serendipity. [superbat]

compromise.

It's not some emergency. The first time Bruce realizes he's being hovered over, it's not some world-ending crisis that required the entirety of the Justice League. Matter-of-fact, it's not even a solo Batman type of danger. It's at Barry's birthday party. Apparently, Diana had felt the need to do something for the kid's birthday and she wanted everyone to attend, so she'd disguised it as a League meeting. 

Bruce would usually be able to detect this type of thing from a mile away. He could usually sniff it out in its early stages and find something to avoid such an event at all costs. Though, because he'd been a bit preoccupied as of late, he's just as taken aback as the other members by the ridiculous amount of balloons and the strong waft of too-sweet birthday cake coming from the cafeteria.

He hears himself take in a sharp breath, thrown off a little by the way the potent smell of sugar has his stomach turning. 

"Did you finish the part for the ship you were working on?" He hears Clark ask from behind him as the other members saunter inside, eyes scanning over the large mound of food spanning the tables and the gaudy red and yellow decorations. 

Bruce can see Diana's head snap to the side at the mention of work. He can practically hear the words of admonishment leaving her lips before she could even open her mouth. She'd put a lot of work into this party and most of that labor had gone into keeping it a secret from a very nosy Barry. She wanted it to be perfect. 

She watches them quietly, clearly waiting for the best moment to start ripping them a new one. 

Clark doesn't seem too worried about her ire as he looks over at Bruce with that worried expression he always seems to have lately. Bruce thinks about just holding his breath until the initial surprise was over before slipping out of the room to get some fresh air. Though, he doesn't even get a chance to contemplate all of his options. His stomach cramps and every rational thought seems to leave him all at once as he slaps a hand over his mouth and heads for the nearest bathroom. He can hear someone following him, but he doesn't really have the capacity to whip around and tell them "fuck off" as he shimmies past the sliding door and pukes up about two omlets and a cup of orange juice. Though, of course, that's not enough as he dry heaves, his stomach clearly trying to make a swift exit through his mouth. 

He knows it's Clark. He knows it's Clark looming over him, waiting for him to finally lift his head up from the toilet. He knows it's him by the way he leans against the counter, waiting patiently for Bruce to pull himself together. No questions, no badgering. 

He spits before flushing the toilet, lurching up slowly, and ignoring Clark's concerned hovering. He splashes his face with water before rinsing his mouth out. 

Bruce has been sick before. He's run around on roof tops with the flu, fought with a stomach bug, hung from a building with a hangover. A little upset stomach has never stopped him, but this is a little different. There's no adrenaline to distract him from the way he feels. 

"She'll understand." Clark mutters, seemingly understanding Bruce's hesitation, nudging him towards the door.

Bruce is asleep. He's trying his best to pry his eyes open, continue to play around with whatever updates he's making to the Watchtower's monitors, but he'd lost his fight with sleep a long time ago. He's slumped next to a panel, eyes completely closed and breathing slow, when Diana enters the room. Clark can feel her surveying the scene, taking in Bruce's slumped form, before glancing over to watch Clark who can't peel his eyes away from Bruce. He's never seen him so relaxed. Even with their monthly 'meet ups' Bruce was always on edge, always thinking, always keeping an ear out. Though, the sudden appearance of, what Clark assumes is, morning sickness seems to have taken it out of him.