Work Text:
"I'll be there in ten minutes."
Bruce sat with his knees pulled up to his chest, the quiet whirring of familiar machinery a comforting hum around him, staring blankly at the computer screen, eyes unfocused and muscles uncomfortably tense.
He didn't know why he'd sent the text. He shouldn't have, he shouldn't need anything. But the kids were all asleep for once, (or he hoped so, at least) Dick wasn't even in Gotham, and Alfred had been looking in desperate need of a night off.
It was the early hours of the morning, the city and the manor still silent, and usually Bruce would be grateful for the few moments of solitude after patrol.
Now, though... now the silence only left him alone with his thoughts, with resurfacing memories and emotions. With the phantom feel of unwanted hands against his skin.
Bruce shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut, fighting against the voice in his ear, the lingering sensation of a cold hand against his cheek-
"Bruce?"
Bruce didn't move an inch, still curled up in his chair, but his eyes snapped open at the tentative greeting and he carefully turned his head.
He hadn't even heard Superman come in, and no matter how fuzzy his head was, he was certain it hadn't been ten minutes yet. It wasn't that he'd doubted Clark would come, he just... hadn't thought he'd really drop everything to make the impromptu trip to Gotham a priority over a simple text message. Especially at this hour.
"Clark," he managed, and he knew the tremble to his voice wouldn't go unnoticed. He swallowed refusing to meet his boyfriend's gaze. "Good morning."
"Good morning," Superman echoed. "Is everything okay?"
Yes, he wanted to insist, the lie always at the tip of his tongue. But he didn't want to risk being left alone again. And this... this wasn't something he wanted to lie about anymore. It wasn't fair to Clark.
"It will be," Bruce said instead. It still wasn't the truth, not by a long shot, but it wasn’t exactly a lie, either. "I'm handling it."
"Well, we can handle it together." Clark smiled, always so gentle, so good. "What's wrong?"
Bruce took a breath, then another, carefully trying to channel the panic that hadn't faded since the rooftop, the disgust in the back of his mind, the voice insisting this would only end in Clark storming out, furious.
"I saw Talia tonight."
He'd told Clark he'd reached out to the League, told him there was a chance he'd be hearing from Talia al Ghul, but they'd both thought he'd have more time. Bruce hadn't thought she'd meet him in person.
"Ah," Clark said. He sounded a bit wary, worried maybe, but not angry. Not yet. "That's... not great."
"It's not," Bruce agreed. "I'm sorry. If I’d known she was coming I would have told you."
Clark just shrugged, looking almost confused. "It's alright. It's not my business."
"I just don't want you to think that I would..." he trailed off, tapping his hand against his knee as he struggled for the right words. "Do anything."
Clark didn't know much about the League of Assassins or Bruce's place with them, he preferred not to discuss it and Clark had always respected that, but he was aware of who Damian's mother was. And while Superman had never been the type to keep close tabs on Bruce's personal relationships, more than understanding of his wish for privacy, meeting with Talia wasn't something Bruce wanted to do behind his back.
"It's not my business, B," Clark said again. "I trust you. It's alright."
"She'll be back," Bruce said, suddenly at a loss for how to continue. This wasn't how he'd expected it to go. "She's getting me information."
"Okay," Clark said, still infuriatingly unfazed. "Is there anything I can do until then?"
There was no reason to be so on edge. This was Clark, always so patient and polite, no matter the situation, even on nights when Bruce was being... less than easy to handle.
This wasn't a trick or a trap, there was no anger waiting for him around the corner if he made one wrong move. It was just Clark.
He could drop the whole thing now, refuse to ever dig it back up again, and hope the memories were simply lost to time. It would be easiest for everyone.
But he was supposed to be communicating. He’d been working on that. Clark wanted honesty, and after all he'd given Bruce, this was the least he could do.
"She touched me." Bruce didn't move, his chest tight at the words. But he saw Clark's brow raise, eyes suddenly flooded with rising alarm, and he hastily continued. "I'm fine. It just... startled me."
Startled was an understatement. Her skin had felt like ice, her gaze pulling him relentlessly back into the past, the touch carving his heart back open, sending him spiraling into a pool of panic and disgust he still hadn't managed to crawl his way out of.
"Are you sure you’re alright?" Clark asked, like he could sense Bruce's thoughts. He might as well be able to, with his ability to lock onto Bruce's heartbeat.
"I will be," Bruce said, and that wasn't a lie either. Not really. "I just don't like seeing her."
Clark made a small, sympathetic noise in the back of his throat, eyes warm and understanding as he offered Bruce a sad smile. "I imagine it's not fun to see your ex."
"She's not my ex.” It came tumbling out before he could stop it, spitting the words like venom, taken aback by the sudden malice in his own tone. "We're not exes."
"Oh." Clark was clearly just as surprised, frozen where he stood, looking painfully unsure. He reminded Bruce of a kicked puppy, and the guilt was as suffocating as the panic. "I- sorry? I'm sorry."
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, realizing with a start that he hadn't even bothered to remove his gloves or gauntlets yet. It did nothing to hide how badly he'd started trembling, and he quickly averted his gaze.
"Don't be," he muttered, taking a shaky breath before continuing. "I'm not mad, I'm just..." The words got caught in his throat, that little voice in the back of his head screaming at him to keep his guard up, keep his mouth shut, hide his weaknesses.
But it was just Clark. There would be no judgment, no anger, no reason to be afraid. It was just the two of them here.
Bruce clasped his hands together, still not quite able to meet Superman's eyes. "I'm just scared right now."
A beat of silence, and when Clark spoke again he sounded hesitant, but not unkind. "Why are you scared?"
"I don't know," Bruce admitted. There was no reason to still be holding onto these feelings, these memories. "I don't know. It's stupid, she... she won't do anything again. I know she won't. I just... I get like this when I'm around her. It's ridiculous."
He saw Clark take a careful step forward, his footsteps almost completely silent. "Did... did something happen?"
"Years ago," Bruce said, the words coming out more of a grunt than an audible sentence, but he knew Clark would hear him. "I shouldn't be bothered by it anymore."
"B," Clark started, in that sickeningly gentle tone Bruce never deserved. "What happened, honey?"
And that was exactly what he'd been waiting for. An opening. It wasn't a hard story to tell- hardly even a story at all. There was no reason the words should be so hard to find, panicked brain scrambling for the right thing to say, his chest tight and cold.
It wasn’t a big deal, just a mistake he’d made years ago. There was no reason he should be making it one.
"The League of Assassins needed an heir," Bruce explained, voice tight. He could do this. He could state facts. Clark deserved to know. "Talia wanted me to be the father. I didn't... I didn't want a part in that. I didn't- I didn’t want… that. I didn't want that with her.”
Clark moved closer, and Bruce dropped his gaze to the floor. "Oh, Bruce-”
"It was my fault," Bruce choked out, throat suddenly too tight, his breathing too fast. He'd been stupid, slow, careless. He'd let his guard down. He'd taken the drink. He’d trusted her. "It was my fault, I let her… she put something in my drink and I… It was my fault.”
"No, it wasn't." He hadn't seen Clark close the rest of the distance between them, but Superman was suddenly kneeling in front of Bruce's chair, eyes wide and frantic as he tried to meet Batman's gaze. "It wasn't your fault, Bruce. That's... Oh, Sweetheart. I'm so sorry. If you need, I can keep her out of Gotham. Or... or at least away from you."
Bruce shook his head, the movement making him dizzy. "I need the information. When she comes back."
"I'll come with you then," Clark said, and it didn't sound like a suggestion. "And if she shows up without warning again, call me. I'll be listening."
Bruce shook his head again, even as the idea sparked something dangerously close to relief in his chest. "I can't ask you to get involved. This... it's a lot."
"That's alright," Clark said. "I can handle it."
"Talia won't be happy to see you."
Clark just shrugged, still smiling that stupid, radiant smile, and Bruce couldn’t decide if he wanted to smack or kiss that look off his face. "That's unfortunate."
"Are you sure?" Bruce asked, breathless to his own ears, struggling to grasp the idea that he wouldn't have to do this alone again. That with Clark there, standing guard, there wasn’t even a chance Talia could touch him. "She won't... do anything. She already got her heir."
Her heir that she'd abandoned. Her son she'd tossed aside just as easily as she'd done to Bruce.
"I've never been more sure of anything," Clark said, and it was becoming increasingly difficult not to kiss him senseless. "You're worth the trouble, Bruce."
Bruce just nodded, stubbornly swallowing against the lump in his throat. "I should be fine by now. It was eight years ago."
"That's not how that works, B." Clark stayed right where he was, gazing up without a hint of disgust or anger, and it was taking all of Bruce's willpower not to send himself crashing into Clark's arms. "It's not something to just get over, and you know that."
"I know," Bruce said, and he did. Any one of his children would call him a hypocrite if they heard him talking like this. "I'm sorry I never told you."
"It was yours to tell," Clark said. "If you never told me, that would have been okay."
Bruce wrapped his arms around himself, gloved hands digging into battered armor. "I just want her gone."
"I know. I'll stick around and make sure she's not bothering you or your family."
"I need her away from Damian." Damian could never know. He couldn’t find out about this, not from Bruce or Talia or anyone else. He didn't need another reason to question his place. He didn't need to wonder for a second if it made Bruce love him any less. "You can't... please don't tell anyone."
"I won't," Clark assured, and the lingering panic finally started to ebb. "Damian can always stay with me, you know. Jon would be thrilled to see him, and it gets him away from her."
Bruce blinked, taking a moment to register the words, always so overwhelmed by Clark's neverending kindness, his generosity when it came to Bruce and his little family. "I can't make you do that."
"You're not," Clark said. "I'd love to have him over for a bit. I'll take care of him, B. He’ll be safe."
"I'll make it up to you. I- I’ll be fine tomorrow, I just... I didn't expect to see her tonight."
"You don’t have to be fine." The silence that followed was deafening, Superman fidgeting where he crouched on the floor, and Bruce's panic threatened to spike again in the face of Clark's sudden hesitation. "Can... can I touch you?"
Bruce froze. There was no reason for his vision to go blurry at the gentle words, no reason to be surprised at the offer. He'd known, deep down, that this wouldn't change anything. Clark wouldn't look at him any differently. He wouldn't be disgusted, wouldn't blame Bruce for letting something like that happen.
But he'd been careful not to touch his boyfriend, just in case.
"Hn," was all he could manage for a moment, tongue heavy in his mouth. "If you want to."
Clark furrowed his brow, still visibly hesitant as his hands hovered over the chair, and Bruce couldn't take it anymore. "May I?"
“Please.”
He saw Clark's resolve crack at the same time, Superman's face falling into something Bruce knew mirrored the broken look in his own eyes.
"Oh, baby." It was barely a whisper, nearly drowned out by the choked sound that escaped Bruce's throat as he all but threw himself forward, clawing at Clark's back as he fell into his chest, strong arms wrapping tight around his shoulders, holding him gently ( so gently, Clark was always so careful with him) and pulling him closer into the embrace while he maneuvered them away from the chair.
For once Bruce didn't dare hold back, clutching desperately at his boyfriend's shirt, pressing himself as close as possible, like Clark could block out every bad memory, every unwanted touch.
"It's okay," Clark said in his ear, his breath warm and grounding, so much different than the whispers on the rooftop. "I've got you. You're safe."
"I didn't know how to tell you," Bruce found himself saying, Clark's affection always loosening his tongue. "I thought you'd... I don't know. I thought you'd be mad."
"I would never, Sweetheart," Clark promised, always knowing just the right words to settle Bruce's racing mind. "It's okay."
"I know," Bruce said, voice muffled where he'd pressed his face against Clark's chest. "I just want everyone to be safe right now."
"Everyone's alright. They're all safe at home. I can hear them."
Bruce nodded against him, holding on tighter. "I missed you."
"I missed you too." They hadn't gotten a chance to see each other the last week or so, both of them caught up in their own work, their own cities.
"Do you need to get back home?" Bruce asked, dreading the answer. "You don't have to stay."
"I'm alright, B."
"Are you sure? I know you-"
“Sweetheart.” There was a warm hand against his cheek, gently guiding him back until he was looking Clark in the eyes, blinded by his smile. "There's nowhere in the world I'd rather be."
Bruce blinked, arms still wrapped around Clark's back, warm and content for the first time all night. "Okay," he said, voice weak to his own ears. "Thank you."
"Of course." Bruce dropped his head back to Clark's chest and only held on tighter, Superman dropping his chin to place a kiss to Bruce's hair. "I've got you," he said, again and again. "I've got you. You're safe."
Eventually, he knew Clark would move them out of the cave and upstairs to Bruce's room. He knew Clark's movements would be slow and gentle, that he'd help take Bruce's armor off, that he wouldn't do a thing without his permission.
He knew they'd fall into bed together, still holding each other close, and Clark would stay the night, patient and understanding, no matter how many times Bruce woke up in a panic, choking on his own screams.
He wouldn't leave. Not over this.
For now, Bruce was content to stay right where he was, holding Clark close and letting cold hands from the past fade away to nothing but a bitter memory, chased away by the warmth around him.
For now, he was safe, and they'd deal with what came next together. They always did.