Bruce does not react at first; sometimes when Clark does this, he will turn his head half a degree, you-are-interrupting-me position, and wait impatiently for the younger man to arrive at the point and then remove the distraction. Other times, it is this: permitting himself the luxury of letting his head rest back against Clark's invulnerable chest, closing his eyes for just a moment. Not really invulnerable. Once in a while he still finds himself expecting a gaping hole there, when he pushes his shirt off. Clark's hands are so warm.
(It is kind of Clark, to not ever question his sanity in having gone full Doctor Frankenstein out of obsessed grief. Granted, he benefitted, but it was not normal of Bruce in any way.)
"If he'd sent you for no other reason than to save his child," Bruce says, somewhat muted, "he'd have been doing the right thing."
Talking to Martha Kent at the funeral had been impossible. She was so kind. In the middle of tolerating his halting condolences, she had come to a realization - not that he was Batman, she was plainly aware of that from the get-go - but that he was Bruce Wayne, and the only other person in attendance who had lost a child. Neither of them said anything, faltering in grey light and dull black clothes. Silently breathed in air that tasted like dirt, and bitterness.
Jor-El must have loved so viciously.
"Also wanting you to deliver your new home to a better fate is the kind of grandly stubborn optimism I can appreciate." His eyes are open again. He hits a key, compiling a primer. "What do you know about him?"
no subject
(It is kind of Clark, to not ever question his sanity in having gone full Doctor Frankenstein out of obsessed grief. Granted, he benefitted, but it was not normal of Bruce in any way.)
"If he'd sent you for no other reason than to save his child," Bruce says, somewhat muted, "he'd have been doing the right thing."
Talking to Martha Kent at the funeral had been impossible. She was so kind. In the middle of tolerating his halting condolences, she had come to a realization - not that he was Batman, she was plainly aware of that from the get-go - but that he was Bruce Wayne, and the only other person in attendance who had lost a child. Neither of them said anything, faltering in grey light and dull black clothes. Silently breathed in air that tasted like dirt, and bitterness.
Jor-El must have loved so viciously.
"Also wanting you to deliver your new home to a better fate is the kind of grandly stubborn optimism I can appreciate." His eyes are open again. He hits a key, compiling a primer. "What do you know about him?"