serendipity. [superbat]

critical.

Clark has his afternoon planned. Even with the little impromptu ship visit, he knows how he wants to spend the rest of his evening. He wants to saunter back into Ma's house, ignoring the knowing looks cast their way by Kara, and warm up their lunch. After, he wants to climb into the truck with Bruce in the passenger seat and Kara crammed into the back, and head into town to get some snacks for an early, at-home movie night. He wants to curl up on the couch with Bruce and watch a movie while Bruce pretends not to be sleeping in Clark's arms through the entire thing. 

Then, he'd wake up the next morning and get started on the project he'd been planning in his head for the past week. 

Instead, he finds himself staring at the back of Eric's head. Eric in his mother's house, at his mother's kitchen table, in Bruce's seat. He's made himself at home, a plate in front of him, a smile on his face. 

Clark can feel Bruce stiffen next to him, hear the change in his breath, see the way his mood shifts.

"Oh, hey! Eric came over to see if he could borrow the mower." Ma explains as soon as she turns from the stove.

She has two to-go plates in her hands, ready to hand off to the man, who's now smiling at Clark.

"Our mower broke and Pa's grass is getting out of hand." Eric informs Clark.

Clark takes a minute to gauge the situation. Bruce has a visible glare on his face which causes a concerned frown to appear on Ma's. Her eyes flicker over to Clark, clearly trying to understand what she'd missed, but Clark's too busy trying not to make everything considerably worse.

Clark thought it was pretty obvious that he wasn't available during their last interaction. So, he wanted to assume that this visit was just a friendly one. Eric just needed the mower. There was no way there was anything more.

"I'll help him," Kara so helpfully juts in, putting down the dish she was in the middle of washing, "Clark still needs to eat." 

That's the end of that conversation as Kara rushes to the screen door, throwing it open and waiting for Eric to join her. Clark can feel the man's eyes linger, but he doesn't really care to find out why. He just nudges Bruce towards his seat and plops down next to him. 

Bruce casts him a look. 

I told you so. 

Clark points at his food. 

Eat.

Bruce rolls his eyes and starts stabbing at the spaghetti on his plate.  

Ma pretends not to notice, sitting down in her own seat and scanning over the morning's newspaper. The tension is so thick in the air that it becomes uncomfortable. So, eventually she leaves the table, announcing to the room that she needed to tend to her garden. 

"Stop pouting." Clark sighs.

"Fuck off." 

Clark is sure that the declaration would sound a bit watery even to the average man's ears. He could see the irritation morphing itself into dejection as the man stares at his plate. 

"We've talked about this." Clark reminds him.

Bruce says nothing, quietly chewing, pout still in place. Clark can hear the quiet jingle of Binny's collar as she makes her way over to comfort Bruce. She stops at his legs, rubbing up against one and quietly whining. He glances down at her before wiping at his eyes. He sniffles before leaning his head against his arm in an attempt to hide his face from Clark.

"Sorry..." he mumbles after a minute or two. 

"It's alright. I'll talk to him, okay?" 

Bruce just lets out a sigh, appetite clearly gone as he stands from the table, scooping up Binny and heading for the stairs.