Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She shivered. Cold from exposure most likely. She was in the Arctic after all.

Not that it mattered.

“Mate of my son, you must—”

Male it might be, but it wasn’t the voice she wanted, needed, to hear. She ignored it.

“You must get off this ground, mate of my son, or you will—"

Tuning him out was easy. But she was cold. Might as well get off the floor. She could go to their bed. The last place he had held her. The last place he had kissed her.

“Good. That’s good. Now to the medb—. No, my son’s mate, the medbay is here. I must ascertain your health—"

She climbed into the last place they had made love and wrapped the blanket tightly around her. The A.I.’s words mere buzzing. As if she heard but didn’t hear him.

“If you continue this behavior—”

Oh, the words registered, but she didn’t care anymore.

What did anything mean anymore? She’d never see him again. He was gone. Dead. From Kryptonite. He wouldn’t heal from that. Not ever.

“I will be forced t—”

He was dead. Dead. Gone. Dead. Dead, dead, dEAD, DEAD, DEAD!  She buried her head under the cover, curling tightly into herself as great wracking sobs once again shook her form until unconsciousness blanketed her as well.

Several times she woke. In each instance, it took her a few seconds to remember, upon which she again cried herself to sleep, where dreams of his blue eyes and soft caresses cradled her. Only for the cycle to begin again.

“Hope!”

“Oh my God, Hope…!”

“Lady—”

“Mate—”

The voices overlapped but didn’t mean anything to her. They came from far away. Muffled as if she was underwater. Which was such a cliché, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything anymore. Why bother? What was the point? No. No, there was no point anymore.

She felt arms around her, but they weren’t his. He’d never hold her again. So she dismissed the feeling and let her mind drown in the hopeless echo of her Idiot-less existence. Even that thought became white noise and eventually, blissfully, her world darkened………

Chapter Text

Her tears had long dried.

The room she now occupied was large. Warm wooden walls and floors, with large windows that let in the light. Old world design.

Not that she cared.

Every day an older man came and physically maneuvered her out of bed and into the shower, where she dutifully washed herself. She dried mechanically. Put on the clothes that were laid on the bathroom counter for her. She didn’t feel the fabric on her skin. It could be scratchy or silken and she wouldn’t notice.

There was a small table with two chairs in front of one of the windows where a plate of food waited for her attention. She ate whatever was on it.

She never tasted anything.

Idly, she acknowledged that the old man—who had introduced himself once but she didn’t remember—could’ve been the best chef in the world and she still wouldn’t taste anything. Nothing tasted like anything. Still, it seemed to make him happy when she ate whatever appeared in front of her. It was nothing for her to do so.

Nothing was anything after all. Not anymore.

After the plate emptied, she stared out of the window.

Sometime every day, Bruce would come to the room, sit in the other chair, and ask her questions. Try to get her to talk with him. She didn’t answer.

She didn’t care.

Eventually, Bruce would sigh and leave. He always sighed and left.

Eventually, the sun would set.

Eventually, she would go back to the bed and sleep would claim her, where her dreams would torment her with images of her Idiot. Images she knew were false. Images that made her heart ache when she woke. Images she hated as much as she craved them.

Eventually, she woke and the day would begin again.

Eventually, she would die and her torture would end.

Eventually.

+++H+M+++

“This cannot continue.”

“I know, Alfred. I don’t know what else to try. She doesn’t respond to anything or anyone.”

“It is possible to die from a broken heart.”

“I know it is. We’re watching it. Can you think of anything that might work?”

“Perhaps…”

Chapter Text

She blinked.

Her face was wet.

She was indoors.

Why was her face wet?

She blinked again.

She managed to focus on the weight in her lap—when had that happened?—and blinked again.

A large pink tongue noticed her attention and wiggled with a small whine.

She knew that wiggle.

He licked her again.

She knew him.

“Winston?” Her voice croaked, creaking from lack of use.

He let out a happy bark, his tail beginning to wag. He licked her again.

“Winston?” Her hand came up and pet his head.

His tail began to wag harder.

Another happy bark.

More licks. All over her face.

“Oh Winston…” Her other hand buried itself in his fur and without consulting her, pulled the white dog closer to her chest.

He didn’t object. If anything, he wiggled deeper into her hold. He licked every bit of skin in reach. His tail wagging hard and fast enough to start whapping her in the side. It might bruise with its ferocity of his excitement.

“He’s dead, Winston. My Idiot’s dead.”

He whined. Such a sad sorrowful sound. It echoed her own voiceless protest.

+++H+M+++

Hope didn’t know how long she sat there, her head buried in his fur, just breathing in his scent. Holding him tightly. Clutching someone who loved her Idiot as much as her. Who mourned him as much as she.

Time hadn’t meant anything for a long time.

However, when her puppy whined and lifted a paw and ran his claws—not hurting her, just getting her attention—down her arm, she drew away. “Hmm?”

He whined and did a little wiggle. A very distinctive wiggle.

“Oh.” She looked at the window and saw that the sun had gone down. “Yes, I guess it is time for dinner, isn’t it?”

He gave a bark, giving a little half-jump on her lap.

“Guess we should go find it, then, shouldn’t we?”

He gave another happy bark, licked her face, and jumped down. Bouncing in place as she got to her feet. Then bounding over to an open door. He didn’t go out, instead waiting at the threshold, wiggling and bouncing as he very impatiently waited for her to catch up.

She couldn’t help a small smile at his familiar antics. “Yes, yes. I’m coming.”

He bounced and barked and wiggled.

She followed him out the door.

She followed him back into the world.

Chapter Text

Hope followed the white wagging tail who was so happy that he was practically prancing down the hallway. He obviously knew where the food lived. 

And the more she moved, the more it seemed as if a fog was lifting from her mind. Or a little at least. She had noticed that the room in which she’d been staying was large, but it had never occurred to her until she was following Winston that a large room probably equaled a large house. The rather long hallway she now traversed definitely indicated such. Large enough to qualify as a manor.

Where was she?

Another foggy memory of Bruce Wayne coming to speak to her. She didn’t remember if he had ever said anything, but he had come. Every day? So she was at Wayne Manor? Why?

Two more turns and they arrived at a—once again, large—kitchen. A tall thin man with salt and pepper hair, dressed unusually sharply for a kitchen. While not a suit jacket, it was a black pressed (and probably starched) slacks with shiny black shoes; a white shirt—was there a special word for a men’s version of a blouse?—with the sleeves rolled up to not stain as he worked. A glance had Hope correcting herself about the suit jacket; it was hanging on a peg obviously there strictly for that purpose.

She did have a vague memory of an old man bringing her food but didn’t recall much of anything else about him. Grey hair was the only reason she’d given him a mental ‘old’ tag. Was this the same man? Or someone else? “Hello?” she asked hesitantly.

To his credit, he didn’t startle. Even more credit, he turned with a tiny smile. “Miss Hope. It’s wonderful to see you up and about.” Okay, that smile was barely there but she also got the sense that he didn’t smile much by temperament or habit. His smile was more in his body language than facial expression.

He also was amazing at reading body language because without a single prompt that she knew of, he introduced himself. “I am Alfred Pennyworth, the butler for the Wayne family. Might I be of service?”

Winston gave a little wiggle. “Winston says its dinner time?”

“Of course. Please, have a seat and I’ll prepare something. Did you have something specific in mind?” Even as he spoke, he was moving. Efficient and way faster than someone his apparent age was expected. Already at the two industrial refrigerators, peering at what ingredients he had available as she was still looking for what seat he meant.

Fortunately, Winston knew and bounded over to a small alcove she hadn’t seen initially and jumped into a seat to sit with his paws on the table and tongue lolling. She followed and sat beside him.

“Elbows off the table, young mister Winston,” Alfred chastised gently.

The dog obediently scooted backward to sit more primly.

Hope officially didn’t know what to make of the man.

“Miss Hope?” She went back to looking at the butler. Again, he read her body language and repeated, “Were you hungry for anything in particular?”

A better question would be if she was hungry at all, but she didn’t want to offend the man who was going out of his way to accommodate her dog. “Soup?” Most people had some simple soup readily available to reheat. “Chicken?” and everyone had chicken, the cheapest meat available. Right? She didn’t want to bother the man.

Especially since as she watched him move, he was reminding her more and more of a weird blend of servant, grandfather, and head nurse. Like a really efficient—scarily efficient, honestly—experienced mother hen used to herding uncooperative sheeple. So scarily efficient he had anticipated and had a bowl of chicken soup in front of her in less than ten minutes. Winston’s dinner delivered simultaneously as well.

One spoonful added ‘great cook’ to his list of qualities. It was delicious and homemade. No Campbell’s for him!

As if in agreement, Hope’s stomach took that spoonful as it’s own prompt to let the entire kitchen know it’s opinion on Alfred’s cooking. The butler raised an eyebrow but said nothing. A very pointed eyebrow.

She ate with more focus.

If Alfred Pennyworth wasn’t the patriarch of the Wayne family, she’d eat her hat.

+++H+M+++

Winston led her back to the room and she slept with his warm body at her back.

He woke her with bounces. Herded her into the bathroom for a shower and change. Then led her back out.

If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was half Border Collie. Which made her remember what breed he actually was, how he had come into her life, and her heart clenched. Hard enough that she stopped.

Winston immediately noticed. He bounced back to her, whined a bit until she pet his head, licking her hand until the pain faded a bit. Then he once again led the way to find breakfast.

Bruce was already at the kitchen alcove table, newspaper in hand and coffee beside. He looked up at the sound of Winston’s toenails on the tile and smiled. “Good morning.”

“Hi.” She sat, feeling oddly self-conscious.

Winston was not hindered by such silly human things and gave a soft bark, his tail wagging in greeting.

As if nothing was strange, Bruce went back to reading.

It was about halfway through breakfast—a delicious omelet Alfred made with a side of steamed asparagus—that she worked up the courage to ask, “How long have I been here?”

“Three months, two weeks, and two days.”

Hope was shocked. Her mind blank for several seconds before her mouth commented without her mental input, “Well, I’m definitely fired.”

Bruce grimaced as he gave a small nod. “Sorry.”

“That’s what happens when you stop showing up. That’s not your fault.”

He grimaced again, shifting in such a way that told her he definitely felt some guilt, though she wasn’t sure why. “You can stay as long as you want, Hope.” His eyes flicked to the happy dog. “We have no objection to pets, after all, and I’d like to think you’re a friend.” He refocused on her. “There’s no reason to be…hasty in deciding what to do next.” He sighed. “I’m the last person to lecture you on healthy ways to work through grief.”

Her heart clenched sharply. Winston noticed instantly and wiggled into her lap, her hands automatically burying into his fur. Whether searching for comfort or an anchor, or both, she wasn’t sure, but she appreciated it all the same.

+++H+M+++

It was hours later as she threw a ball for Winston to chase that it occurred to her: three months and she didn’t remember having a period at all in that time.

A shocked hand went down to her lower stomach and swallowed at the small pooch she didn’t remember having either.

Winston bounded over, drool-covered ball in his mouth, and he noticed her movement. He dropped the ball to give her a tongue-lolling grin.

“I’m…pregnant? Are you sure?”

If a dog could give an incredulous look, Winston did.

A small bloom clenched her chest again, but this time it didn’t hurt as much.

Chapter Text

I'm so sorry guys but Real Life has kicked me in the teeth but good. I have no doubt that by the time I dig myself out, I will have lost the will to finish this story. As such, I am posting the outline of what I had planned so that you won't be left in suspense. Wishing you all good vibes!

***

Hope has major depression from Clark's death. Some Kryptonian mental connection when they mated contributes. Jor-El knows this and summons Lois via transponder given to her before. (A.I. gives Hope a stabilizer for mood and to protect the baby. Makes the humans promise to contact him if she gets any worse and they can't break her out of depression.)

Bruce, Lois, and Diana bring Hope down from the Fortress. Bruce feels guilty and responsible so promises to take care of her while saying its because he has Alfred to help. Bruce sits with her every day but (calming technique Jor-El teaches him) doesn't work to bring her out of it bc he's not her mate nor family. 

Alfred finally calls Martha, who brings Winston. Winston helps to ground Hope in reality. He also gets her out of it enough that she notices she's pregnant, which brings her almost completely out. (She can obsess about the baby and getting ready instead of no-Clark.) This takes approx 5 months; enough that baby bulge is starting to show.

On outing in Gotham for baby supplies, Hope gets in hostage situation with Joker. When he randomly picks her as his primary target to get Batman to do what he wants, Hope goes a bit crazy bc he threatens her baby. She manages to beat him to death with a tire iron. 

Bruce confronts her; very angry that she's killed someone. They have a big fight and Hope moves out. Goes to Lois'. 

Lois' research into Luthor is left out where Hope sees. Hope learns full story of Clark's death and goes into a cold rage. She blames Luthor and arranges his death via Ra's. Ra's is quite proud of her vengeance and agrees in exchange for a future favor. 

Hope & Winston go to Cadmus Labs to investigate where the new Luthor came from, and to ensure no more 'extra' Luthors appear in future, and comes across Connor. When she realizes what/who he is, she decides to rescue him and destroy the labs and all their research. She takes him to Martha (claims Lois' apartment too small?) along with Winston.

Martha and Hope teach Connor as much as they can, socializing him gently and patiently. Hope tells Connor the truth about his origins, but also claims him. "How you were brought into this world doesn't matter. You're still my son."  

In and around helping Connor acclimate to his new life, he helps to build an addition to the farmhouse. Taking out his aggression, learning control, etc. while helping expand - need more space for him and the baby to come. He finds he likes it and, encouraged by Martha & Hope, gets a job learning construction for the rest of summer. 

Martha & Hope decide a home birth is the best option for a half-Kryptonian baby. Connor helps with fetching, carrying, and being anchor for Hope as Martha mans the birthing between-legs part. "I've helped with calves and foalings for my whole life, I can help you bring life into this world too."  

The baby is much more stable than canon DC's Jon due to Jor-El's intervention at beginning. Jon, named after Jonathan Kent (Clark's human dad), is almost completely Kryptonian: 89.7%.  Martha entertains them all with stories of Clark's youth. Hope no longer cries at Clark's name. She's surrounded by two sons, a mom, and a dog. Her depression is mostly gone with only occasional bouts. 

The family settles into a routine. Connor starts school. Hope picks up odd jobs to help with finances. 

Some months later, Bruce calls about a plan to resurrect Clark. Hope says of course she'll help but has to make arrangements for a daycare for Jon, so won't be able to be there immediately. Tells him to go ahead with the plan, she'll come as soon as she can find someone. Also tells Bruce to call Lois for possible backup until Hope can get there. (This explains why Lois was there before her in Hopeful Idiot.)

Redo scene where Hope shows up to resurrected Clark from her POV. 
Sexy scene of reuniting.

End with Hope casually mentioning her two sons to Clark. "Grats, you're a dad twice over!" 

Roll credits.