Interlude 3/5: A Touch of Gingham
Title: Interlude 3/5: A Touch of Gingham
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Disclaimer: The boys belong to DC and to each other, but not to me.
Notes: Interludes 1-5 are set right after "Music of the Spheres," and are loosely connected short stories showing different relationships between Clark and Bruce and other characters. Other stories and notes on the series here.
Rating: PG
Summary: Clark's mother deals with groundskeeping, Alfred Pennyworth, and the difficult realities of life as the support staff of a masked vigilante.
Word Count: 1593
Happy birthday to
spix_in_lj !
Bruce wandered into the kitchen for a glass of orange juice, skirting around the latest skirmish between Alfred and Martha. Since losing the battle over gingham curtains in the kitchen, Martha had launched a full-scale assault on the garden layout. She seemed to be suggesting that some herbs would make a good addition, and Alfred was insisting that upper-class flower gardens simply did not include edible plants.
Martha scoffed. "All the better for hiding any of your little toys in, Mr. Pennyworth. Who would expect a motion detector in the parsley?"
Alfred frowned and tried to tug the blueprints of the grounds away from her. She pulled back, and there was an incongruously genteel scuffle.
Clark's voice sounded in Bruce's ear. "Are you sure you don't want me to come up there and tell her to behave? I don't think I've overheard the two of them doing anything but fighting for the last four days."
Bruce sipped his orange juice with an air of resignation, eyeing the two of them. "No, no, I think I'm starting to get used to it." The two stopped bickering to stare at him, and he grimaced apologetically. "Talking to Clark," he explained.
Martha glared through Bruce. "You can tell that son of mine that he can come up here more often, you know. He's neglecting you."
Clark's voice sighed. "I can hear her just fine," he said as Martha continued to tell him he needed to lavish more attention on Bruce. "You should tell her how I take the time to sing you lullabies when you can't sleep."
"That was only that one time," Bruce snapped. "Sorry, Martha," he added apologetically. "Clark says to tell you he'll be up again very soon, probably tomorrow."
"Only if you promise we'll get to have sex in the cave for the first time. I'm thinking under the waterfall."
"I promise, Clark." Bruce smiled innocently at Martha and Alfred. "He made me promise to get more sleep."
Martha and Alfred both nodded triumphantly at Clark's prudent advice. "That's a promise you should keep, sir," said Alfred.
"Oh, I intend to," said Bruce.
: : :
As it turned out, he wasn't able to keep either promise.
Alfred and Martha were in the cave debating heating and electricity options when the tumbler screeched through the waterfall and Batman clambered out, limping and clutching his leg. Alfred hurried to his side.
"It's...nothing serious..." gasped Bruce, pulling off the cowl and fumbling at his right boot. "That damn Freeze...hit the back of my leg, made the armor brittle...shattered it..." He shook his head, not speaking to them now. "No, damn it, Clark, you're not running up here to kiss it and make it better every time I get a little hurt! You stay focused there, I didn't get you all that information to have you miss the drop off."
Alfred knelt to examine the lacerations where the armor had cut into his calf, blood pooling on the cave floor. "It doesn't seem to have hit the tendons or any major arteries, thank goodness. He got the muscle rather badly, though." He helped Bruce to a medical table. "Let me get the bleeding stopped, get you stitched up." He gestured toward Clark's mother. "Mrs. Kent, would you go and get me--"
Martha's face was white with shock and fury, her gaze riveted on Bruce's gashed leg. She rounded on Alfred. "How--how can you let him do this?" she demanded angrily. "How can you let him go out, night after night, where he might get hurt or--or killed! You should take better care of him!"
Alfred reared back as though the woman had slapped him. "Mrs. Kent, I don't have time for this now. I need your help, I need some hot water from the kitchen." When she continued to stare, aghast, at Bruce, he stepped forward and grabbed her shoulders. "Martha, please."
The sound of her name seemed to break Clark's mother from her paralysis. She whirled and ran up the stairs, returning soon with a bowl of hot water. Her hands were steady as she helped Alfred stitch up the wound, her touch gentle as she wiped the sweat from Bruce's brow. But as the last stitches went in, Bruce saw her eyes were full of tears.
As Alfred pulled off his surgeon's gloves and sighed, the tears spilled over. The butler heard Martha's faint sob and looked at her. "I'm sorry--" he started to say, but Martha cut him off, wiping at her eyes.
"I know, I know...I let Clark go into danger every day too. But--but there's so little that can hurt him! But you...you have to let that dear boy go out there and then wait here and know that any horrible person with a gun and a little luck could kill him. How do you do it?" She stared at Alfred, her face full of agony. "How do you bear it?"
There was a long pause as Alfred looked at her. Bruce couldn't see his face. "As best I can," he said softly after a time. "As best I can."
He squared his shoulders. "Would you help me get Master Wayne upstairs to his bed?"
Martha blinked. "Yes, of course." The two of them got Bruce to his feet and helped him up the stairs, their arms together across his back, supporting him.
: : :
The sun streaming through the windows woke Bruce up the next morning. He groaned and rolled over, wincing at the pain in his calf, and tried to go back to sleep. After a while the door swung open and he heard the familiar sound of silverware and glass clinking. He pried his eyes open to see Martha Kent setting up breakfast next to the bed. He pulled the sheets up over his bare chest a little more and saw a faint smile tug at the corner of her mouth. She sat down next to the bed as he took a bite of cantaloupe. Her eyes were slightly red but her face was serene.
"I'd like to apologize to you," she said calmly, her hands folded in her lap. Bruce shook his head, his mouth full, but she went on. "It's--" she gestured vaguely to her own face, "--it's who you are too. That's who you are."
Bruce swallowed his food, picked up his coffee mug and looked into it, away from her eyes. "I couldn't...couldn't be with him if it weren't."
He heard her faint sigh. "Bruce, dear, I never think of him as anything other than Clark. That he's not from Earth, that he's a superhero...to me he's always just my son, my little boy who used to be afraid of cows." She smiled to herself and Bruce filed that tidbit away for future use. "My boy who hid in his room for a week when he first got his heat vision." A sadder smile this time. "He's always just...my Clark."
She reached out and patted Bruce's knee under the white coverlet. "But I understand, I do, that there's more to him than that. I'm not entirely foolish. And I will understand that there's more to you than just a darling boy who hates tofu and who looks at my son with so much love in his eyes."
Bruce cleared his throat. "I am that, too."
Martha Kent stood up and nodded briskly. "Indeed, it took me years to like tofu myself." Looking out at the gardens, she added, "I know that it's unlikely you ever could do this, and I understand. But I would like you to know that...if you were ever able to call me 'Ma,' I would be pleased." The door clicked shut behind her.
Bruce sipped his coffee thoughtfully. "She's okay sometimes," said a voice in his ear.
"She's okay," said Bruce softly. A smile tugged at his lips. "...Afraid of cows?"
A slow, exasperated breath. "'Afraid' is a little strong. 'Spooked' might be more accurate."
"Semantics, Clark. Semantics."
: : :
Martha stood in an isolated corner of the grounds next to Superman, her suitcase next to her and her hot pink earmuffs on. She was hugging Bruce Wayne. Alfred Pennyworth stood nearby.
"You're welcome to come back any time, Martha. You could have stayed longer this time," said Bruce.
She smiled impishly at him. "Admit it, you could use a break from my endless wrangling with Mr. Pennyworth."
"Not at all," he said gallantly. The other three just laughed at him.
She turned to Alfred and held out an awkward hand; he shook it gently. "Thank you for having me. I'm sorry I was a bother, and I'm glad--" Her cheeks turned slightly pink. "Well, I'm glad," she finished rather lamely. She stepped backwards and Superman put an arm around her shoulders.
Alfred cleared his throat. "I hope you won't wait too long before returning. I was hoping to get your advice on decorating my personal quarters next."
"You...you were?"
"Indeed. I was thinking they could use...just a touch of gingham."
Clark's mother smiled suddenly, then darted forward and kissed the butler on the cheek. "I look forward to seeing you again, Alfred."
"And I you, Martha."
Bruce clapped Alfred on the back as Martha and Superman disappeared into the clouds. "Why Alfred, you sly dog."
The older man harrumphed. "I have no idea what you're talking about, sir." They turned and walked back through the ruins, Alfred casting one last look over his shoulder back at the sky.
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Disclaimer: The boys belong to DC and to each other, but not to me.
Notes: Interludes 1-5 are set right after "Music of the Spheres," and are loosely connected short stories showing different relationships between Clark and Bruce and other characters. Other stories and notes on the series here.
Rating: PG
Summary: Clark's mother deals with groundskeeping, Alfred Pennyworth, and the difficult realities of life as the support staff of a masked vigilante.
Word Count: 1593
Happy birthday to
spix_in_lj !
Bruce wandered into the kitchen for a glass of orange juice, skirting around the latest skirmish between Alfred and Martha. Since losing the battle over gingham curtains in the kitchen, Martha had launched a full-scale assault on the garden layout. She seemed to be suggesting that some herbs would make a good addition, and Alfred was insisting that upper-class flower gardens simply did not include edible plants.
Martha scoffed. "All the better for hiding any of your little toys in, Mr. Pennyworth. Who would expect a motion detector in the parsley?"
Alfred frowned and tried to tug the blueprints of the grounds away from her. She pulled back, and there was an incongruously genteel scuffle.
Clark's voice sounded in Bruce's ear. "Are you sure you don't want me to come up there and tell her to behave? I don't think I've overheard the two of them doing anything but fighting for the last four days."
Bruce sipped his orange juice with an air of resignation, eyeing the two of them. "No, no, I think I'm starting to get used to it." The two stopped bickering to stare at him, and he grimaced apologetically. "Talking to Clark," he explained.
Martha glared through Bruce. "You can tell that son of mine that he can come up here more often, you know. He's neglecting you."
Clark's voice sighed. "I can hear her just fine," he said as Martha continued to tell him he needed to lavish more attention on Bruce. "You should tell her how I take the time to sing you lullabies when you can't sleep."
"That was only that one time," Bruce snapped. "Sorry, Martha," he added apologetically. "Clark says to tell you he'll be up again very soon, probably tomorrow."
"Only if you promise we'll get to have sex in the cave for the first time. I'm thinking under the waterfall."
"I promise, Clark." Bruce smiled innocently at Martha and Alfred. "He made me promise to get more sleep."
Martha and Alfred both nodded triumphantly at Clark's prudent advice. "That's a promise you should keep, sir," said Alfred.
"Oh, I intend to," said Bruce.
: : :
As it turned out, he wasn't able to keep either promise.
Alfred and Martha were in the cave debating heating and electricity options when the tumbler screeched through the waterfall and Batman clambered out, limping and clutching his leg. Alfred hurried to his side.
"It's...nothing serious..." gasped Bruce, pulling off the cowl and fumbling at his right boot. "That damn Freeze...hit the back of my leg, made the armor brittle...shattered it..." He shook his head, not speaking to them now. "No, damn it, Clark, you're not running up here to kiss it and make it better every time I get a little hurt! You stay focused there, I didn't get you all that information to have you miss the drop off."
Alfred knelt to examine the lacerations where the armor had cut into his calf, blood pooling on the cave floor. "It doesn't seem to have hit the tendons or any major arteries, thank goodness. He got the muscle rather badly, though." He helped Bruce to a medical table. "Let me get the bleeding stopped, get you stitched up." He gestured toward Clark's mother. "Mrs. Kent, would you go and get me--"
Martha's face was white with shock and fury, her gaze riveted on Bruce's gashed leg. She rounded on Alfred. "How--how can you let him do this?" she demanded angrily. "How can you let him go out, night after night, where he might get hurt or--or killed! You should take better care of him!"
Alfred reared back as though the woman had slapped him. "Mrs. Kent, I don't have time for this now. I need your help, I need some hot water from the kitchen." When she continued to stare, aghast, at Bruce, he stepped forward and grabbed her shoulders. "Martha, please."
The sound of her name seemed to break Clark's mother from her paralysis. She whirled and ran up the stairs, returning soon with a bowl of hot water. Her hands were steady as she helped Alfred stitch up the wound, her touch gentle as she wiped the sweat from Bruce's brow. But as the last stitches went in, Bruce saw her eyes were full of tears.
As Alfred pulled off his surgeon's gloves and sighed, the tears spilled over. The butler heard Martha's faint sob and looked at her. "I'm sorry--" he started to say, but Martha cut him off, wiping at her eyes.
"I know, I know...I let Clark go into danger every day too. But--but there's so little that can hurt him! But you...you have to let that dear boy go out there and then wait here and know that any horrible person with a gun and a little luck could kill him. How do you do it?" She stared at Alfred, her face full of agony. "How do you bear it?"
There was a long pause as Alfred looked at her. Bruce couldn't see his face. "As best I can," he said softly after a time. "As best I can."
He squared his shoulders. "Would you help me get Master Wayne upstairs to his bed?"
Martha blinked. "Yes, of course." The two of them got Bruce to his feet and helped him up the stairs, their arms together across his back, supporting him.
: : :
The sun streaming through the windows woke Bruce up the next morning. He groaned and rolled over, wincing at the pain in his calf, and tried to go back to sleep. After a while the door swung open and he heard the familiar sound of silverware and glass clinking. He pried his eyes open to see Martha Kent setting up breakfast next to the bed. He pulled the sheets up over his bare chest a little more and saw a faint smile tug at the corner of her mouth. She sat down next to the bed as he took a bite of cantaloupe. Her eyes were slightly red but her face was serene.
"I'd like to apologize to you," she said calmly, her hands folded in her lap. Bruce shook his head, his mouth full, but she went on. "It's--" she gestured vaguely to her own face, "--it's who you are too. That's who you are."
Bruce swallowed his food, picked up his coffee mug and looked into it, away from her eyes. "I couldn't...couldn't be with him if it weren't."
He heard her faint sigh. "Bruce, dear, I never think of him as anything other than Clark. That he's not from Earth, that he's a superhero...to me he's always just my son, my little boy who used to be afraid of cows." She smiled to herself and Bruce filed that tidbit away for future use. "My boy who hid in his room for a week when he first got his heat vision." A sadder smile this time. "He's always just...my Clark."
She reached out and patted Bruce's knee under the white coverlet. "But I understand, I do, that there's more to him than that. I'm not entirely foolish. And I will understand that there's more to you than just a darling boy who hates tofu and who looks at my son with so much love in his eyes."
Bruce cleared his throat. "I am that, too."
Martha Kent stood up and nodded briskly. "Indeed, it took me years to like tofu myself." Looking out at the gardens, she added, "I know that it's unlikely you ever could do this, and I understand. But I would like you to know that...if you were ever able to call me 'Ma,' I would be pleased." The door clicked shut behind her.
Bruce sipped his coffee thoughtfully. "She's okay sometimes," said a voice in his ear.
"She's okay," said Bruce softly. A smile tugged at his lips. "...Afraid of cows?"
A slow, exasperated breath. "'Afraid' is a little strong. 'Spooked' might be more accurate."
"Semantics, Clark. Semantics."
: : :
Martha stood in an isolated corner of the grounds next to Superman, her suitcase next to her and her hot pink earmuffs on. She was hugging Bruce Wayne. Alfred Pennyworth stood nearby.
"You're welcome to come back any time, Martha. You could have stayed longer this time," said Bruce.
She smiled impishly at him. "Admit it, you could use a break from my endless wrangling with Mr. Pennyworth."
"Not at all," he said gallantly. The other three just laughed at him.
She turned to Alfred and held out an awkward hand; he shook it gently. "Thank you for having me. I'm sorry I was a bother, and I'm glad--" Her cheeks turned slightly pink. "Well, I'm glad," she finished rather lamely. She stepped backwards and Superman put an arm around her shoulders.
Alfred cleared his throat. "I hope you won't wait too long before returning. I was hoping to get your advice on decorating my personal quarters next."
"You...you were?"
"Indeed. I was thinking they could use...just a touch of gingham."
Clark's mother smiled suddenly, then darted forward and kissed the butler on the cheek. "I look forward to seeing you again, Alfred."
"And I you, Martha."
Bruce clapped Alfred on the back as Martha and Superman disappeared into the clouds. "Why Alfred, you sly dog."
The older man harrumphed. "I have no idea what you're talking about, sir." They turned and walked back through the ruins, Alfred casting one last look over his shoulder back at the sky.