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Even when the buildings and streets were caked in snow, Gotham was a dark city. The snow lining the roads rapidly turning to grey slush and the gothic peaks of the skyscrapers protruded from the white. The gargoyles that sat atop the building corners were also dusted in white, the ice that had formed now frozen from their gaping mouths like saliva as they snarled at the streets below. The dirt and grime mixed into the pure white, creating soupy browns and greys. Occasionally reds. Winter in Gotham wasn’t the same as it was in other cities. The holiday joy just didn’t seem to penetrate the thick pessimistic smaug that clouded the skies, and rather than the snow coming off as wondrous or perhaps magical, it just came off as an annoyance. Winter in Gotham was cold . The winds were sharp and they’d slice through whatever clothing you wore, regardless of layers, and the gloomy clouds that were always hanging over Gotham were somehow darker and more depressing. The occasional golden streetlamp helps, but not enough.
It’s Christmas Eve. The one night that didn’t feel so miserably cold, the one night when the families residing in Gotham would crowd together under thick blankets and cosy pajamas. There was one person who opted out of the short-lived festivities though.
Batman didn’t take nights off. He didn’t take breaks or vacation days. Batman was a constant watcher, a protector. At least that’s what Bruce told himself.. So there he sat, crouched and just as displeased as the gargoyles that sat to his left and right. It was quiet. Not that Gotham was ever truly quiet, but in the sense that there didn’t seem to be any trouble stirring, it was almost silent. Still, Bruce sat and watched.
As if the cold isn’t bad enough- this high up it’s even worse. There is less to block out the wind, and a truly awful cold was able to rush by, uninterrupted. Bruce gave a bit of a sigh, pulling one leg up so that his thigh pressed against his abdomen and his foot rested on the ledge; a pitiful attempt to try and stay a little warmer.
He’s perched on a middle sized building, not quite close enough to Gotham’s center to be truly surrounded by towering buildings but not completely out among the shorter, more squat builds either. And like he does every night, every year, Bruce watches. If he was feeling generous, he might call it a night early and head home before three in the morning for once. Funny; he’s the only one he’s punishing here.
An upper middle class apartment building sat roughly parallel from him, and through one or two of the wide, clear windows he could see lit trees and the occasional family. There’s a boy up, sort of hiding behind a table. He’s probably trying to catch Santa, Bruce thinks. In another window he sees a mother (presumably) tucking the last few gifts under the tree. And in another, he sees children curled up, fast asleep on the floor. Safe and warm as the icy wind whistled through the alleyways.
It’s been a long time since he’s had a Christmas like that.
Bruce’s frown deepens.The last Christmas he’d had with his parents had been so long ago.. It was hard to feel the Christmas Spirit when it was only himself and Alfred, otherwise alone in the hollow, cavernous halls of the manor. Bruce didn’t bother with decorating, and while Alfred might do a little, it was nothing like when his Mother was there. She really loved Christmas, and the decorations would all but consume the halls and grand rooms. It felt warm. Safe. Now the halls of the manor just felt barren and cold. Lonely.
A flicker of something to his left catches his attention, pulling him from his thoughts. The flicker turns out to be a crimson cape. “Shouldn’t you be back in Metropolis?” A shrug is given, Clark drifting closer to the Dark Knight, extending a steaming drink towards the human. Bruce hesitates. Then sighs, and gently he plucks the cup from Clark’s outstretched hand. “Thank you.”
“You do know it’s Christmas Eve, right?” The question comes from Clark as he too perches himself on the building ledge. “You don’t have to torture yourself like this, Bruce. And Alfred deserves company on Christmas.”
Bruce doesn’t comment. Alfred was more than used to him vanishing for the night, regardless of the day. Sometimes he’d be gone for several days at a time.
“You’re going to get sick, sitting out here like this.” Clark continues, lifting his cup to sip from his own beverage. “You’re asking why i’m here when you’re out here. Someone has to make sure you don’t freeze solid up here.”
A few moments of silence pass. Bruce isn’t always very talkative, but he seemed quieter than usual tonight. “I-” “It’s harder to stay in the manor then it is to be out here. I’d much rather sit up here then be back there.”
The superhuman blinks, brows furrowing a bit. “What? Why?” The moment he questions though, the moment he realizes. Bruce elaborates anyways. “It’s empty. It’s just a big empty house and it’s unbearable sitting around surrounded by ghosts.”
Clark frowns. He doesn’t comment right away, instead choosing to look out across the city. He wonders, briefly, how hard it must be. Especially during the holidays. There are pictures, plenty of them, but it didn’t take superhuman sight to see that Bruce avoided looking at them.
“Well,” The Kryptonian shifts, “If you’re going to sit out here, i might as well stick around.” Bruce doesn’t comment, instead his gaze drifts over the city below. He jerks a bit when an arm brushes across his shoulders, and his gaze snaps back to the other. “What are you doing.”
Again, Clark shrugs. “You look cold.” He says.
There’s a beat where Bruce tries his hardest to scowl- to glare at the other man. It doesn’t work though. And with a defeated, annoyed huff, Bruce allows himself to lean into Clark. He’s *warm* and it’s more than a little difficult to not shift closer. Clark doesn’t comment, though his lips quirk a bit, somewhere between smug and tender, and his arms more securely snake around Bruce’s form. A grumble comes from the human, and Clark really tries his best to not smile more widely at the sound of it.
“I hate you.” Bruce says, scowling bitterly even as he leans his head back against Clark’s shoulder. Clark gives a hum. “I know.”
Silence falls between them. The city seems to fall almost entirely silent for a brief moment before the wind rushes past with an audible wisping. Carried on it, there were the small snowflakes that indicate the start of snowfall. He really tries not to comment as, with the wind and the presence of the frail ice crystals, Bruce only sinks further into his embrace. An affectionate thumb smooths over the human’s muscle and Clark rests his chin atop his head. Mindful of the pointed ear-like protrusions, of course.
They sit in silence. Bruce hasn’t sipped from his drink in a while and instead seems focused on holding it between both of his palms, eyes focused on the thin twists of steam that rise from the opening in the plastic lid. It’s quiet, and Clark is content to sit in the light snowfall, his arms securely wrapped around Bruce.
The quiet drags on- but not in the sort of way that’s uncomfortable- and after a long while Bruce speaks up again. “Shouldn’t you be in Kansas? I thought you usually visited your parents.” Clark offers a bit of a shrug. “I thought the idea was to spend time with people you care about, not specifically your parents.”
“Besides; i had to make sure your stubborn ass didn’t freeze to death.” His chin lifts from the top of Bruce’s head, a brief, gentle kiss pressed to the spot before his chin returns. Bruce all but deflates, slacking against the Kryptonian. He’s not worried about falling. Not with Clark here.
The snowfall becomes a bit more dense- the flakes not much larger, but far more frequent. Clark doesn’t speak up though Bruce knows he wants to. Another minute or two ticks by- somewhere to the north of them Gotham Tower strikes midnight. Slowly, Bruce sighs. “Okay.” he says. “We can go.”
He assumes Clark nods, but has no real indication that he actually does so. What he does know is that his arms unwrap from around his torso- pulling a whine from the human. Clark gives a bit of a chuckle; “Hold on,”
Bruce was fully capable of getting down and back home on his own, both of them knew this. Yet neither one of them spoke as Clark lifted the human to his chest. “Your drink,” Bruce hums. But Clark only shakes his head a little. “It’s fine, I wasn't really drinking it anyways.”
The human frowns. “So you’re just going to leave it there? I don’t come to Metropolis and leave garbage everywhere.” The harshness of his tone might make one think he was genuinely angry; but Clark knew better. Clark knew him, his voice, his breathing, his heartbeat. “Yep.” He says, simply enough. And Bruce doesn’t respond.
Though there was no real reason to not use the front door, Clark knows that Bruce would rather enter via the Batcave.
It’s not much warmer in here. The cave is kept more or less as you’d expect a cave to be. Cool and dry. Bruce is set down one foot at a time and once he’s standing on his own, Clark too touches down. Bruce’s fingers move to the hem of the cowl- but he hesitates for a moment. Gaze flicking over to Clark, studying him. It seems he wasn’t going anywhere for the night and for once, Bruce doesn’t protest. He merely peels his cowl off, short dark hair more messy than usual; sticking up in odd places while laying flat in others. He runs a hand through it, loosely shaking the locks in a half assed attempt to fix it. “You look tired.” Clark’s voice comes from over his shoulder. “Batman doesn’t sleep.” He replies.
Clark frowns. “Maybe not, but Bruce Wayne does.” And before another comment can be made, the Kryptonian moves to close the short gap between them. A tender hand lifts, cradling Bruce’s jaw. Any comment he was going to make dies on his tongue. Clark’s smile isn’t victorious, it’s only warm and loving. His fingers tip Bruce’s chin upwards by just a fraction and the distance between them is closed entirely as their lips meet.
A comfortable silence settles between them, lightly weighing on the human’s shoulders in the same sort of comforting way a blanket might. “I hate you.” He says, lacking any venom at all. Clark just smiles. “I know.”
Another kiss is shared, one a little less brief but equally as chaste, and when it breaks they remain close. Clark lightly bumps his forehead against the human’s, resting it there. The human leans into the touch, allowing himself a few seconds of pure peace and quiet before he takes a half step back.
It’s not all that long after when Bruce and Clark slink off to bed. The exhaustion only gets more and more evident the closer to the mattress they get until finally, Bruce crawls under the blankets. Smiling gently from beside the bed, Clark takes a moment to flick off the light before joining Bruce under the blankets. Almost instantly Bruce is scooting back to press his shoulders against Clark’s chest and just as quickly, Clark’s arms move on reflex to snake securely around the human. A gentle sigh comes from the human, his palm settling atop one of Clark’s forearms. Simply holding it as Clark adjusts further, slotting himself right against Bruce’s back. Like two puzzle pieces, they fit perfectly. Bruce likes that.
“Clark?”
A hum comes from behind him.
“I love you.”
He can feel the Kryptonian smile as he presses his nose into Bruce’s hair. “I know.” He says. “Merry Christmas, Bruce.” For once, Bruce is out cold within moments. Usually it takes him a while to fall into an actual, deep sleep, but with Clark protecting him, holding him, it takes significantly less time.