruce, the Bat eying him mischievously and slowly taking his last bite of pancakes. Chewing. Chewing some more. Finally swallowing.
“You enjoy torturing me, don't you?”
“What would give you that impression?” Bruce answers innocently, making Clark want to reach over the table and either kiss him or flick his nose.
“Are you finished, already?”
Bruce wipes his mouth with the cloth napkin at an agonizingly slow pace. Finally, he lays the napkin down. “I'm finished,” he smirks.
“God, you drive me nuts,” Clark returns his smirk, pushing the package across the table. “Merry Christmas.”
“I'm here to please,” the Bat winks, pulling the gift to him. Instead of some sort of box with shining paper, Clark's gift is a soft bundle, wrapped and tied with the last remnants of his cape. Bright red. Waiting. Bruce runs his fingers over the bow on top, the scraps of fabric cut and tied beautifully. He frowns.
Clark wonders what thoughts are scrolling through the data stream of Bruce's thoughts, what he thinks about the wrapping. “Open it.”
His Bat's eyes meet his own. “Your cape,” he says quietly. “Clark...”
Smiling softly, Clark shakes his head. “I don't need it. Go on, open it,” he urges.
With a faint sigh, Bruce pulls at the bow, untying the knot. The strips fall away, and Bruce finds the folds to unwrap his gift. Laying the bright fabric back, he can't stop the falling of his jaw.
The dark black fabric of his gift is a pool of midnight, so dark that he can hardly tell what it is Clark has given him. “I...” he starts, unable to form a coherent sentence.
“Go ahead,” Clark urges him again.
Gently, he lifts the garment, unfolding it.
“It was hard to find the right flowers and fruits to get that color, but I hope I got it right...”
Bruce's eyes widen again as he holds the shirt up next to the table. “You... you made me a...”
Clark thinks his Bat might just be speechless. His heart flips expectantly. “I hear it's your favorite color.”
“This... this is... Clark! I can't... can't believe you...” But he's too busy taking in the delicate seaming around the perfect lapel, the shining black stitching around the button holes, the buttons! If Bruce didn't know better, he'd think this was an exclusive design, straight in from Milan or Paris or London, one of a kind. One of a... “Clark,” he finally chokes, his throat knotting up with emotion. With a reverent motion, he lays the shirt on the table, his eyes seeking out his lover's. “This is... beautiful... Thank you.”
“There's more,” the Kryptonian directs his attention back to the package.
More indeed.
With a raised eyebrow, Bruce lifts out the second garment, unfolding it and holding it away. Slacks. Not anything like the medium weight cotton-like pants they've been wearing. These are almost... silken. Creased down the front of the leg. And... God, they even have a zipper.
Bruce thinks he might cry.
“Hey, hey...” Clark says from across the table, seeing his Bat's distress and suddenly wanting to soothe him. “Merry Christmas.”
“I...” the other man replies, laying down the slacks and running a hand along the slick fabric, his focus turned inward. “I don't deserve this.” Bruce feels his heart sinking, remembering Clark's remark about Armani nearly three months ago. “I must look like a spoiled rich brat who's lost all his toys to you.”
“What?” the Kryptonian can't believe what he's hearing. “No! Nothing like that. Ever. Bruce...” When his lover doesn't look at him, Clark rises from the table and slips around it to kneel in front of him. “Hey, look at me,” he commands, his voice dropping back into a more authoritative tone that he's not so used to using anymore, and he clasps Bruce's hands in his. “Bruce.”
After a moment, the Bat faces him, wispy hair falling over his forehead, but Bruce doesn't say anything. He can't. I must look like an idiot...
“This is a gift, Bruce. Because I thought you'd enjoy it. This has nothing to do with how much money you have back home, or what kind of lifestyle you're accustomed to. This is about you. You, Bruce Wayne. The Batman. Wearer of all black,” he continues, a slight smile pulling up the corner of his mouth. “Night owl. Lover of the shadows. The Dark Knight! I just want you to be happy, and I thought a little reminder of both civilization and the terrorizing of criminals might help in that direction.”
Now Bruce feels like a complete, total moron. Exhaling through flared nostrils, he leans forward to rest his forehead against Clark's. “Sorry... Dammit. You just... caught me off guard. And... I remembered what you said about not having Armani out here.”
“You...” Clark's eyes widen, and he pulls back slightly from the contact. “Bruce, that was months ago! And... I didn't even mean it! God, I'm sorry, Bruce.” With the apology, he pulls his lover into a tight hug. “I love you, Bruce. And I'm so sorry I ever made you think that was how I felt.”
Slowly, Bruce relaxes into the hug, wrapping his arms around his Kryptonian in turn. It takes a while for his ill-handled embarrassment to fade, but he's reminded in the warmth of his lover's embrace that there's no judgment between them. Not anymore.
After a few moments, he pulls back, ever slightly. “It's your turn.”
Clark blinks at him. “My... oh!” His eyebrows shoot up beneath his mop of hair, and a grin splits his face.
“Go wait on the bed, and close your eyes.”
The Kryptonian gives him a sidelong glance as he rises and heads across the room to the bed. “Okaaayyy...”
Once his eyes are closed, Bruce slips on his boots and heads out to the barn to retrieve Clark's gift. The little bundle is right where he left it, stowed beneath several hides close to the small paper mill they've been using for the last two and a half months. Hefting its weight in his hands, the Bat can't hide a nervous smile. After the amazing gift Clark has given him, how can he hope to compete?
No, this isn't a competition, he reminds himself stubbornly. He'll like it. I know he will.
Back inside, Clark waits for his companion to return, trying not to bounce on the bed as he listens to Bruce stalk back from the barn. He doesn't think he's been this excited since long before they were stranded here, and it's such a good feeling, he doesn't want it to end. God knows, he only wants Bruce to be happy, and not so forlorn as he's been; his partner's little breakdown over his gift was just the latest in a long string of fits of melancholy.
Finally, the door opens and Bruce steps inside. Clark's heart soars just a little at the sound of the Bat tugging his boots off and padding over to the bed.
Bruce's weight settles onto the mattress, and he chuckles softly. “Excited?”
“What do you think?” Clark teases back. “Can I open my eyes now?”
“Yes, you can open your eyes.”
Slowly, Clark does just that, and finds his partner sitting with a rectangular package on his lap, wrapped in thin strips of birch-like bark. A wide ribbon of bluish fabric is tied around it and up into a bow. “Bruce... wow!” he grins as the Bat hands him the gift.
“You're not the only one that knows how to dye fabric, you know.”
The Kryptonian catches his lover's eyes for a moment, sees the seed of fear beneath the sheen of mischief. “I guess we'll be making a lot more clothing and whatnot, then,” he says, hoping to dissolve it.
“Absolutely. Now open it, and stop prolonging my suffering.”
Still smiling, Clark turns his attention to the package. He undoes the bow, setting the ribbon aside, and slowly peels away the strips of bark. “Oh, Bruce!” he breathes as his gift is revealed, a leather-bound, hand sewn journal, made with the paper they've been producing for record keeping. Burned into the deep brown cover is the crest of the House of El. His symbol. His symbol. Reverently, he strokes the soft leather, his fingertips feathering over the crest.
“Look inside,” Bruce prompts him.
Lifting the cover open, Clark is even more astonished to find that the paper has been embossed with his crest. At the top of every page. “How... how did you...” he starts, looking to his Bat with wide eyes and his heart leaping up into his throat.
Bruce smirks, anxiety finally calming. “Bat trade secret. You like it?”
“Like it? Bruce, I adore it! I can't believe you... made this for me!”
“Guess we're even, then,” he breathes, relieved and ecstatic at Clark's reaction. “Now, how do you want to spend the rest of the day?”
“How do you think?” Clark looks at him mischievously, setting his gift aside. “This is quite possibly the best Christmas ever, aside from the obvious, and I don't intend to waste it.”
Bruce is almost surprised when he's tackled to the bed, his lover laughing happily, and even less so when the kittens decide that now is a good time to climb up and pounce their daddies.
Maybe it is the best Christmas ever.
* * * * *
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Rating: NC-17 (overall); PG-13 (this section)
Word Count: 4,158 (this section)
Prompt: For the 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) Springtime December. Clark and Bruce have visitors, and Christmas comes. Bruce has a little breakdown.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own it all. I own nothing. Darnit.
Author's Note: I can't believe how long I took with this one. O_o Grr... But the chapter came out a bit longer than I'd intended, and I managed to include all the stuff that my muses have been hounding me about. *hugs all my readers*
Index Post
Part 9
Warm sun overhead. Cool breeze tousling his hair. Birds singing their mating songs. Dirt turning over under foot behind the plow, filling his nostrils with that sweet scent of the earth.
Clark thinks it might just be the best December he's ever had.
Which is surprising.
He's certainly not at all thrilled about being stranded here, but it's a gorgeous day, he's working the land like his father taught him when he was just a boy, and he's with Bruce. What could be better?
“You're gonna get sunburned,” his Bat admonishes him from in front of the woolly cow - now not so woolly since they shaved him and his friends in the barn - where he's leading the animal across the field they laid out for planting.
Clark smirks at Bruce's broad, crude straw hat. “Maybe. But it'll be the best sunburn ever. It'll be earned honestly.”
“Wha-? Are you telling me you've never been sunburned?” Bruce's blue eyes squint at him from the shadow beneath the hat's brim.
“Um... yeah,” the Kryptonian admits, feeling a little sheepish as he guides the plow through the ground. “Well, not by any normal means, anyway. And taking a trip through a red sun doesn't count.”
“Hmph. Don't come crying to me for that aloe stuff when you get inside all lobsterized. You're on your own.”
“Suuuuuurree...” Clark drawls. “You know you'll break out the first aid kit the moment you detect a hint of pink to my cheeks.”
Silent for a moment, Bruce finally grumbles, “Shut up.”
“Yes, sir,” comes his teasing, light-hearted reply, before he focuses again on the work. It's not that easy, really, keeping the plow steady behind the cow, and he wonders how his Pa managed it that spring the tractor broke down and they couldn't get it fixed in time to plant. His hands are starting to blister from the friction against the handles.
Not a pleasant feeling at all. But then, neither was getting struck by lightning all those months ago, but who's counting? Pain is pain, apparently.
But this pain, in particular, is more than worth it. Once they get the fifty by fifty foot field area plowed, they'll be able to plant a few crops that will eliminate about eighty percent of the need for foraging. Sure, they'll still need to stock up on fruits and such from the warmer climates - especially for the vitamin C-laden sun fruits they'd had too few of over the winter - but they'll have a variety of corn, a wheat-type grain, almost-potatoes, purplish almost-tomatoes, a good variety of beans and savory herbs, several types of summer melons, and those ground berries that resemble pink clusters of wild grapes. Plenty to ensure good summer and fall harvests, if they're here that long.
Just thinking about it makes his mouth start to water, and finally, finally, he begins to understand why his Pa always seemed to be starving after a hard day's work. All this contemplating food tends to make a man hungry!
Chuckling to himself, he hardly notices Bruce's smirk back at him.
* * * * *
Bruce is having the best dream he's had in months.
“Take my advice, Batsy,” the Clown shrieks between waves of laughter, “don't even bother! I'll be out again in- hurck!”
Sharp edge of a Batarang to the neck, and Joker's insanity stops. He's not dead, but there's more than enough blood pouring out of his wound to knock the Clown out cold. “For the last time, I told you to shut up,” Bruce growls as he slams the unconscious body of his longest-lived adversary against the filthy concrete of the Gotham rooftop. It feels good. Really good.
“Batman!” the velvet tone of one of his former partners rings loud in his ear as he begins to secure his prey.
“Go ahead, Oracle.”
“We've got intel that puts Scarecrow three blocks south of your location.”
“On him. Joker's trussed and ready for GCPD,” he finishes, leaving the Clown to his fate and readying a jump line. The hard pop of the grappling gun fills his ears, followed by the swoosh of the cable flying out before him, and finally the metallic clang of the grapple when it finds its target. He crouches, ready to loose himself to gravity, blood and adrenaline rushing all the way to his fingertips and toes, and-
“Bruce, do you hear that?”
Clark's voice pulls him out of the dream with a sharp tug that leaves him instantly cranky and missing the night air of his city. Grumbling, he blinks into the semi-darkness, searching for his companion.
“Wha... what is it, Clark? More mice in the barn?”
“No, no... I'm not exactly sure what it is, but-”
Annoyed, the Bat cuts him off with a snap. “For the love of God, Clark! Every night for the past three weeks, you've woken me up, hearing something outside. What the hell is wrong?”
Heaving a hard breath in protest, Clark just glares back at him. “Hey, I'm sorry I haven't found whatever it is, yet, but would you just let me finish! Whatever it is, it's-”
SCRITCHITY-SCRATCH!!
“The hell?” Bruce breathes, hearing the scratching outside the door. In an instant, he's on his feet and grabbing a well-used Batarang from the top drawer of their dresser.
“As I was trying to say...” Clark scolds him, climbing out of bed himself and shrugging on a pair of pants.
SCRATCH-SCRATCH-SCRITCHITY!!
“-I think we have a visitor.”
SCRITCHITY!!
Standing together, they swing open the door.
Clark and Bruce exchange surprised glances as the tiny animal makes her way into the house, tail high in the air behind her, ears perked, curled infant clenched gently between her teeth and four more on the porch behind her.
“What the-?”
“Well, now we know what it is I've been hearing the last three weeks,” Clark smiles as the tension finally evaporates into a giggle. “She must be a pretty good mama to have kept them so well hidden.”
“Oh, no. You have got to be joking,” Bruce grumbles, ignoring his partner and rubbing his face with frustration. “A cat!? Here!? No. Just... no!” But he can't help watching as she pads lightly through the room to the space beneath the wide bed, disappearing into the shadow. Oh, of all the places...
Clark lights the oil lamp next to the bed quickly, and drops down with it to seek out their guest, a grin shining on his face in the illuminated circle. “Come on, Bruce. You know this is probably the safest place on the entire planet she could have chosen to bring her litter.”
“Clark...” the Bat warns, not willing to admit defeat to a nine pound feline, even as she makes her way back out to retrieve another kitten and bring it inside.
“Better give it up. I don't think we could evict her if we tried. Besides,” he says, pulling Bruce down to the floor to glimpse the slowly growing pile of kittens beneath the bed, “you're a cat person at heart, and there's no way you can deny it.”
Eying the litter, the Bat thinks it over. Tiny feet and claws scrambling for purchase against the wooden floor, silken ear tufts not quite standing all the way up yet. Pot bellies from their mama's milk. Tiny mewling cries drawing said mama back to flop over and open the bar for service once the final infant is deposited. It's chaos. And it reminds him far too much of a certain Gothamite. Finally, “Am not.”
“You are, too. Even Krypto knows it,” comes the smirking reply as Clark twists around to rummage through the bottom drawer of the dresser. Quickly, he comes out with his tattered uniform shirt, balling it up to present to the family of cats for bedding.
Bruce glares at his companion. “Hmph. That dog hates everybody.” But he knows his eyes are betraying him, and watching his lover so easily giving up the one thing still tying him to his identity makes his gut constrict. “Fine. But you get to set up and maintain their litterbox. And feed them.”
Clark kisses him on the temple, grinning fully. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”
A half-hearted scowl. “Once or twice.”
* * * * *
“Where did you find holly?” Bruce stares, wide eyed, at the dark green sprigs with their bright red berries Clark has hung around the little house, over the fireplace mantel, on the table, on the bed knobs.
“Like it? I found a whole grove of it about two hundred miles north of here. Luckily, they just happened to be past blooming, so they're chock full of berries,” the Kryptonian smiles, pulling Bruce into a warm hug around the waist.
The Bat shakes his head. “Amazing. I didn't think this world had anything like that.”
“Well, you know, climate differences, and all. Each species with its own home range. The life forms in the tropical regions would really surprise you.”
“I'll bet.”
Clark hears the slight jump in his partner's heartbeat, and suddenly feels a little guilty. But before he can offer an apology, something tugs at his pants leg. Breaking away from Bruce, he looks down in time to see the little kitten climbing his leg like a tree. The tiny claws prick him just a bit, but he can't be upset with the ball of fluff. She's just too adorable. “Hey, what are you up to?” he says, scooping the kitten up into his hands to rest her against his shoulder.
A high-pitched kitten cry greets him from her little pink mouth, her already golden eyes bright and shining.
“I see,” he chuckles, stroking her dark brown and cream speckled fur with one hand as he looks back to Bruce.
“They only do that to you, you know,” his Bat grumbles.
“Aww... are you jealous?” he teases in return.
“No.”
“Mm-hmm. Right.”
“Shut up.”
Laughing heartily, Clark grabs Bruce around the waist again with his free arm and pulls him in for a long kiss. Finally pulling back a little, he gazes at his lover thoughtfully. “We should name them.”
Bruce looks contemplative for a moment, staring at the little thing that's started to climb up to Clark's shoulder. Her eyes... “Selina,” he says at last.
Clark can't help a soft smile. “Selina it is, then. And for the mama? How about Diana?” The parallel is there; the mama cat is fierce, but friendly, protecting her brood violently when a snake got in the house, and lovingly grooming and snuggling them in equal measure.
The Bat nods slowly, glancing at the black and cream tuxedo-patterned cat as she watches over her litter, intermittently grooming her long fur. “It fits. And the other four?”
“Hmm... two girls, two boys...” Releasing his grip on Bruce's waist, Clark kneels to inspect the other kittens. The two boys are nearly identical, dark brown with cream paws and bellies, one with a sprinkling of cream around his green eyes, the other with vibrant blue eyes.
Bruce follows his companion to the floor, scooping up the green eyed kitten. He's a rough little boy, alternately biting, licking, and kicking Bruce's hand. “Jay.”
Again, Clark smiles, and he lays a hand on his lover's shoulder, knowing how much his Bat's heart must be breaking just thinking about his wayward son, the son he never ever talked about unless he was half asleep and beyond exhausted.
After a moment, the Kryptonian scoops up the blue eyed boy, thinking about his own lost progeny as the kitten nuzzles his hand, purring. “Kon,” he says finally.
Bruce nods at him, returning his own sad smile. “That just leaves the girls.”
Clark looks to the two girl kittens, tangled up in their own play fight and tumbling across the floor. A grin splits his face. “Kara,” he suggests, for the all cream one with her blue eyes.
“And Cass,” Bruce names the all black one with dark brown eyes.
A sharp kitten cry next to Clark's ear settles it, and he chuckles light-heartedly, ducking when the kitten ascends to the top of his head and starts to lick and chew his hair.
* * * * *
The mellow aroma of warm apple-cherry cider slowly wakes Bruce from his heavy sleep, infiltrating his dreams until he can no longer ignore the call of breakfast. “Mmm...” he groans happily, stretching and blinking in the shining spring sunlight as it meets his face through the open window. Tossing back the comforter, he feels the breeze whispering across his mostly naked body. God, this is nice, he muses, right before four tiny feet land on his chest, claws out. “Gaahh!!”
And he's fully awake, eyes wide to find little Jay stalking up his chest to sniff around his face, whiskers forward and nose crinkling.
Clark's laugh from the kitchen area is teasing. “Morning, sleepyhead. Merry Christmas.”
“Hmph,” Bruce snorts, plucking the kitten gently off his chest and depositing him amidst the thick covers, before rising and padding over to kiss his lover on his way to the bathroom. “Merry Christmas,” he whispers against Clark's lips. With a mischievous smirk, he reaches down and squeezes his Kryptonian's behind through his pants.
“Hey!” Clark protests, grinning all the while as Bruce ghosts away and disappears into the bathroom. “Hurry up,” he calls after him. “Breakfast is almost ready, and I wanna open gifts!”
Already stepping into the hot shower, Bruce calls back, “You're just a big kid, aren't you?”
“Be glad I didn't wake you at dawn!”
Bruce can't help a shudder at that, followed by a long chuckle, remembering Christmases past at the Manor. God, but Dick was enthusiastic about the holiday.
A few minutes later, the Bat emerges from the bathroom, clean and wrapped in a fluffy cotton/wool bathrobe of Clark's design. Joining his companion at the breakfast table, he reaches for the warm cider, taking a long sip. The sweet tang is a wonderful treat, even if it won't clear out the cobwebs still dancing around his brain from a good, long sleep. There'll be coffee later, anyway.
Letting a languid smile briefly grace his face, he leans back, taking in the table. Boughs of holly. God, what a cliché. Nut flower pancakes with butter and... His smile is replaced with a confused scowl. “What is that?”
“Took you long enough,” Clark smiles from the other side of the table. “It's honey.”
“Honey. As in... bees,” Bruce blinks.
His Kryptonian nods. “Exactly. It took a while to find enough hives to harvest a jarful, but it was worth it.”
“But...” the Bat looks over his partner. “You don't have a sting on you!”
“Nope,” Clark's grin widens. “Apparently, these bees don't have stingers.”
Bruce's eyes are saucers. “Damn.”
“I know. Now eat!” the other man gestures to Bruce's plate with his fork, practically bouncing in his seat. “I want you to open your gift.”
Shaking his head at Clark's unbound excitement, the Bat digs in.
Heaven has never tasted so good.
* * * * *
Clark just can't sit still any longer. He's only been waiting for three weeks to give Bruce his Christmas present, and his companion chooses now to take his time? Ugh! “Hurry up, will you?” he presses, not caring that they literally have all the time in the world. He just can't hold out any longer!
Fingering the package as he sets it on the end of the table, he stares at Bruce, the Bat eying him mischievously and slowly taking his last bite of pancakes. Chewing. Chewing some more. Finally swallowing.
“You enjoy torturing me, don't you?”
“What would give you that impression?” Bruce answers innocently, making Clark want to reach over the table and either kiss him or flick his nose.
“Are you finished, already?”
Bruce wipes his mouth with the cloth napkin at an agonizingly slow pace. Finally, he lays the napkin down. “I'm finished,” he smirks.
“God, you drive me nuts,” Clark returns his smirk, pushing the package across the table. “Merry Christmas.”
“I'm here to please,” the Bat winks, pulling the gift to him. Instead of some sort of box with shining paper, Clark's gift is a soft bundle, wrapped and tied with the last remnants of his cape. Bright red. Waiting. Bruce runs his fingers over the bow on top, the scraps of fabric cut and tied beautifully. He frowns.
Clark wonders what thoughts are scrolling through the data stream of Bruce's thoughts, what he thinks about the wrapping. “Open it.”
His Bat's eyes meet his own. “Your cape,” he says quietly. “Clark...”
Smiling softly, Clark shakes his head. “I don't need it. Go on, open it,” he urges.
With a faint sigh, Bruce pulls at the bow, untying the knot. The strips fall away, and Bruce finds the folds to unwrap his gift. Laying the bright fabric back, he can't stop the falling of his jaw.
The dark black fabric of his gift is a pool of midnight, so dark that he can hardly tell what it is Clark has given him. “I...” he starts, unable to form a coherent sentence.
“Go ahead,” Clark urges him again.
Gently, he lifts the garment, unfolding it.
“It was hard to find the right flowers and fruits to get that color, but I hope I got it right...”
Bruce's eyes widen again as he holds the shirt up next to the table. “You... you made me a...”
Clark thinks his Bat might just be speechless. His heart flips expectantly. “I hear it's your favorite color.”
“This... this is... Clark! I can't... can't believe you...” But he's too busy taking in the delicate seaming around the perfect lapel, the shining black stitching around the button holes, the buttons! If Bruce didn't know better, he'd think this was an exclusive design, straight in from Milan or Paris or London, one of a kind. One of a... “Clark,” he finally chokes, his throat knotting up with emotion. With a reverent motion, he lays the shirt on the table, his eyes seeking out his lover's. “This is... beautiful... Thank you.”
“There's more,” the Kryptonian directs his attention back to the package.
More indeed.
With a raised eyebrow, Bruce lifts out the second garment, unfolding it and holding it away. Slacks. Not anything like the medium weight cotton-like pants they've been wearing. These are almost... silken. Creased down the front of the leg. And... God, they even have a zipper.
Bruce thinks he might cry.
“Hey, hey...” Clark says from across the table, seeing his Bat's distress and suddenly wanting to soothe him. “Merry Christmas.”
“I...” the other man replies, laying down the slacks and running a hand along the slick fabric, his focus turned inward. “I don't deserve this.” Bruce feels his heart sinking, remembering Clark's remark about Armani nearly three months ago. “I must look like a spoiled rich brat who's lost all his toys to you.”
“What?” the Kryptonian can't believe what he's hearing. “No! Nothing like that. Ever. Bruce...” When his lover doesn't look at him, Clark rises from the table and slips around it to kneel in front of him. “Hey, look at me,” he commands, his voice dropping back into a more authoritative tone that he's not so used to using anymore, and he clasps Bruce's hands in his. “Bruce.”
After a moment, the Bat faces him, wispy hair falling over his forehead, but Bruce doesn't say anything. He can't. I must look like an idiot...
“This is a gift, Bruce. Because I thought you'd enjoy it. This has nothing to do with how much money you have back home, or what kind of lifestyle you're accustomed to. This is about you. You, Bruce Wayne. The Batman. Wearer of all black,” he continues, a slight smile pulling up the corner of his mouth. “Night owl. Lover of the shadows. The Dark Knight! I just want you to be happy, and I thought a little reminder of both civilization and the terrorizing of criminals might help in that direction.”
Now Bruce feels like a complete, total moron. Exhaling through flared nostrils, he leans forward to rest his forehead against Clark's. “Sorry... Dammit. You just... caught me off guard. And... I remembered what you said about not having Armani out here.”
“You...” Clark's eyes widen, and he pulls back slightly from the contact. “Bruce, that was months ago! And... I didn't even mean it! God, I'm sorry, Bruce.” With the apology, he pulls his lover into a tight hug. “I love you, Bruce. And I'm so sorry I ever made you think that was how I felt.”
Slowly, Bruce relaxes into the hug, wrapping his arms around his Kryptonian in turn. It takes a while for his ill-handled embarrassment to fade, but he's reminded in the warmth of his lover's embrace that there's no judgment between them. Not anymore.
After a few moments, he pulls back, ever slightly. “It's your turn.”
Clark blinks at him. “My... oh!” His eyebrows shoot up beneath his mop of hair, and a grin splits his face.
“Go wait on the bed, and close your eyes.”
The Kryptonian gives him a sidelong glance as he rises and heads across the room to the bed. “Okaaayyy...”
Once his eyes are closed, Bruce slips on his boots and heads out to the barn to retrieve Clark's gift. The little bundle is right where he left it, stowed beneath several hides close to the small paper mill they've been using for the last two and a half months. Hefting its weight in his hands, the Bat can't hide a nervous smile. After the amazing gift Clark has given him, how can he hope to compete?
No, this isn't a competition, he reminds himself stubbornly. He'll like it. I know he will.
Back inside, Clark waits for his companion to return, trying not to bounce on the bed as he listens to Bruce stalk back from the barn. He doesn't think he's been this excited since long before they were stranded here, and it's such a good feeling, he doesn't want it to end. God knows, he only wants Bruce to be happy, and not so forlorn as he's been; his partner's little breakdown over his gift was just the latest in a long string of fits of melancholy.
Finally, the door opens and Bruce steps inside. Clark's heart soars just a little at the sound of the Bat tugging his boots off and padding over to the bed.
Bruce's weight settles onto the mattress, and he chuckles softly. “Excited?”
“What do you think?” Clark teases back. “Can I open my eyes now?”
“Yes, you can open your eyes.”
Slowly, Clark does just that, and finds his partner sitting with a rectangular package on his lap, wrapped in thin strips of birch-like bark. A wide ribbon of bluish fabric is tied around it and up into a bow. “Bruce... wow!” he grins as the Bat hands him the gift.
“You're not the only one that knows how to dye fabric, you know.”
The Kryptonian catches his lover's eyes for a moment, sees the seed of fear beneath the sheen of mischief. “I guess we'll be making a lot more clothing and whatnot, then,” he says, hoping to dissolve it.
“Absolutely. Now open it, and stop prolonging my suffering.”
Still smiling, Clark turns his attention to the package. He undoes the bow, setting the ribbon aside, and slowly peels away the strips of bark. “Oh, Bruce!” he breathes as his gift is revealed, a leather-bound, hand sewn journal, made with the paper they've been producing for record keeping. Burned into the deep brown cover is the crest of the House of El. His symbol. His symbol. Reverently, he strokes the soft leather, his fingertips feathering over the crest.
“Look inside,” Bruce prompts him.
Lifting the cover open, Clark is even more astonished to find that the paper has been embossed with his crest. At the top of every page. “How... how did you...” he starts, looking to his Bat with wide eyes and his heart leaping up into his throat.
Bruce smirks, anxiety finally calming. “Bat trade secret. You like it?”
“Like it? Bruce, I adore it! I can't believe you... made this for me!”
“Guess we're even, then,” he breathes, relieved and ecstatic at Clark's reaction. “Now, how do you want to spend the rest of the day?”
“How do you think?” Clark looks at him mischievously, setting his gift aside. “This is quite possibly the best Christmas ever, aside from the obvious, and I don't intend to waste it.”
Bruce is almost surprised when he's tackled to the bed, his lover laughing happily, and even less so when the kittens decide that now is a good time to climb up and pounce their daddies.
Maybe it is the best Christmas ever.
* * * * *