AN: Before we get started, I'd like to say something.
People who take their time to read anything, and then bash on it because of their prejudicial views in life need their heads examined. I mean, I really wanted to curse the hell out of whoever the hell that was...but, hey. I've got other things to do.
Like post the next version of this story!
Flames are STILL not welcome, and my replies will not feature the fifteen curse words strung together every time I think about how messed up life can be.
:)
Oh, and I so don't own anyone in here except the kids.
Recalling the night Aiden and Nadia came:
"Aiden! Nadia! Get off the ceiling right this instant! I just had your father clean up there!"
Twin pouts surfaced on their cherubim faces, but their mother glared at them with his hands on his lower back. There was no getting out of staying up there a little longer to see if the mud they had would stick like the slime had. Sighing a bit, Aiden let himself drop to the floor first. Nadia followed, but fell short of landing on her feet. She tumbled and fell on her hands, burning them against the recently shampooed carpet now caked in dirt. Aiden rushed over to help her up, his hands coming out of his pockets to send mud flying in all directions clean. Their mother looked on in horror as mud dripped from their clothes, fell in clumps upon their carpet, and stuck to their hands and faces.
"Clark? What's going-oh my god! Aiden! Nadia!"
The twins winced. Their mother was scary enough when he was mad. Their father made them want to run and hide someplace. Both parents mad at them was cause for unspeakable punishment.
Usually…that meant…bath time.
"That's it! You two march straight into your bathroom. You're getting a bath and then you're in time out."
Time out? "But daddy—"
"No buts Aiden! I told you before not to bring mud in the house."
"But it's not mud!"
Clark felt his heart drop. "Then what is it?"
"Pudding!"
Bruce quickly scooped up his children before Clark could kill them. Well into the eighth month of his pregnancy, Clark had become a little aggressive when it came to cleanliness. Everything needed to be clean, sterile, and put completely in its place before he was satisfied enough to leave. That was rather difficult with children running about, even more so when they came in twos and liked to play in messy things. Chocolate, at the moment, was the worst thing anyone could show to Clark in forms that were not solid. He'd freaked out the last time the children had decided to make Chocolate milkshakes and nearly fainted at the mess. Chocolate powder was everywhere; on the floor, on the chairs, on the ceiling, and stuck in chunks on their clothing. It took a whole hour to get things back under control, and less time to get in there and clean it all before Alfred came back from shopping.
So, in essence, Chocolate was a no-no. Not if you wanted to live. Bruce quickly took their twins upstairs, hoping Dick was still around with the other kids.
"Dick! Dick!"
Dick poked his head out of Lucio's room. "Hmm? What's—uh-oh."
"Do me a favor." He shoved the twins into his son's arms, ripped his own sweatshirt off and leapt for the stairs before Dick could even consider saying no. "Bathe them and put them down for a nap!"
Lucio popped his head out, sighing to himself. His mother was on the verge of a breakdown.
"Don't worry, Bro," he said with about as much comfort a ten-year-old could muster, "It's not so bad."
Dick snorted.
Bruce took to the stairs three at a time and rushed back into the living room where Clark was three seconds from having heart failure. "Honey, let's just go back in the kitchen," he said quickly. He grabbed his hands, glad that he wasn't quite as strong then, and slowly eased him out of the sinful presence of chocolate staining newly painted white walls. He didn't dare think of what it would do to the carpet. "We'll go in the kitchen, sit down, and I'll come back in here—"
"Here? Bruce—"
"—to clean up. Okay? Come on...it'll be okay."
Clark didn't resist being pulled into the kitchen, but his gaze kept wandering back to the brown goo defiling his nice clean living room with every second passing. "My living room...my living room—"
"Will be fine. Now sit."
"But—"
"Clark, sit. You know stressing like this isn't good this far."
Clark finally relented. Though it had been a full three years since Vaughn came into this world, he'd been warned from the moment he'd first confirmed it that he needed to be careful. Putting stress on himself wasn't good for the baby, or for him with his diminished powers. Bruce reminded him of it every time he was close to having a panic attack. Right now, that living room was going to give him a heart attack.
His husband of ten years helped him sit down in a nearby chair. A gentle kiss was placed on the side of his throbbing head, dulling the ache but not the knowledge that the ICK was going to stain that carpet in about five minutes. Still, his husband gave a valiant effort in grabbing the cleaning supplies, grabbing his best friend, and the both of them daring to dart where there should have been no sign of chocolate grating into his white ceiling.
"He'll get it, Master Clark. I've taught him well in the ways of cleaning up impossible stains. After all...he did pass down that trait."
He couldn't help the amused snort that came out of him. Their children, all five, had indeed inherited at least half of their qualities. That whole making a mess thing had to have been on Bruce's side of the family. When they were messy, they were his little devil children, covered in gunk, dirt, and whatever they had decided to play in. Especially Imogene...
"I assure you Master Clark that Imogene is down for the count. Now, please...drink this and calm yourself. I don't think we're ready just yet for the little one's arrival."
Gratefully, he took the steaming cup of herbal tea from his aging hands, wishing desperately that they wouldn't grow any older than they had. He forgot his obsession of cleanliness and focused on the wise and tiring gaze of the one man who came before Bruce, before all else as far as they were concerned. He simply smiled that gentle knowing smile, placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, and said nothing.
Alfred.
When all of this started, Alfred was the one to convince Bruce to pursue it. If anything, he would have expected the older man to promptly talk him out of it, knowing their reputations and the lives they led. However, Bruce's happiness mattered more than his overprotective nature—that and the small fact that Bruce needed to settle with someone before he wound up an old bitter man. Alfred had been feeling his age then, thrilled and torn when Bruce finally decided to let Clark in his life. He'd been thirty when he took Bruce under his wing, and then, at the half centurion mark of fifty, his boy had finally decided to let love in where darkness had reigned for so long.
The English butler had supported their relationship from the start. He was quick to call Bruce a moron if he screwed up somewhere, and even quicker still to make sure Clark wasn't feeling left out. Being who Bruce was then, letting others in wasn't his greatest forte, which often led to misunderstandings, fights, and the occasional break. Most times Bruce wasn't the one calling for the break. Clark had, six out of seven times he could remember. Each time Alfred had sat back and scolded Bruce until he was trying to call Clark up to resolve things. Left in his own hands, both men doubted Bruce would have known what to do.
Eventually they got into their own rhythm of things, including sex. Nothing truly more intimate than making-out and groping had gone on between them, until that one day where Bruce had called him on it. He'd thought it was nervousness or a lack of interest, yet the truth when it stared down his throat was a bit more than he'd handled before. It led to an awkward moment once, but that quickly resolved itself when Bruce caught on. It really didn't matter what special features someone like Clark had within or without. He was still Clark, that loveable, simply complex human/alien who was a character all his own. Alfred later admitted to coaching Bruce about this, and Clark couldn't have been happier that he'd been around.
He'd really been happy that Alfred was around the night the twins decided to make an entrance.
A late night seemed to keep everyone where they were at. Not that he wasn't used to it. Late nights such as this one often kept him up, waiting for the distant sounds of a car that traveled the roads when they were their darkest. He wouldn't close his eyes until it was safely back in its housing, or let sleep take him until the driver was in the house checking the perimeter twice to make sure that their little safe haven was secure. Once he was in their room and climbed into their bed, he'd always roll over and fall strait to sleep against his relieved yawn. He was just waiting now, though his waiting only seemed to make time a little slower.
"Mommy..."
It also kept their children restless, each rubbing their eyes of an hour's worth of sleep. "Mommy, where's daddy?"
He gently eased his little boy onto the couch and cradled him as well as his little girl, wide awake and alert for once. "Daddy will be home soon," he soothed. "He's taking care of some monsters, okay?"
"Like the boogie man?"
"Yeah, like the boogie man. You know how he likes to scare little kids like you."
His son snorted indignantly. "I'm not a little kid!" he protested. "I can stay up to nine! I'm a big kid!"
"And what are you doing up until nine? Huh, Lucio?"
Lucio pouted and sank against the large girth sitting heavily upon their mother. He sighed once and closed his eyes, though he would not fall asleep just then. "Waiting for daddy to come home," he admitted quietly. "I miss him, mommy...why does he have to fight the monsters anyway? Can't the poleese do it?"
"Sometimes the monsters are too strong for the police. So daddy goes to help them when he can. Sometimes it takes a while, but he comes back."
"But he wasn't here this morning...or yesterday~~ Mommy, is daddy okay?"
The kids were getting so big now, and so full of questions. It was hard to lie to them, harder still when they would ask the same questions and get the same answers. Imogene said nothing in kind, though her watering eyes were telling on her. He hugged her a little closer, never once minding the added warmth of her tears soaking his shirt. Lucio sniffled and fought his tears, but it was a losing battle. The moment he placed his hand on his head, Lucio lost it and wept silently against him.
"I'm sure he's fine. He's just a little busy is all."
"I miss daddy~~!"
"I know...I know..."
"Mommy, can't we call him?" Imogene sniffled. "He'll pick up the phowne, right mommy?"
Clark was at a loss. He wanted to tell him it would be all right, that their daddy would call and say it was all okay, but he wasn't in any position to do that. He closed his eyes and hoped something would come along to ease this pain.
"My word...what are you two still doing up? You're father is due back any moment," a voice called. "Heaven's, if you don't get to bed now, you'll ruin the surprise!"
Both heads looked up from where they lay, eyes resting on the elderly figure that was grandpa in their eyes. Lucio wiped his tears away stubbornly. "What su-prise?" he sniffled. "Daddy's fighting the monsters..."
"He was, but he had to pick something up for you and your sister for being so good. Oh, I do hope you'll fall asleep soon...because I would hate for the surprise to be spoiled now..."
Lucio wiped the rest of his tears away and climbed off of the couch. Imogene followed a little slower, but she and her brother were soon running to take their grandfather's hands so he could lead them off to bed. At nearly four in the morning, their sleepiness soon got the better of them. Alfred scooped Imogene up and carried her to bed, with Lucio hanging on to his free hand yawning.
Clark watched them leave, free to wince now that he was alone. While his older children were missing their daddy something fierce, their unborn babies were making it quite known that they wanted to come out to meet their daddy. Clark hissed and rode out the ripple of pain alongside the underscore of his massive belly stretched to its limits.
"Still bad?"
"Yes," he breathed, relieved that it was easing up. He tipped his head backward and breathed a little deeper than he had, glad his children weren't here to see this. "It's too early for this..."
"Nonsense. You've made it this far, so those babies are just about done."
He laughed and settled on the soft pillow tucked behind his back. He had no idea of how close he actually was. "Still no word?"
"None...not even Master Dick, or Master Tim know where he's at. I'm getting a bit worried...it's been two days..."
"I would ask J'onn, but...they're all busy dealing with that earthquake. Why is it always...an earthquake?"
"Master Clark?"
Clark inhaled as much as he could nearly gasping as he came up off of the couch hurriedly. He supported himself as best he could, balancing himself out and quickly waddling to the kitchen. There he leaned over on the kitchen counter, groaning deeply as everything sought to hasten itself up with a pop. Alfred said nothing, though his shock was a bit overwhelming under his concern. Clark continued to breath, surprised and horrified that things were moving this quickly.
"Alfred—"
"Place your mind at ease, Master Clark. We will get through this with or without my idiot son."
At that point, Clark laughed and sobbed. Yes, Bruce was an idiot for taking on a crime syndicate this late in the game, but he was his idiot, who needed to be here for these twins he helped plant! He was all for sinking to the kitchen floor, yet the steady reassuring grip on his shoulders would not let him. Alfred stayed at his side until the wee hours of dawn, when that car he'd been looking for finally decided to show up.
"Bruce, what are you doing?"
Bruce looked down from where he was planted on the ceiling to face his adopted sons looking straight up at him. The green light around him kept him where he was with a bottle of cleaning fluid that would lift the embedded chocolate off of the paint without peeling it off. John was below him, holding him up with his ring effortlessly, though his attention quickly wandered to the boys and the little ones racing down the stairs after his own child. Bruce went back to his task of scrubbing that ceiling clean, more concerned with getting this out than worrying about their children destroying something else. Clark was hard to please these days, and pleasing him meant a peaceful smoke free house, semi-quiet children, and an evening where he wasn't searching for some unspoken concoction the pregnant man was craving to pacify him. Whatever broke would get cleaned up in time, as long as this damned brown would hurry up and vanish!
"Pops?"
"What does it look like I'm doing, huh Dick? Tim?" he called tilting his head back. "I'm scrubbing the ceiling, again. Okay?"
"That wouldn't have something to do with a certain set of twins covered in pudding, would it?"
"Why do you think I gave them to you? Clark would have scrubbed them to death, and then killed me for letting them get near dessert!"
"Dessert?"
Bruce smacked his head and went back to scrubbing. "Clark, forget I said that, okay?" he called. "I'm cleaning it up, I swear!"
"I know honey, and I appreciate it, but what were you thinking? Chocolate pudding for dessert?"
"Oh for the love of—Look, I'm sorry! It won't happen again, okay?"
Bruce's answer was a cry that had him off of the ceiling and on his feet. John caught him before he could actually hit the floor, practically throwing him at the same time he leapt when Clark's unmistakable gasp had them running.
"Alfred...please say I can!" he wailed. "Please!"
"In a moment...this isn't something I was expecting. So for now, breathe..."
Clark did as he was told, breathing as best he could from where he lay. The kitchen floor had been appealing, but the end result was him winding up back in bed writhing in pain. He'd tried everything to alleviate the pain; stretching, breathing, walking, curling up into a ball...and nothing quite prepared him for the unmistakable urge to bear down when seven had rolled around. It had shaken him, and tore him in half the longer he waited for him to find his way up the stairs. He could hear him in the house, though he was still below, unaware that things had taken a turn in the wrong direction when he couldn't quite hold on any longer.
"Alfred!"
"All right Son...just breathe...and gently push..."
He'd given in to his body's desires, letting it take over with Alfred steering the wheel. He could feel one of them slipping through, but the pain was excruciating compared to the birth of his other children. He didn't quite understand why until Alfred instructed him to stop when something emerged. He ran and grabbed sterile towels and gloves, hastily placing them where they needed to be when he came back. Clark glanced down and nearly lost it.
"Oh my god..."
"Easy...easy..."
"Bruce...BRUCE!"
As if some weird stage direction had finally pierced the one who was supposed to follow, Bruce walked into the room, a towel over his head and fresh clothing from the lower chambers that were the bat-cave. Clark's incredulous laugh had him jerking the towel off of his head and falling away in shock as the first of their twins was eased into the world...butt first.
"Shit, Clark!"
"Bruce! Where the hell have you been?" Clark half screamed half sobbed. He reached out for him, wanting nothing more than to strangle him and hug him and smack him right before he kissed him. Bruce knew he was in for it, but the sudden gush of fluid soaking the bed had their attentions focused on their other unborn child. Clark cursed, arching back into Bruce's embrace as Alfred quickly cleaned off their squalling bundle of joy. He cleared his throat, nose, and wiped his eyes of fluid, swaddled him and set him in a nearby basinet just as something snapped in half.
Alfred looked back and tried his best not to laugh.
Clark lay breathing with his eyes closed, resting in Bruce's embracing comfort. Bruce was caught between staring in awe of the little babe squealing irritably at their feet, the swaddled child in the basinet, and the broken piece of their headboard sitting uselessly in Clark's hands.
It was only then did their appointed Martian doctor show up, and that they remembered that their appointment was for today.
"Bruce?"
"Yes, dear?"
"Your children missed you...and you owe them a surprise..."
He could do that. It was the least he owed them. They were going to be mad anyhow.
"Clark!"
Clark looked like he was ready to kill. Bruce quickly discovered why and promptly sought to rectify the issue of brown clumping on their recently waxed kitchen floor. Every last one of their children was covered in mud, or clay it appeared when he remembered the school project Lucio had been doing with Dick's help. However the case, he could smell why Clark was ready to throttle their children, and he promptly smacked his head.
"Kids, now is not a good time," he urged, quickly gathering them into a group. He urged the lot of them out of the kitchen, ushering them up to their room with the promise of snack time later. It was Thursday, which meant that the snack of choice was always Oreo's and powdered chocolate milk. If the powder wasn't enough of a mess, the usual art work they did was tracked through the house in their haste to find their treats for the day. This Thursday, Lucio was covered in brown clay. Imogene was covered in brown paint. Vaughn was covered in mud, and sadly so was the puppy wagging its little black muddy tail. Thursday was also the day the gardener came over and let Vaughn help him in whatever ways a three year old could help.
So now, there was paint, clay, crumbs, puppy slobber, water, milk, and mud in the house...
"BRUCE!"
And he was stuck cleaning every bit of it up.
Aside him, Alfred chuckled and walked off to get the kids in the bath. It would be a little while before Bruce was done apologizing.
"Honey..."
"Don't you Honey me! You were gone for two days! TWO DAYS!"
"I know—"
"NO you don't know! I tried calling you! Alfred tried calling you! What the hell was so important that you can't let us know that you're all right?"
Bruce sighed and held up the little pieces that used to be his communicator. Clark's anger fumbled, confusion flickering to complete amazement at the destruction of the next item he pulled out of the junk drawer. The very, very, very expensive I-phone he'd gotten as a gift was now in nearly twenty different pieces. The cause of such mutilation was still in the depths of it, glaring angrily at the light above them when he finally removed it. As if a solution for removing the glue, the rest of it fell away in his hands, useless.
"People like to shoot at me," he said quietly. "They also like to make sure I don't have a way back."
"Bruce..."
"Using a pay-phone was pointless, since I had no money. Technically, I was supposed to be homeless, with no family. Making phone calls would have tipped them off. Someone was always watching me."
"...I-"
"No. I should have done something to let you know I was fine. I didn't mean to worry you or the kids...and a certainly didn't mean to nearly miss the twins-"
He didn't have a chance to finish. One of the twins squalled in disapproval, their breakfast gone and their belly not yet full. Clark gently eased the bottle from his little girl's mouth, laughing when she turned her face into his chest and rubbed. Bruce quietly handed him the second bottle. He was used to this routine of one bottle then two, for their eldest had done it as well as their second. One bottle simply was just not enough for their growing frames, tiny but making an effort to get bigger much quicker. Yet now, rather than having at least ten bottles, there would be twenty...or more.
Their little boy, born a whole forty seconds before his sister, snorted against him as he slumbered. He held him a little closer, saddened as well as angry at himself for nearly missing it. Had Alfred not been here...
"Would you care for something to eat, Master Bruce?"
Bruce shook his head. "Your idiot son deserves nothing...not even you."
Alfred smiled that of a comforting man, placing his slightly wrinkled hands upon Bruce's shoulders. "If not for my idiot son, where would we be? Had I not meddled and became what you needed, where would you be? My idiot son is like his idiot father...honest, courageous, and willing to do what most will not to make this place safer for his family, and for those who are mere strangers in a sea of countenances. You are only one man, my boy. You will miss certain things, yes, but you are still here to watch them grow. Take comfort in that much, if little else soothes."
Bruce remained silent under his words when the spell was shattered by the screaming of his other two children. He quickly placed his child in his adoptive father's hands, ran out of the room and clocked the first invisible monster he was somehow able to see. His children giggled and pointed to the next, laughing harder when he missed, tripped and fell on his butt.
It was okay though. Lucio and Imogene smothered him to death for his failure. He couldn't have been a happier man.
The kids were clean, the house was spotless, dinner had been cooked and cleaned up, and dessert was not chocolate related. Strawberry Mousse was just as good as chocolate pudding, and either way the kids got their sugar. After running around playing like kids their age do, it was of no surprise to see them passed out in various spots of the living room.
Lucio lay half sprawled out on the couch, one arm dangling off the edge with his game still blipping in his grasp. His foot was just shy of kicking Imogene in the head, curled up like a fat kitten full of milk on a winter morning. She wouldn't have moved for the life of her. Not even when Vaughn had crawled up into the space between her and couch and dropped off into slumber-land. Aiden and Nadia would have completed the picture had they not been sent to their rooms without dessert. That whole pudding thing had driven Clark to the edge. As a result, he had to become the punisher and set the punishment according to the crime. Since dessert was planted on the ceiling, Dessert was up in the air and gone for the next week. Of course they pouted. Nadia even shed a few tears. Aiden refused to cry, stomping up the stairs and flying into his room to find a bit of privacy to do that. As soon as he was gone, Nadia was gone, and the crying hour came and went.
Having peeked in on their red-cheeked faces, he knew they were exhausted from crying so much. They lay sleeping in their separate beds, Asleep and unaware of all else.
"Bruce?"
He stopped his mental check of where each child was and spun to spy Clark with a nice helping of left over Strawberry Mousse in hand. "Hm?"
"Thank you..."
He wanted to say it was nothing, but it wasn't. He'd successfully managed to reign in the evil of chocolate, clean up all traces of brown, and resolved the matter of irritability within his heavily pregnant husband. Now if that wasn't a feat to be proud of, he couldn't quite place another event that would top this...aside turning his husband into a mumbling mess of well sated flesh...
"Sweetheart?"
"Hm? Oh, never mind..." Bruce lied. "It's just me...daydreaming."
"Right...well Mr. Daydreamer, I suggest you help me up to bed if you want a reward..."
"What about—"
"What about it?"
Hey, he wasn't one to argue. Dessert in hand, Clark in the other, Bruce soon had both locked in the depths of his room.
Alfred, unseen from where he stood in the shadows of the hallway, snorted. At least they could wash those sheets out later.
For the record, I don't recommend anyone cursing anyone out in an email.
Usually that's done better in person, but since we're all strangers on the internet and I'd rather delete the problem than confront it, everything's okely dokely. :)
