Bruce's eyes flutter open slowly, striving furiously to take in his bright surroundings.
"Bruce?" A voice calls, seeming impossibly far away. His head is fuzzy, and everything feels like a dream; warm, and soft.
"Bruce...?" That sound calls at him once more, the sensitivity in the tone all too familiar.
"Clark..." Bruce grunts, glad that his vision is finally close to overtaking the blurriness. A figure, dressed mainly in blue leans over Bruce, seeming a little too worried.
"How do you feel?" Clark asks, the obvious concern for his friend flowing off of him. "Like shit." Bruce replies, finally sensing the sharp pain slowly searing it's way around his chest.
"Where's Dick?" He inquires, allowing his statement to come out less like a question, and more like a demand.
"Upstairs sleeping. He should be fine soon." Bruce nods, and shifts into a less painful position.
"Does it hurt?" Clark's voice is soft; tender and sympathetic. Seems like he really cares. Bruce thinks to himself, smiling internally.
"Of course it does." He says quickly, attempting to push his feelings aside. Clark nods slowly, and places a large hand on his injured friend's shoulder.
Bruce's heart flutters at the feeling of Clark's warm, surprisingly soft skin making contact with his own. He can only hope that Clark hasn't noticed.
"The bullet went straight through your sternum. It's shattered by the way." Clark trails off.
"I figured as much. " Bruce grunts, straining to make himself more comfortable. Clark removes his hand at the sudden movement, and a twinge of sadness fills Bruce's mind.
If he really thinks if over, Bruce realizes that he doesn't want his friend to register the fact that he would like them to be more than friends.
There is no way Bruce could risk him figuring it out; not yet at least. "I'd like to go back to sleep now." Bruce says, and the second those words leave his lips, a prick- no; more like an explosion of guilt and regret erupt inside of his mind.
He doesn't truly want his friend to leave him. Not yet. Not now. They could sit in silence, being only reassured by each other's presence for all he cared. It's not so much the fact that he doesn't want to be alone. He could have Alfred and Dick in this same room with him, attempting to make conversation, and he would still feel the nagging emptiness he always had when Clark wasn't around.
With a nod, Clark stands. "Right. I'll send Alfred down here to change your dressings first." He begins to stalk away, lifting his large crimson cape from the Batcave's computer chair, and drapes it over his shoulders.
"Get well soon." He says, turning slightly with a smile spreading across his face. For a second, Bruce feels as if maybe, maybe, in some far off crevasse in his mind, Clark could feel the same way as he does.
"The League will want you back in one piece." Clark adds before floating up the sizeable staircase leading to the grandfather clock; and as he does so, Bruce feels his hopes shatter.
