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

[silver_lined]

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.

Comments

[beyondthebat]

Bruce tilted his head up, snagged the back of Clark's neck and gave him a firm kiss on the lips. Then let him go, so he could start wrangling his way into that thing.

"Mm. I should hope so. Given that the collection there is older than I am." Which meant inherited, but whatever. He'd had a few years to collect before Clark, too.

Getting into that suit, it turned out, took a lot of energy. A lot. He didn't make a fuss but there was definite physical effort involved, and his body and vitals responded like someone engaging in a hell of a workout.

[silver_lined]

Clark was back within seconds, the dishes done and drying and they'd be just fine where they were. Bruce, on the other hand, got assistance on the legs and part of the arms, as well as the back piece and the back part of the neck.

"I think I still have some fries in the freezer there too."

A burger and fries. That was a meal. Bruce would be satisfied.

[beyondthebat]

Bruce was... starting to become consciously aware that his body was trying to drag him down. The fact that he'd gotten incredibly light-headed, short of breath, and his pulse was racing erratically was something of a clue.

Clark carrying on as more or less normal was - what? reassuring? That or troubling, and he didn't know which. Still, he pretty well leaned into Clark and let himself be helped while he fought against himself to get things steadied out again. It... took more effort than he wanted.

"Combine that with your shake and it's very nearly an actual meal." It was an actual meal.

He took hold of Clark's shoulder and hauled himself up with a lot of assistance from the suit. "You'll even get a bit of time in the sun on the way." Not an accident. "Let's go." Once up he took Clark's hand again.

[silver_lined]

He'd messaged the Watchtower to get them the ride, so the moment that Bruce was in his arms, the boomtube opened and Clark carried him through. It left them out in the sky just outside of Boston and Clark took a moment to breathe in deep of the sea area before turning and heading for their destination.

The sun was bright today.

[beyondthebat]

Bruce... laughed when they emerged into a bright blue sky, breathed deep and held onto Clark with some help from the gloves. He didn't say anything, though. Nuzzled at Clark's throat, nipped it gently, ultimately put a hand in Clark's hair.

And just enjoyed the hell out of every second of that flight and knowing Clark was getting the sunlight he needed.

The fact that he could feel Clark's heart beating and the rise and fall of him breathing wasn't half bad, either. That man didn't know how not to be fully alive. Bruce didn't want him to ever find out.

Okay, wrong, toward the end of the trip he said something. He said: "I love you."

[silver_lined]

There wasn't a pause in his flight, not a twitch, nothing to show it. But it simultaneously ripped him in half and put him back together again, the same way those words always did except

Except.

Goddammit, Bruce. I could pretend. I could pretend I was wrong.

He leaned in then, the words humming across his skin, inside of his heart, clawing like an animal in a cage as he nuzzled Bruce in return.

"I love you too."

[beyondthebat]

Bruce stroked his thumb over the back of Clark's neck to recognize that, and focused every fiber of his being on keeping his pulse steady, his breathing even, and the way the color of the sky matched Clark's eyes.

It reminded him of another time he'd done that for Clark - made sure his pulse and breathing were right, to keep Clark on even keel - or to try. There had been a lot of foolishness at the time - from him, of course - but the sentiment had been the same.

Just letting his heart beat for Clark. This time it was more like making it, but after everything Clark had done for him... It wasn't anywhere near enough.

He was, however, profoundly relieved to see the Manor. Even after all these years, it was home.

[silver_lined]

He glided in smoothly, through the window of Bruce's room that had long since been genetically synced to allow just that. Technology was wonderful sometimes.

Though... not wonderful enough.

He didn't stay there, though. Instead, he went through the house to the kitchen and put Bruce down on the most comfortable seat there before disappearing. A moment later, there was a small glass of Bruce's favorite scotch (the one he'd come to prefer most of the time) and Clark was tossing some fries into the oven and looking for the mushroom caps.

"There's two of us here," he said, grumbling, "both of us with perfect memories and yet somehow, my mushrooms always end up somewhere in here."

[beyondthebat]

There were greater odds of Bruce developing the potential for independent flight than there were of him actually finishing that drink - if he didn't want to pass out, and right now he very much did not want to pass out.

He could have used the pain killing properties, but he really needed his brain to keep working.

Clark needed his brain to keep working a lot more.

He took his seat, took a sip of his drink and leaned an elbow against the table. He was distracted by everything he was trying to consciously manage, but he still managed a soft snort. "I think they're on the bottom right, toward the back." Why did he know that?

Because that was where somewhere historically was.

And he needed Clark to eat properly.

[silver_lined]

He turned and gave Bruce the dirtiest look.

"You live to drive me mad," he said with a low chuckle as he pulled them out along with the butter. The pan got the butter a moment later as he started slicing up the tomato.

[beyondthebat]

I live to love you.

"I suppose that's one way of looking at it. Someone has to be able to get under your skin. Keeps your head from swelling."

He watched Clark cooking and was just - content to do it. More content because he was at home, in his kitchen (that he never used) with sun streaming through the windows.

[silver_lined]

"You do such a good job, sometimes I think my head's shrinking," he pointed out with a huff as he flipped the mushroom caps into the pan. "I swear, my hats get bigger every year."

[beyondthebat]

"Maybe it's your hair." His ... sentences were getting shorter. They had to be to compensate for mental and physical energy he was expending, but he was doing all right overall. At least with the upright, conscious, and heart-beating and breathing aspects of it.

Dammit, Kal. Just... Dammit.

[silver_lined]

"You like my hair," he said with a shake of his head as he pulled out the rolls to cut one in half. "And it's only gotten curlier since the white came in."

He glanced over.

"Though I don't look nearly as elegant as you do with it. I'm like a skunk over here."

He smiled at him and it was a miracle that it wasn't brittle.

"Thankfully, I smell a little sweeter."

[beyondthebat]

Bruce could not have been watching Clark more intently if he'd been half a century younger. His eyes had certainly not lost that piercing quality. It was even more intense because of what was happening here, just under the surface.

"I like your hair," he agreed. "I wouldn't if it made you look like a skunk. I wouldn't let you on the grounds, much less in my bed if you smelled like one." He broke off there, and coughed briefly, got it under control and took another sip of his scotch. "Silver suits you."

[silver_lined]

His eyes were just as intent on Bruce as he coughed, before settling out and plating the mushrooms on the roll.

He didn't bother to season it. He wasn't going to be tasting it anyway.

Yes, his taste receptors could sense every individual chemical in everything he ate. But he wasn't going to be tasting this. The same way he'd stopped feeling the sun since they'd come into the manor.

Then--

"Yes, yes, I'm quite the silver fox. You've said it before." It was a tease back but then--

"You know I've only had eyes for you for over half a century." He assembled the burger and reached down to pull out the fries. It was a good thing he couldn't burn himself on it because he just reached down and took it, shaking the sheet onto the plate.

"I've still never seen a man so beautiful."

Now. Then. Ever.

[beyondthebat]

The fries weren't even done, which was of greater concern to Bruce than Clark not seasoning his food and failing to think twice about grabbing a pan directly out of the oven.

He sighed at Clark, soft and tired sounding.

This was his worst nightmare as much as it was Clark's. He'd spent at least as much of his life afraid of it as Clark had. He was possibly fighting against it harder than Clark, but then it was ultimately his fight - even if he was fighting it for Clark's sake.

He wasn't going to win, but he would not give up. Wouldn't let Clark believe he was making a choice to leave him, wouldn't give Clark less than everything.

"And I've never seen one so ridiculous," he murmured. He didn't repeat the cough, just - refocused himself as best he could. "I wasn't beautiful then, and I certainly haven't improved with age." But - "But I do know."

[silver_lined]

"You do nothing but improve," Clark answered as he slipped around the counter. He reached out and pulled Bruce closer and kissed him a few times before explaining.

"And I told you already. I'm the one with super sight. Clearly, I know what I'm talking about."

Supersight to see the scars that Bruce survived for him. X-ray vision to see the bones he'd broken and the damage he'd taken and the organs slowly failing inside of him. So much more beautiful every day for each moment that Bruce kept himself alive for him.

He'd always seen more than anyone else. Especially when it came to Bruce.

God, I'm a greedy son of a bitch.

I should tell him to let go.

I should let him go.

I can't let him go.

What will I do when he goes anyway?

He pulled back, with obvious reluctance, and reached over to take up the sandwich as he stepped away. He'd promised Bruce he'd eat. So he was eating.

[beyondthebat]

What Clark would do was a question Bruce knew the answer to, because he knew Clark and he loved him, and because he knew that he was loved.

The specifics didn't matter. The general answer was enough. Clark would be alone, and he would hurt - badly. If Bruce was delaying the inevitable, he'd keep delaying it because every second he could was a second Clark wasn't alone.

"You're also the one with a thick head."

He returned the kiss, a little more intensely than he'd meant to or maybe should have and then - watched Clark eat. Took another sip of his scotch to keep from having another coughing fit, trying to balance that and some numbing of pain against absolutely knowing he could not afford to sleep.

Then shoved himself up to his feet to go to the cupboard and get himself a glass of water. Moving hurt even with the suit - was plain hard - put more strain on every part of his body that was trying to give out entirely, but it also meant he was awake and 'normal' for Clark. It meant he could get his glass of water to handle his throat and not risk the negatives of alcohol.

He stayed standing. Against the counter, braced with both hands behind him and water beside him.

[silver_lined]

Clark leaned against his own counter, the two of them across from one another, mirrors of one another, two sides of a coin.

Clark had always had an abundance in so many ways. Perhaps not of money but of strength. Speed. Health. And it had always, always frustrated the hell out of him that he couldn't just take from his own seemingly boundless well and give.

He could still lift this manor if he was pushed to it. He could still punch Lobo clear across the city if pushed to it. He was 90-something years old and he still looked like a goddamn body builder and there was not a fucking thing he could do about the fact that Bruce was in an exoskeleton just to go get a glass of water.

Clark had never had much use for hate. But right now, he hated this so much he almost couldn't see.

"Well, what else was I any good for? And the costume never looked much good with a helmet..."

[beyondthebat]

It was probably no consolation at all, but Bruce hated it, too. He'd never really had much use for his own humanity, never respected the limitations that came with that, even when there'd been fewer of them. His hatred for it now wasn't all that different, except it was all centered on the fact that he was failing Clark as a result, rather than failing a city or his own expectations.

That was worse.

That was so much worse.

"Did you ever try it with a helmet? It could have worked." No, it wouldn't have and the image made him smile a little.

And he didn't mean to say it aloud but he was so closely atuned to Clark that they may as well have been telepathic, because he did anyway. "Should've let me use the lazarus pit."

[silver_lined]

He was most of the way through the sandwich, eating it mechanically, and then his hand was clenching so tight, he almost ripped his suit.

"Don't tempt me right now, Bruce. Don't..." he sucked in a breath. "Please don't."

[beyondthebat]

The temptation wasn't in immortality, or an escape from pain or even evasion of death . It was in giving Clark something to hold onto.

Instead of whatever Bruce could wring out of himself.

"If you did it, it wouldn't be you and what you got back wouldn't be me." And yet - the temptation was still there. Because he loved Clark.

"Just finish your food." A pause and then more gently, frustration gone from his voice. "Please."

[silver_lined]

"Don't you use that tone with me," and Clark's voice wavered. Bruce had mellowed, but he couldn't-- that wasn't-- That kind of please shouldn't be used for a sandwich. Not... not unless--

But he put the damn sandwich in his mouth and ate. He made sure that Bruce saw he finished every bite.

"Finished," he reported.

[beyondthebat]

Bruce's heart skipped a beat - of the literal and emotional sort at the waver in Clark's voice. It physically hurt enough to feel like he'd been kicked in the chest and like he was suffocating at once. He ignored it all because this was Clark and Clark was the only thing in the world that mattered at all to him.

He smiled wryly at Clark and then took another drink of water, and pushed away from the counter to offer Clark a hand. "I'll get you a medal later," he said, still - just quiet. "Let's take a walk."

A short walk.