a/n: sorry if there are any errors. i'll be editing this entire story once i have stable internet.

Bruce has made a lot errors in his time. It came with the territory of balancing life and death in the palm of his hand. He misstep-ped, misspoke, mistook enough to know that dreaded feeling that settles into the pit one's stomach when they've truly made a life-altering decision. He can feel the regrets swirling around in his head even as his mind drags itself into the waking world. He should've taken more precautions, put more distance between him and Clark, put more research into the birth control. 

He can also feel that nagging what-if settled at the very back of his mind. What if he got an abortion? It sounds simple enough, but considering the birth control didn't work, an abortion might not work either.  What if somewhere in the Kryptonian biology book he'd been studying for the past couple months, there was a form of abortion? No matter how much research and careful planning he put into it, he was dealing with alien biology. For all he knew, a Kryptonian abortion could kill him. He was out of his depth. 

Bruce is so caught up in his own head that it takes him a solid five minutes to realize where he is and that he's not alone. He's curled up in a ball on his bed in his room and there's a figure looming behind him. Judging by the dip in the bed that's pulling Bruce to the center, it's not Diana. 

He could go on forever like this, pretending that nothing's wrong and that he's alone in his bed. Though, if he thinks any longer, he thinks he might be sick again. So, he lurches up, back facing the figure before slowly pulling himself into a standing position. 

He's expecting to be summoned back to the bed with the reminder that he "should be resting", but instead he hears the sound of the bed creak as the figure follows him. He's trailed all the way to the cave before he finally catches sight of Clark taking a seat at a workbench. 

Bruce hits a couple of buttons and the excerpt he'd taken from the ship pops up. He finds himself staring up at the same model showing a male uterus. He presses a key to go to the next page and finds himself staring up at a new model. It's the same male from before, but he's being used to display the different phases of a male pregnancy. Bruce wants to scan it like he'd do anything else, completely detached from why he may need this particular information. Though, he finds himself staring off into the distance with every new sentence. 

How'd he end up here? 

He reads the page about four times before Clark finally says something.

"You should eat something." 

Bruce can feel himself about to lash out at the statement. He's not in the mood for whatever coddling Clark felt like doing. He needed answers. He needed a way out of this mess...or at least a way to deal with it. He doesn't get the chance as Alfred glides down the stairs, as if summoned, tray resting on his palm as he brings down something that doesn't smell like breakfast. Bruce had seemingly slept through the morning as he glances over at the time. Two in the afternoon.

 Bruce manages to hit a button on the keyboard, but it only changes the page to one where the Kryptonian male is seemingly holding his newborn. If you were only to briefly glance at it, the average person wouldn't find anything telling. Though, Bruce catches the terms "breast milk", "nipple tenderness" and "breast feeding". 

"Sir." Alfred addresses him before sitting the tray down on the workbench Clark was currently resting against. 

He's back up the stairs before Bruce can even turn in his chair. Bruce stands from his seat and makes his way over, plopping down on the opposite end of the workbench. As much as he wants to resist, there's a part of him that feels as if it needs to comply. Maybe it's his empty stomach. He pulls the plate over, distractedly nibbling on string beans before the food takes a front seat and he's inhaling it like he's going to starve to death if he doesn't. He doesn't even get to savor any of it before it's gone and he's missing it. Though, he's not sure if he's still hungry or if he just enjoyed the distraction. 

Bruce ignores Clark's quiet, content hum of approval as he heads back over to peck at his keyboard. Bruce musters up enough courage to go back to the first trimester. His eyes run over the symptoms before they find themselves truly taking in the warnings and risks. It seems as if a Kryptonian body was just as unpredictable as a human's when it came to bearing a child. From the loose numbers, it seems like his odds were as good as anyone's. Though, as he moved on to the second trimester, despite his earlier train of thought, he couldn't help but feel inadequate. 

The text was going on and on about organs that he simply did not have. It was explaining the body preparing for a future birth, creating openings that his body would not create. Third trimester, it was describing milk production and how to handle it if it became painful. It was describing types of foods that he may need to shift to for extra nutrients that didn't exist on Earth. Hell, they didn't even exist on Krypton at this point. He had the distinct feeling they'd gone extinct along with the rest of the residents and the planet itself-

"Hey, breathe," He hears muttered calmly behind him as Clark leaned over his seat, "breathe for me. I know you can. In and out. That's it."

He stands there with a hand on the back of Bruce's neck, pushing his head down towards his desk, mimicking a process that he doesn't even fucking need. He uses the distraction to reach for the keyboard, clicking a few times. Once he's sure Bruce is breathing properly, he lets up. Bruce surges back in his seat, wishing he'd kicked the man out earlier as he peers up to see what Clark had done to his monitor. 

He's met with a section of text on Kryptonian c-sections. 

It suddenly dawns on Bruce that he hadn't been the only one to look over this stuff. Clark must've, at some point, looked over these documents. Bruce's mind can't help but wonder when. Was it after Bruce had promised to tell him if anything happened? Was it after they'd started consistently spending the heats together? Was it when he was sure something was wrong? Bruce finds himself hesitant to ask. 

"There are always options." Clark says cryptically before going back to his roost on the workbench.

Bruce can hear the underlying message. Knows that it means Bruce doesn't have to do this.

He knows a conversation is coming. He knows it's being put off for his sake. For all of Bruce's reservations when it came to Clark, he was nothing if not patient. He'd sit here all day watching Bruce have meltdown after meltdown and then, at the end of it, there would be a talk. 

A talk that probably ended with Clark putting the choice in Bruce's lap. What did he want to do? For all they knew, a normal, human abortion may work. Clark would pretend to be - no - force himself to be fine with an abortion if that's what Bruce wanted. He'd give no real pushback and he'd be waiting for Bruce when it was all said and done. His smile wouldn't reach his eyes and there would always be this underlying tension between them. It was a tension that Bruce thought they'd moved past, but he'd get over it. He'd get over it for Bruce's sake, he always did. 

Bruce always made the hard decisions. What's to stop him this time?

He can feel Clark waiting, turns around to finally face the man, and he has every intention of standing his ground on the most destructive position possible. He needs to be Batman. The people of Gotham need him. This was the duty he'd decided to take on, whatever it took. 

Though, he catches sight of Clark's eyes. Usually that wouldn't affect him. Usually, he'd still go forth with his crass words and even crasser actions if he thought it was for the greater good. Instead, he's standing there frozen, as Clark gives him this warm look, like he's looking at something beautiful. It was the same way art connoisseurs stared at art, the way an artist stared at inspiration. 

Bruce didn't like it being aimed at him.

"What?" he grunts and watches as Clark only tilts his head as if Bruce's coarseness amused him.

The smile drops from his face as quickly as it'd appeared, but his eyes stay soft as they take in Bruce, before he finally speaks.

"You don't have to do this." 

Of course, he doesn't have to fucking do this. He knows he doesn't have to do this. He's not obligated to do anything. So, why hasn't he done anything about it yet? Why hasn't he taken any action? Why does he keep shooting possible options down before researching them? What is wrong with him? 

What he's doing is selfish. 

He's curious despite himself, despite what's laid out in front of him. He doesn't have answers for any of this and that's what keeps him from making such a brash decision. He's got all types of plans laid out step-by-step, suits already created for those plans, tools created and waiting to execute those plans. He has absolutely nothing anywhere about this, but he has this weird understanding that it's possible. If he could survive, the rest was entirely probable. Two farmers in Kansas had managed to raise a full Kryptonian. He'd think with all the tech he's acquired; he could handle half. 

He had the resources. He technically had the time. He had -

He glances up to see that smile has made its way back onto Clark's face. It's barely contained as he bites at his bottom lip as if he's trying to hide it. The space between them seems to shrink as Clark's suddenly standing over him.

"But, you've already made your mind up." He phrases it like a statement, smile only growing when Bruce doesn't immediately respond. 

"I don't know. It depends on what the," he gestures at the computer, "research says."

Clark nods, the little hum he lets out resonating through the cave. The answer doesn't seem to bother him as he looks over Bruce as if something has finally dawned on him. 

"You're still hungry."

Jesus Christ.