"If that's what you're telling me, then that's what I'm going to believe," because it's as simple as that. He doesn't second guess Bruce. That's not how they work.
But he caught that look. He knows about those jokes and most of them get broken up by Superman walking over and glaring disapprovingly. That usually spawns the jokes about the 'wife' disapproving of people making fun of her 'husband', like he can't hear those either, but he usually leaves that alone. Mostly because he'd rather not be questioned on anything in that realm of discussion.
The events earlier are a good example of why.
"You should know, though. This is... older than anything that happened to me in that other world. Or what's happened here. This is, God... Years old."
Years old. Yeah, that's what it felt like. This explains some things, Bruce had said, and it does. Did. He has a measure of understanding now, and he's not sure if he's glad or not that it matches up with the things he's experienced in his own timeline. He's not sure if he can let himself be glad.
Joker did all those things, to Lois and that world and a child that never had to chance to even try. Joker ... who has been in Bruce's mind, has controlled Bruce's mind. From within. He can still feel it if his attention so much as drifts to the memories; he knows this isn't going to work until he has more distance from it. He knows it may not be possible for it to work at all even if he does get past it, because he's pretty sure if he tells Clark, the other man won't want anything to do with him. As well he shouldn't.
Bruce has never actually felt violated after any kind of incident before and he's had an unfortunate number of them. He's never let himself feel like a victim, because this is the kind of life he chose and all kinds of injury and trauma have befallen him because of it. He still doesn't feel like a victim, but he feels ... wrong.
"Okay," he says again, quieter this time, and some of that wrongness he feels coils into something cold in his chest. Because over the course of this encounter he's realized he probably reciprocates everything. And he can't let it happen.
Clark has never wanted food less than at this moment. The smell might make him sick (it's good food, delicious no doubt--) and the interruption is unwanted and it's just another thing to put between them and if he didn't have such a strong strong mental prohibition against wasting food, he might throw it out the window but given that such an action is practically counter to his DNA, he doesn't. He just watches Bruce with the delivery man, waits till he's gone, and finally pushes himself to his feet.
"'Okay?'"
Because he'd said it too. While in the midst of a panic attack. Bruce was not, at least not to his senses, in any such state, shock and obvious confusion aside.
"What does 'okay' mean?"
There is nothing 'okay' about any part of this experience. Nothing.
Bruce doesn't intend to open anything, but he's going to be hungry later due to only eating cheese sticks, and it was something to do to keep busy for a moment in the initial stages of Clark's shell-shocked reaction. He sets the parcel on the kitchen counter, and leaves it there.
"Can you sick back down," he says, staring at Clark like he's trying very hard to communicate something. And he adds: "Please."
There are half-demons with cursed jewelry that go down faster than Clark does at that request. He didn't actually need the please, but hearing it adds a bit of a wince to it. The wince is pretty obviously not from him sitting, after all.
Bruce sits down next to him, his movements measured. He still has Clark's glasses, clipped at some point in the collar of his sweater, a silent hostage. No verbal answer, not yet. He takes one of Clark's hands and turns it palm up in both of his, holding it, running one thumb over the lines there - superstitious nonsense, lifelines.
"You're right that I'm not ready to deal with this right now. And neither are you, not really." His deep voice is subdued, looking at Clark's hand. Now he looks up, gaze calm. "Can we just sit together, just for now. Just shut up for a little while and be here."
Clark listens to what he has to say and in it's own way, it's the first thing he's really heard. Everything else has been reaction: Bruce needed this or Bruce said that, dominoes fall and set off other dominoes, all of it in prearranged, simple patterns. Familiar. Autopilot. Even the outrage.
He doesn't pull his hand away from Bruce. Instead, he leans in and nods without a word.
Right now, there's a man sitting next to him that in all ways makes his life better. Makes him that much more human. And he gets to be with him. Just be here with him.
There's not even anything to say to that.
He's always loved Bruce. When it turned romantic, he'll never quite be sure, but he's loved him for so long, he doesn't remember how not to.
Bruce leans back, puts his feet up on the small table wedged between the sofa and the bed. They'd probably be more comfortable on his bed, considering they're both practically giants, but that's too much for right now. Bruce still has his hand, and he gently tugs Clark closer, encouraging him to put his head on his shoulder. Come here, you big moron.
It says something that even if he could hear the narration, he'd probably just smile and go where he's tugged. As it is, he smiles anyway. It's small and warm and content. It's not asking Bruce to smile. It just... is.
Couch is good. His head against Bruce's shoulder is also good.
Bruce closes his eyes and settles there, the side of his face resting against the top of Clark's head. The cold feeling in his chest hasn't gone away entirely, and the regret that blooms there isn't helped by how much he likes this. Part of him had hoped it'd be awkward, that their intense feelings were just that, simple frustrated runoff of their circumstances, that they'd have this moment and realize they were being ridiculous and shake it off. Because he could walk away from that and pretend it never happened, the way he's brushed aside so much in his life. He doesn't know how he's going to be able to manage it, now.
Later. He can sort it out later. Bruce laces his fingers with Clark's and lets his attention drift, doing exactly what he said he wanted to do. Just shut up, and be here.
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But he caught that look. He knows about those jokes and most of them get broken up by Superman walking over and glaring disapprovingly. That usually spawns the jokes about the 'wife' disapproving of people making fun of her 'husband', like he can't hear those either, but he usually leaves that alone. Mostly because he'd rather not be questioned on anything in that realm of discussion.
The events earlier are a good example of why.
"You should know, though. This is... older than anything that happened to me in that other world. Or what's happened here. This is, God... Years old."
Many years old.
no subject
Joker did all those things, to Lois and that world and a child that never had to chance to even try. Joker ... who has been in Bruce's mind, has controlled Bruce's mind. From within. He can still feel it if his attention so much as drifts to the memories; he knows this isn't going to work until he has more distance from it. He knows it may not be possible for it to work at all even if he does get past it, because he's pretty sure if he tells Clark, the other man won't want anything to do with him. As well he shouldn't.
Bruce has never actually felt violated after any kind of incident before and he's had an unfortunate number of them. He's never let himself feel like a victim, because this is the kind of life he chose and all kinds of injury and trauma have befallen him because of it. He still doesn't feel like a victim, but he feels ... wrong.
"Okay," he says again, quieter this time, and some of that wrongness he feels coils into something cold in his chest. Because over the course of this encounter he's realized he probably reciprocates everything. And he can't let it happen.
Chinese food arrives. Saved by the bell.
no subject
"'Okay?'"
Because he'd said it too. While in the midst of a panic attack. Bruce was not, at least not to his senses, in any such state, shock and obvious confusion aside.
"What does 'okay' mean?"
There is nothing 'okay' about any part of this experience. Nothing.
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"Can you sick back down," he says, staring at Clark like he's trying very hard to communicate something. And he adds: "Please."
Must be serious if he's using the p-word.
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"Bruce?"
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"You're right that I'm not ready to deal with this right now. And neither are you, not really." His deep voice is subdued, looking at Clark's hand. Now he looks up, gaze calm. "Can we just sit together, just for now. Just shut up for a little while and be here."
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He doesn't pull his hand away from Bruce. Instead, he leans in and nods without a word.
Right now, there's a man sitting next to him that in all ways makes his life better. Makes him that much more human. And he gets to be with him. Just be here with him.
There's not even anything to say to that.
He's always loved Bruce. When it turned romantic, he'll never quite be sure, but he's loved him for so long, he doesn't remember how not to.
He can wait. The one thing he can do is wait.
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Bruce leans back, puts his feet up on the small table wedged between the sofa and the bed. They'd probably be more comfortable on his bed, considering they're both practically giants, but that's too much for right now. Bruce still has his hand, and he gently tugs Clark closer, encouraging him to put his head on his shoulder. Come here, you big moron.
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Couch is good. His head against Bruce's shoulder is also good.
His hand in Bruce's hands is perfect.
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Later. He can sort it out later. Bruce laces his fingers with Clark's and lets his attention drift, doing exactly what he said he wanted to do. Just shut up, and be here.