silver_lined | Well, I stumble through the dark and light a candle...

Well, I stumble through the dark and light a candle...

Leaving their younger versions behind, he gave Bruce's hand a soft, careful squeeze before tugging him the rest of the way through the warp hole. He wasn't about let him lose a limb to being a smart ass, after all. And it was hell to replace the pieces of the exo-suit.

"I ought to kick your ass for that, Bruce," he said with a sigh as they made their way back into his own Fortress. It was a bit darker, a little more full, and dustier. Definitely dustier. He'd never quite be able to undo the damage that eight years of neglect had done on the place.

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"I'd offer something better, but I was trying to get you to calm down," he said smoothly. The squeeze had been frantic but it'd been a good sign. Bruce's strength was uneven but it'd been slowly decreasing. That had been a good firm grip.

Bruce snorted and closed his eyes and kept working on just continuing to get his breathing to even out. "You could always try a nice glass of scotch," he snarked. Okay, that sounded more normal. He had this breathing thing back under control. His heart still felt strange, but it was evening out, too.

"Though I suppose I'll take your water and like it, since you're delivering."

He'd made a promise. He was going to keep it. Besides, he had - less of an idea what was going on than Clark did, and Clark wasn't freaking out.

"You get a nice glass of scotch when you've been awake for a bit," he said firmly, because scotch could put him right out. And he would admit, he was greedy for time with him. The more time he spent asleep, the less time he could have.

It was so selfish, but he couldn't help it.

Bruce agreed; he was likely to go right the hell back to sleep if he drank anything like a good scotch and that wasn't - that wasn't what he wanted or Clark needed.

He let go of Clark's hand and pushed back a little against the hand at his neck. "Set a timer," he grumped.

He didn't even want the damned stuff, he wanted Clark to know he was okay. "Do that while you're getting my water, and think about getting something to eat while you're at it." Or some sun, but that was basically eating for Clark.

Look, he'd stop worrying when he was actually dead. And not a second before.

"I don't need to set a timer," he said with a snort as he pushed himself out of the bed.

"I'm Superman."

He stood a few feet away from Bruce, looking him over thoughtfully before turning his gaze back to Bruce's eyes.

"And I'll eat something when you eat something."

"Superman's a dirty, rotten, manipulative bastard."

He smiled, faintly, though. Recognizing what Clark was doing didn't mean it wouldn't work. "Fine, if that's what it takes for you to take care of yourself, bring something back for me, too." He got himself propped a bit more upright in the bed. "But I expect to see you eat."

Clark was so focused on him, these days... He may as well manipulate back. Whatever it took. He loved the man. Really, really, loved him. Lived for him.

Edited 2015-12-24 04:51 (UTC)

"Superman learned from the best," and he walked over to press a kiss over Bruce's hair before heading to the kitchen. He went quickly, his ears carefully monitoring Bruce's vitals as he finished up the shake for them both.

Soon enough, he was back with a covered cup for Bruce (antigrav made things difficult) and a glass for himself.

"Liquid lunch."

Nothing changed in the time it took Clark to fix lunch, except Bruce figuring out how to settle himself better in a bed that didn't have gravity and to seriously contemplate getting up so as not to fall asleep again.

He made a rude noise when Clark came back with the cup. "For god's sake, Clark, turn the field off while I'm 'eating', and while we're at it only one of us needs to get their calories through a straw. When was the last time you actually ate anything? That you had to chew?"

...He was, just possibly, going to get more overbearing about this as his health declined. That scare when he woke up had rattled him, but not for his sake.

"I didn't feel like getting a tray or spilling food all over the bed," he pointed out with a snort. Practical. He was just being practical. But he turned off the field by request.

Which wasn't an answer, but it was the answer he was giving.

Bruce's jaw clenched and his eyes closed when the field turned off, but only for a moment and then he was fumbling a bit and prying the lid off his liquid lunch. Because he wasn't a toddler, dammit, and he was - frustrated and scared.

For Clark.

"When was the last time you ate, Clark?"

And not letting it go. Just getting - quiet about it.

"I eat every time you eat," he pointed out with a lift of the glass, taking a long sip to show Bruce that yes, he ate. Most of the time, he made sure to get sunshine, but right now he was eating.

"And I'm eating now."

Dammit, Kal.

What was he supposed to do? Point out that he was ancient and falling apart and human and Clark was an alien who was barely starting to turn grey? That would make for a comfortable evening together, wouldn't it?

He took a drink from his glass, too, though frankly his appetite was actually non-existent. "You're still an idiot."

And, yes, that was him rolling over for Clark. Just like he tended to do when he was really worried about Clark.

"I'll make myself a mushroom burger when I go to get you your scotch," he offered as he reached over and pulled Bruce's hand to his lips for a soft kiss to the fingers.

Bruce not only didn't resist having his hand held, he curled his fingers a bit awkwardly around Clark's and held onto his hand. "That had better be a promise." He knew it was. Hoped it was. Was going to take it as one.

Even if it meant he now had to have scotch.

"It's a promise," he assured him as he kissed a few more of those fingers. "We'll give it an hour or so."

"Good." That might, just about, give him enough time to get through 'lunch'. At least it wouldn't knock him out before he'd had any time with Clark. He tugged lightly at Clark's hand, almost unconsciously trying to get him to come closer. "How long do you intend to stay here?"

Clark went. Whether it was because he knew that Bruce wanted him, or because he wanted Bruce was hard to say.

"I wanted you to get some time with the antigrav, but if you want to head to the manor, we can do that."

He'd arrange for a teleport. He didn't like to make him travel to much the other ways.

It didn't matter (much) if Clark was indulging Bruce or himself. They were both getting what they wanted, and possibly needed. Bruce kept drinking that damned shake once he had Clark close to him, and quirked a faint, wry, smile.

"You can give me some more time with the antigrav between lunch and cocktails." He wasn't stupid enough - or stubborn enough - to deny the relief he got from it. It just wasn't enough to not want to go home.

...He didn't even want to go home so much at this point as he felt the need to be there. A desperate sort of clawing thing in the very back of his mind that he wasn't paying much conscious attention to.

"Play your cards right and I might even stay awake through you flying." Fuck teleport. He wanted to - Look, he was doing a thing here. For Clark as much as for himself.

"Oh, are we flying then?"

Because he knew what he wanted but short of things that were necessary, he let Bruce have his way. Especially the last week or so.

"It's a good thing I brought your coat."

"Well, I suppose you could teleport to some midpoint so we're not in the air all day, but we're flying either way."

He was not above using Clark's tendency to indulge him to get his own way to try and give something to Clark. What he was trying to give Clark here was ill defined but amounted to 'memory'.

"Maybe a teleport down to Boston," he proposed, "and then we can fly the rest of the way?"

That wouldn't be a long flight, but it'd be a relatively easy one. The sea breezes always helped his speed and it made for a good, comfortable flight for Bruce.

"That sounds like a much better use of technology, time, and flight." It would make for a more pleasant experience for him and give him what he wanted with Clark - for Clark, either way.

Meanwhile he was... fighting his way to the bottom of his cup and it was a fight. Absolutely no part of him actually wanted that thing, but he was determined and getting there.

"Drink some water once you're done," he advised, "since I can see from your face the flavor's not doing it for you."

Then he pushed himself up from the bed to start collecting the pieces of the suit.

It wasn't the flavor and he didn't want water, either. He finished his lunch and reached to grab the glass of water beside the bed to drink, anyway. Indulging Clark for indulging him might just have become the new normal, even when accompanied by grump and snark.

His distaste for the suit was actually greater. "I know I'm old, Clark, but I think I can manage a trip that's ninety-nine percent flying or teleporting." The suit provided a lot of bracing and insulation from pain, but. Actually no, that might send a strange signal. He pushed the rest of the way up and moved to the edge of the bed and reached for it. "Give it here. I'll get it on while you take care of the dishes - and you still owe me a scotch and you eating a proper meal."

"Which I can do just as well at the manor," came the answer as he handed over the pieces and pressed a kiss to the back of Bruce's head.

"Actually, the scotch will be easier. You have a much better collection there than here."

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