The omelette is plated, the stove is turned off, and Clark turns his attention entirely on Bruce where it'd been only a paltry 99% his before.
"Bruce?" and his voice is gentle as he walks a little closer, keeping his movements slow and his steps obvious, "if you can't see one, trust me to look for you?"
A faint smile, wry and oddly self-depreciating as he continues--
"I figured out a way out of death. I'm craftier than you think."
That aside, though, he reaches forward slowly, carefully, to take Bruce's hand in both of his. It's a mirror, he realizes, and perhaps it's because he's functional and Bruce is... Bruce is having trouble (Bruce Wayne is always functional, even when he's not) but he needs to hold some part of him. Connect with touch, even if it's small.
Please, Bruce, he says with the gentle stroke of his fingers over Bruce's hand, over the knobs of his knuckles, the lines of tendon under the skin, let me help you. Let me love you.
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"Bruce?" and his voice is gentle as he walks a little closer, keeping his movements slow and his steps obvious, "if you can't see one, trust me to look for you?"
A faint smile, wry and oddly self-depreciating as he continues--
"I figured out a way out of death. I'm craftier than you think."
That aside, though, he reaches forward slowly, carefully, to take Bruce's hand in both of his. It's a mirror, he realizes, and perhaps it's because he's functional and Bruce is... Bruce is having trouble (Bruce Wayne is always functional, even when he's not) but he needs to hold some part of him. Connect with touch, even if it's small.
Please, Bruce, he says with the gentle stroke of his fingers over Bruce's hand, over the knobs of his knuckles, the lines of tendon under the skin, let me help you.
Let me love you."And who are you?"