Bruce lingers. Not because he's unaware that his body is alerting him there is something amiss, but because he's trying his best to come to terms with what's happening in mere hours. He'd been lulled into the assumption that this pregnancy would have the same gestation period as the average human's. And maybe it's supposed to, but that thought somehow unnerved him even more than miscalculating his own due date by an entire month.

He's leaning against the kitchen counter in a robe and pajama pants, clinging to the surface, trying to breathe through a pain that he can no longer chalk up to false contractions. He'd gone to bed early thinking that maybe it was just another Kryptonian development that would right itself overnight. That was until he'd woken up in a cold sweat at 2 A.M. and had to stop halfway through his trek down the staircase, knuckles white as he gripped the banister, trying to breathe through the sudden surge of agony. He'd stood in front of the dishwasher, chairs suddenly too unbearably uncomfortable, and gone down the Rolodex of possibilities. The thought of a miscarriage blitzes through his mind, despair briefly managing to penetrate through the pain. That is until his body shuts down that line of thinking with a sudden gush of clear liquid that turns into a light stream sliding down his pant legs and pooling on the kitchen floor. 

Oh. Shit.

"Bruce?" Clark calls from the bottom of the stairs, squinting at him from the darkness.

He sounds as if his mind is still clouded with sleep, feet barely touching the floor as he drifts closer. 

"Yeah?" Bruce tries to sound just as casual, but something in his voice seems to knock the sleep out of Clark.

Bruce isn't in the right headspace to properly analyze the interaction. 

Clark's eyes gain a certain clarity that, usually, Bruce would be thankful for, but he's got enough going on without the added weight of his gaze. 

Then, he can see the Kryptonian's nostrils flare. His head tilts as he scents the space before his eyes are back on Bruce. His feet are now on hardwood as he makes his way closer.

Alright, the jig is up.

Bruce is expecting rambling, worried questions that he's too, admittedly, distressed to answer at this particular time. Instead, Clark simply stops and turns on his heels at the sight of the puddle at Bruce's feet.

"I'll go get you some pants, then we can head out," He says before shooting back up the stairs. 

Bruce had conjured all types of plans for the birth. When he'd first found out, he'd planned a c-section and had gotten the cave prepared for it. He'd bit at his nails as he'd tried to find a completely sterile, distant way of asking Alfred to perform the procedure. He hadn't even broken the news of his pregnancy, but he didn't miss the curious looks the man cast him every time he caught something he wasn't supposed to see and hear. Bruce eventually hissed out the request under his breath and ignored the hint of a knowing smirk that it had gotten out of the butler.

"It'd be an honor, Master Bruce."

 Then, he'd woken up on a random, already distressing morning in pain and been told by a fucking ship that he could have a natural birth. After the initial fear died down, the revelation produced looks from Clark, a possible conversation that the man clearly wanted to have. He was biding his time, waiting for an opening. 

"Do you want to have a c-section? We could always have Alfred on standby, but..."

At first, Bruce had simply dismissed it, citing Clark's inherent desire to have certain "authentic" Kryptonian experiences. Clark had become increasingly aware of more of his home planet's customs with each passing day and Bruce was sure he'd stumbled onto some section about natural births in his reading. Bruce, of course, argued back with data, statistics, and safety concerns and watched as Clark caved under the weight of the information. He, unlike Clark, had done the research without the glorifying lens of being a descendant of Krypton. 'Cause Bruce wasn't a Kryptonian which meant that a natural birth created all types of unknown factors. 

Then, in the wee hours of a random Saturday morning, he'd felt Clark gently press a hand against his stomach. He most likely assumed that Bruce was still too deep within the realms of sleep to hear him, but he listened as Clark quietly talked to the baby currently poking at Bruce's organs.

"Can you hear me, buddy?" 

The baby reacts to the sound of Clark's voice, moving from his favorite spot on Bruce's bladder to poke near his belly button. 

Their kid would probably be like Clark in some fashion. He'd want to know why he was the way he was. He'd most likely have the same curiosity as Clark and want the same experiences that Clark so desperately craved. Experiences and answers that he'd expect Clark to be able to explain to him or at least understand. Clark would want to do that, be able to give him that, as much as he could. Bruce could see that look on Clark's face as he stared up at his own people as if they were just as alien to him. This was yet another experience that he'd be deprived of and, this time, it'd be because of Bruce. 

That's how he found himself naked from the waist down in a glorified tub at 3 AM. Honestly, Bruce would be contemplating knocking one of Clark's teeth loose for somehow unintentionally convincing him that this was a good idea but he's too busy fighting to stay conscious. The ship has helpfully provided a timer that keeps track of how long it's determined that Bruce has been in labor. It's not helping morale as the thing informs him that it has been 10 hours. However, the last hour has been less screaming bloody murder and more of him clenching Clark's shirt, ripping out several buttons as he bears down. 

"Good, that's good. You're doing great, honey." 

"ETA: 5 minutes." The ship chimes in. 

What a way to phrase it, like his son was a fellow alien spaceship landing on a foreign planet. The relieving liquid, which seemed so helpful in the beginning, is doing fuck all. He can hear someone hoarsely screaming somewhere and it takes him a solid minute to realize that it's him. It's good to know that he's adding something to the ambiance. He can't help the sigh of relief he lets out at: 

"ETA: 0 minutes." 

As the sounds of shrill, little cries hit the air, his body slumps down into the now liquid barren crater. The sharp pain slowly becomes a subtle ache, making him suddenly aware of sweat soaking every inch of his being and the exhaustion settling at the edges of his mind. He leans back, momentarily allowing the world to move on without him as he closes his eyes 

Clark presents him with a small bundle covered in fluid that is wailing at the top of its lungs.  A little pink face and a tuft of dark hair poke out from the ball of fabric, as his son informs the world that he is upset.

"It's okay." He hears his hoarse voice mumble, ignoring Clark's endeared chuckle, as his baby is pressed against his shoulder. 

He ignores the warm feeling pooling in the pit of his stomach as the tiny ball of anger presses against him, face relaxing and wails dying out as he immediately begins to drift off.

"Let's get you two cleaned up." 

"Initiating cleaning process." Clark hears the ship hum as the bathroom door closes behind them.

Tara shows up an hour later, a fragile smile on her face as she stops in the doorway with a bag in her arms. 

"Alfred made dinner." She mutters, eyes never meeting Clark's as she peers over at a sleeping Bruce. 

Right next to the pit, which Clark's husband refused to abandon for an actual bed, is a little dip around twenty inches with a tiny bundle inside around six pounds. Their son is donning a diaper that, despite being for newborns, looks two sizes too big. He's swaddled in one of his granny's blankets and his head is covered in a handmade hat with a scraggly 'Coco' embroidered on the fold. 

Clark discovered, on one of his and Bruce's many visits to the ship, that it was a tradition on Krypton for a family member to be chosen to help the new parents right after the baby was born. He didn't have to ask if Kara knew of the tradition. He could see it in the way she looked at Clark the closer Bruce got to his supposed due date. The way she rattled off stories about how her mom was there for the birth of Clark. The way she'd beamed switching into their native tongue out of excitement. She was waiting for him, for her invitation. 

However, he hadn't asked. 

He was aware that he was already stretching his resources thin when he'd pulled out of Metropolis and put down the cape. He didn't want to ask for any more selfish favors when there was a chance that it could be putting people in danger.

However, as she peers over at the sleeping baby, the look in her eye makes Clark feel as if he's robbed her of something.

Her stare only lingers for a moment before she's jutting out the hand holding a brown paper bag. She relinquishes the food before abruptly turning away. It's meant to be casual, but her shoulders are squared and her eyes refuse to meet Clark's. 

"You should stay." He offers to the back of his cousin's head. 

Clark, in his guilty sleep-addled brain, had brought it up to Bruce two days ago. He'd felt he was being somewhat proactive. He thought he had time to let Bruce mull it over. He thought he'd have time to inform Kara who was already visiting for the holidays. Bruce had simply stared at him as if he had suddenly gained a second head before turning over to make himself comfortable. 

"I thought you valued customs and traditions." He mutters sleepily, eyes most likely already closed as he wraps himself around his 'not-a-pregnancy' pillow. 

"I do..." Clark mutters, staring blankly at the back of Bruce's head as the man shimmies into a different position. 

Any previous iteration of Bruce would be hesitant. He'd be questioning whether he could trust Kara, whether or not he wanted someone else in the room at all. He'd incredulously glare at Clark as if he was being reckless, asking too much of him. 

"And she seems to as well." His Bruce mumbles. 

He searches blindly for Clark's arm, tugging it over him with a quiet, content sigh.

So, Clark had every intention of proposing the idea to Kara. He was going to properly ask her, give her time to make the proper arrangements, but everything had happened so fast. So, instead, he'd sent her off to ensure Alfred had a way of getting to the ship just in case of an emergency. and asked her to occasionally check on Binny. 

Now, he was watching as she spun on her heels, eyes gleaming with surprise as if she didn't believe what she was hearing. 

"Are you sure?" she asks, eyes back on Bruce, who was slowly coming to, eyes drowsily blinking against the dim light radiating from the corners of the ship.

"We want you to stay," Clark announces. 

They watch as the man sleepily reaches over the shallow gap between the two dips to lay a hand on the small form dozing inside before closing his eyes again.

Clark can see his brow furrow, somehow, suddenly aware that they weren't alone despite Bruce's eyes never opening. Clark holds his breath, not sure exactly what he's waiting for. Maybe he'd changed his mind. Maybe Bruce wanted it to be just the three of them for a while. 

"Please tell me there's mashed potatoes in that bag." His muffled voice hums somewhere in the stack of pillows surrounding him.

Kara lays out Alfred's spread of his overly fancy Salisbury steak and mashed potatoes and Bruce could weep at the familiar meal. He manages to get a spoonful of potatoes into his mouth before Kara lays a pack of candy next to his plate. It's the candy that he'd been shamefully clinging to for comfort since the day she'd introduced him to it. 

"Dessert." She cheerfully proclaims. 

Once the food is in front of him, he finds his eyes drifting. 

He eats in a daze, eyes on the tiny face that had yet to open its eyes. The ship had run its tests, concluded that he was healthy, but certain ailments presented themselves over time. Bruce wasn't even sure the ship could run tests regarding blindness until the baby's eyes opened. So, Bruce barely pays attention to what he's even putting in his mouth as he watches his son sleep. 

"You're worrying," Clark informs him, a smile in his voice despite his admonishing tone.

He presses a kiss to the man's stubbled cheek and can't help but preen as Bruce follows the touch. 

"Something could be wrong." 

Despite the declaration, Bruce allows himself to be gently tugged into Clark's embrace. He must be exhausted, in at least some level of pain, and famished despite his waning appetite. Yet, here he was staring over into the little makeshift crib as if Conner would disappear if he closed his eyes for too long.

"If there is, I'm sure we'll catch it, worrying won't help though." Clark hums, pressing another kiss to Bruce's temple. 

"How about you sleep and Kara and I will watch over him?" Clark offers, but he's already moving pillows around so that Bruce can get into a more comfortable position, "We'll make sure he doesn't fly away."

Bruce sighs, finally peeling his eyes away from Conner to cast Clark an unimpressed look through half-lidded eyes. Though, he eventually gingerly shifts over to rest on the pre-arranged pillows, letting out a soft grunt that Clark pretends not to hear, before finally shutting his eyes.

Bruce wakes up to the quiet tune of 'We Wish You a Merry Christmas' and the smell of gingerbread. The odd, foreign pairing has him quickly trying to place his surroundings. He can feel sheets underneath him. The scent on them is familiar, a mixture of his cologne and Clark's soap, the feeling of them equally so, the most pretentious ones he could find to irritate the man sleeping next to him. Okay, so he's at home. However, something about home feels different. His hand instinctually goes down to his bump and he can feel his eyes fly open at the new sensation. His stomach, which had grown firm over time, was now soft and...empty. He flings back the duvet to see that he's dressed in a familiar over-sized Christmas sweater, but even with the thing engulfing him, he can tell that something is wrong. 

"There he is!" He hears Clark's voice exclaim from the doorway and he peers up to see a disgruntled-looking baby quietly whining while attempting to nibble on Clark's shoulder.

"He's hungry again." Clark says a little softer, clearly picking up on how disoriented Bruce seems.

"....right." Bruce manages to mumble as his brain tries to catch up with the past twenty-four hours. 

"I wanted us to be home for Christmas. Ma really wanted to see him," he hums, "she'll be here soon." 

He's talking all soft in the way he does when he's omitting something, but Bruce is too busy trying to grapple with the greedy baby in his arms to interrogate his sneaky partner.

However, once he gets past the immediate shock and instinct to feed him, he's suddenly aware of what's transpiring before him. The tiny fingers, pink face with dark eyes, a little tuft of darker hair.

"He's here." 

Clark seems startled at the words, but anyone could forgive Bruce for needing a moment.  According to the clock, it'd only been twenty-four hours since the kid, their child, had been born. 

"Um..." Clark starts, eyes darting towards the door.

Honestly, Bruce wasn't sure why this was the moment tears sprang to his eyes. Not before, during, or immediately after labor. No, instead he's curled up in bed with cheesy Christmas music playing in the background, a newborn latched to him like a parasite, and a big, dopey alien staring at him as if he's the weird one. 

He's about to sneer at Clark when his watch decides to chime in:

"Hormone levels: imbalanced." The ship's little voice filters in through the speaker on Bruce's watch.

He takes the distraction to lift the content newborn up and shove his sweater down, draping the drowsy, tiny form over his shoulder. He silently burps Conner before gently cradling him.

"Jesus, Binny, I was here first!" 

It takes Bruce a minute to understand what he's just heard before his eyes are darting around the room looking for the source of the voice. His eyes find Clark, thinking maybe he'd called Dick. He'd been so excited that Bruce wouldn't be surprised if he'd wrung the news out of Kara as soon as she'd stepped foot into the cave. However, Clark's not holding his phone and he looks guilty.

"God, what did you do to him?" Dick asks from the doorway, eyes quickly darting over Bruce before he quirks an eyebrow at Clark, "You went and domesticated him!"

Binny's collar jingles as she makes her way over to the side of the bed, looking up at Bruce as if she was waiting patiently for her chance to see her favorite nap buddy.

Bruce is about to level his first nuisance with a glare, but Clark beats him to it. 

"Be nice or you have to wait to see your brother." Clark reprimands.

Dick wilts at the punishment, letting out an exasperated sigh. 

"Tell me I at least get to see him before the ball of fur?"

Honestly, Baby Conner is a sight to behold in his scruffy knitted hat and pristine pair of well-made baby booties. He's curled up in Ma's arms, gazing up at her with a stare that is unmistakably Bruce's. For the half an hour that he'd be awake, he seemed intent on memorizing, at the very least, his grandmother's chin. 

Bruce is finally comfortable. Clark could tell from the way he barely looked up from the plate Kara had insisted on stacking to the brim. His shoulders have finally fallen and he smiles when Kara and Dick start bickering about something Coco-related. 

"So, a princess?" Kara says so abruptly that it has Dick choking on a piece of turkey, "From Tamaran..." 

Clark's ears perk up at the foreign location and he can feel Bruce finally pause and put his fork down.

They all watch as Dick becomes defensive, stammering over incoherent words.

"She's an alien." Kara beams, glancing over at Clark, who quirks an eyebrow.

His gaze drifts over to Bruce, who seems to be the only other person in the room not confused by the disjointed announcement. 

"Starfire." Bruce so eloquently fills in one of the blanks.

"What have you been spying on me?" Dick defensively blurts across the dinner table. 

"Didn't need to," Bruce huffs before turning to Kara, "you didn't tell me she was a princess."

Kara simply beams, clearly pleased with having caught Dick off-guard. 

"So, when do we get to meet her?"