serendipity. [superbat]

memories.

a/n: internet went out. here's the other chapter. sorry for any errors. will fix soon. xo.

Everything seems to be going fine. Hell, better than fine. Saturday goes by without a hitch. The ship distracts Bruce with decorating the on-board nursery. He seems to enjoy it, being able to also snoop around and figure out subtle things about the ship's mechanics. He's soft and sweet and smiling.

Sunday, however, is rough. Bruce wakes up irritated, complaining about back pain before he can even eat breakfast. Everything seems to agitate him. He can't wear his shoes because his feet are too swollen, he can't wear his socks because he might slip, and he can't stand the feeling of the ship's floor against his bare feet. The ship replaces the slick tile with carpet and finds a way to grumble about that. He picks at his lunch. After, he's tired, but he's too uncomfortable to take a nap.

Clark assumes it's just an off day. One of those days before the spiral begins. That is, until the ship, during one of Bruce's many bathroom trips, pulls up a calendar. This calendar wasn't the one that the ship usually provided with all of the American holidays adorning it. No, this was, from the look of it, Bruce's personal calendar. The one he marked with his own personal days of remembrance. Today was marked with "T. Wayne Birthday".

So, this wasn't random. Bruce was in a different kind of pain. One that he's masking quite well with gripes about how his bladder was now the size of a grape.

Clark thinks they've spent enough time on the ship. They've gotten an answer to at least Bruce's immediate anxieties. If he's worried about the baby, he can just look at his watch and know that everything is fine. 

Clark has their bags packed before Bruce makes his way back from the bathroom.

"Thought we could get back into town before the sun sets." He provides as an excuse as Bruce eyes him down.

They land at 4:30 PM and the package in front of the door is the first thing that catches Clark's attention. He stoops down, eyes running over the name and address on the front, only to realize that it's from Alfred.

"You expecting something from Alfred?" Clark mutters as he scoops it up.

"No..." He hears Bruce mumble as the man prepares to restart his tirade about his feet.

Clark pops open the door, letting Bruce inside, before placing the package down on the coffee table for him. Bruce slips off his shoes near the door before plopping down onto the couch to slip off his socks. That's as much patience as he has before he's ripping into the package like a child on Christmas day. True reckless abandon except without any of the cheer. 

He pops it open and immediately pauses, eyes quickly scanning over what was inside. In fact, he stares for so long that Clark thinks that maybe he should've scanned it first, made sure that there was nothing dangerous inside.

"Bruce?" he calls cautiously, moving closer.

Bruce doesn't say anything, but he finally moves to grab whatever was inside of the box.

So, not explosives. That's good.

He gently pulls out what looks to be a tiny, light blue blanket. It's clearly for a baby. Baby Bruce, if the sewing on the very edge is anything to go by. Bruce stares at the blanket as if it meant something. Which seems like an odd thing to think, what with it clearly being from when he was a baby, but Bruce didn't get sentimental often. He didn't care for things often, didn't allow himself to get attached to much. However, he holds this blanket like it means the world to him. Apparently enough to bring tears to his eyes.

Honestly, this was yet another one of those things that Clark assumed that Bruce just didn't do. He didn't cry. Clark just assumed that he'd had too much of a rough childhood to have any tears left in him. Though, Bruce seemed to be crying a lot lately.