#citrusxbees

Minutes? Hours? God forbid a whole day! He never knew when or where he would be needed. Leaving you for the daily planet was hard enough already, but he knew when he would get off work and when he would be home to you. 

You tried not to be clingy, to insist that it was fine. That duty called. 

But these hormones of yours, oh these hormones. They made you ache for him. Long for the heat of his body in yours and the cool of his breath on your neck all hours of the day. Miss him even more when he was gone. Getting Clark to make love to you (he would never use another term while referring to sex, as he found it much too vulgar) was a bit of a feat. He was much too concerned with harming you to act on his own desires. He was holding back. 

But when you finally could get him in bed (after at least thirty minutes of trying to find a comfortable enough position), it was bliss. Your whole body was satiated in the most primal way. 

—

When you finally did go into labor, it…wasn’t what you expected. It began as a dull ache, a lingering pain in your lower pack that you passed off as your strange sleeping position. 

As time passed, the pain became more insistent, coming and going. Signaling that it was time. Urging you to prepare. 

You told Clark as soon as you fully understood what was happening. You were going into labor. The baby was coming. 

Clark immediately started to panic, running around the house as if he were trying to catch a mouse. The living room, the kitchen, the bedroom—he was everywhere. Desperately trying to collect everything you two could possibly need. To be the utmost prepared. Even if there were a hospital bag prepared weeks ago, sitting patiently at the bottom of your closet. 

Through the chaos of it all, you were silent. A statue in his tornado of movement. You were beginning to panic a bit too, you admit. How was this thing supposed to come out of there? 

Your daughter was already measuring above average, a shock to just about no one. 

When Clark finally deemed the hospital bag acceptable, he rushed the two of you off to the hospital. Well, "rushed" was a bit of a stretch; the man never went over the speed limit. 

As soon as you arrived at the hospital, you were promptly sent back home. Your contractions were much too far apart, and you were only 2 centimeters dilated—far from active labor. Perhaps you two jumped the gun a bit. New parent panic and all. 

You returned home a bit disappointed. You were ready to get this baby out of you, and your contractions didn't seem to be getting any closer together. 

You were so, so uncomfortable, squirming around on the couch as Clark rubbed your feet gently. You were trying to will your contractions to come, just to speed up the process. 

But no, the universe was not that kind. You spent 12 dreadful hours in early labor, your contractions moving at a snail's pace. You swear Clark was starting to develop wrinkles from the stress of your labor alone. 

"Let's just go back to the hospital, honey," he said, massaging your shoulders as you sat on the edge of the bed. 

“Just for them to send us back home?” You sighed, becoming irritated at the whole situation. “5 minutes apart, remember?” you questioned. 

“Yes, I know, but geez—it couldn't hurt, right? I think I'm getting gray hairs," he said, rubbing your shoulders more profusely. You think he’s doing it to soothe himself more than you at this point. 

You shook your head, pushing your legs onto the bed as Clark rushed to help you, slowly lowering you down onto the bed. You stared at him silently for a moment before speaking, "Just keep timing them, okay? I want to rest.”

He nodded his head, tucking the sheets under your chin. 

Eventually you found yourself back at the hospital, your contractions mere moments apart. 

—

Hours later you are lying on a hospital bed, exhausted and happy. Your little girl is here. Nearly ten pounds. She came into the world calm and collected, and she nearly gave you and Clark a heart attack when she took her time to cry. 

Clark is a mess, little drops of snot escaping from his nose as he watches your daughter squirm on your chest. Time slows to a standstill as you and Clark watch your daughter just…live. Nurses come and go, but you cannot rip your eyes from her. 

You are in pain, yes, but your body already seems to be forgetting the pain. Clark is sniffling as he wraps his body around you two, whispering quiet “thank you”s and praises into your necks. 

“She is just…wow. She is perfect,” Clark murmurs, tracing the outline of her nose with his fingertip. He could hold her whole body in his two hands. 

You look up at him, sweat lingering at your hairline. “She is. She really just came out of me.” Clark nodded at you, laughing gently, "Yes, she really did." 

You cock your head at her for a moment, taking in the rolls on her arms and those cheeks of hers. “She’s a bit chubby though, huh?” You say, giggling to yourself. 

Clark looks mildly offended as he pinches her cheeks. "She's not chubby, hun. You just did a good job at nourishing her, that’s all." 

He leaned down to your little girl tucked in your arms, gently rubbing his nose against hers and reassuring her that no, she was not chubby, and yes, she was a strong girl. 

You roll your eyes at him halfheartedly. You are so in love. There is no one more deserving of this than Clark—of this quiet happiness. You watch him as he stares at his daughter, starstruck. 

She is still quiet in your arms, eyes pinched together and breaths gentle. You start to drift, her breaths seeming almost melodic. Clark gently lifts her from your arms without a word, tucking you deeper into the blanket. 

Now was the time for much-needed rest. Rest came easy knowing that Clark was right here, beside you, cradling the little life you created together like she was made out of the most delicate glass in the world. 

—

The newborn phase was not as easy as it was chalked up to be. Your coworkers, family, and even just random moms at the park all told tales of the exhausting cycle of waking up, feeding, changing diapers, soothing, changing diapers again, taking all the sleep you can get, and repeating. 

This little alien had different plans, though. She would 

Not. 

Stop. 

Crying. 

You are at your wits end, running on just a few hours of sleep. Clark urged you to stay down, to ignore her crying because he would handle it. You tried your very best, but your instincts just would not let you. 

The moment you heard that little shrill cry break through the air, your body sprung awake, all your nerves on high alert as you frantically searched the room for your baby. 

Clark had taken her to the doctor, concerned there was something gravely wrong that her little body couldn’t voice. But no. She’s in perfect health. Colic most likely. 

She likes to cry at night. 

During the day, she is a picture-perfect baby. Calm but clingy. Drooling on Clark’s shirt as he paces around the living room with her.

At night, her little face becomes so scrunched and teary that it pains you to look at. She’s starting to rub off on you. You burst into tears almost every time she does. 

You feel utterly helpless; this little baby that cannot do anything for herself is upset, and there’s nothing you can do to help her. 

You like to take her out on the balcony during the day. Sit in a comfy rocking chair and feel the warm rays of sun on your skin as you nurse her. The sun always makes you feel better, a little less tired—a side effect of pregnancy that you think will probably always follow you. 

Clark stands on the threshold of the sliding glass door behind you, pondering. When you look up at him, he’s rubbing his chin, glasses slightly askew and eyebrows tense. 

“What is it?” You ask, rocking your daughter gently in the chair.

He taps on his chin a few times before flicking his gaze down at you two. “She never cries during the day. At least not how she does during the night.” 

"Yeah, I’ve noticed,” you scoff 

He walks toward you, crouching down to eye level with you. He strokes his daughter's head gently, still looking like he is trying to solve an impossible math equation. 

“What is it, Clark?” 

"Well, this is… I mean, it’s just an idea. Geez, I don’t know how any of this stuff works. I-I could be totally wrong, who knows?" he rambles on, never looking you in the eye. 

“What are you getting at, honey?” You ask, lifting your brow at him. 

Well, remember when you were pregnant and you would get weak? It’s because you weren’t getting enough sun, right?” 

“Go on…” 

"Well, what if she is that same way, y’know? If she doesn’t get enough sunlight during the day, she’s uncomfortable at night.”

“Oh…that actually kinda makes sense…" 

“Right? Maybe we just need to take her out more during the day,” he says as he stands, stuffing his hands in his pockets and looking entirely too proud of himself.

You sigh and look down at your girl, completely content on your chest. "Well, it wouldn’t hurt to try,” you say, standing with her. 

You hand Clark his daughter gently, adjusting your tank top. “Let’s start now. You sit out here with her while I get some sleep, k?” You are already walking away before you finish the sentence. 

Clark gives a flimsy salute, tapping his feet together. "Yes, ma’am!” 

You collapse into your bed, ever grateful for how quiet Metropolis has sounded lately. No sirens, no cars honking or people yelling on the street below. You start to wonder if Clark has anything to do with that, but you succumb to sleep before you can finish the thought. 

Much to your and Clark's pleasure, she slept well, like a baby, that night. You got up to feed her twice, and that was it. 

You can't believe it. You could have saved yourself so much agony by just…going outside. Clark did not seem surprised by the whole situation at all. "Kryptonians are weird” and all. 

You are sitting up in bed next to Clark. His legs are raised, and your daughter rests comfortably against them.  

He isn't human. You know that. You know that you fell in love with an extraterrestrial, but Clark never let the fact affect your relationship. For all intents and purposes, you had a completely normal relationship, save for the fact that your husband could literally lift a building with one hand.

Clark looks at you, a soft smile gracing his lips. You smile back.

“This is just the beginning,” you croak. “Before we know it, she's going to be floating out of her crib.”

You both look down at your daughter, studying her features. 

“I know. She's going to be a lot to handle," he says, lovingly. 

"Mmh," you hum.

The morning is slow and sleepy, early rays of sunlight breaking through your curtains. You snuggle yourself closer to him. He welcomes you easily, securing an arm around you as you watch your baby. She is cooing softly, enamored with the dust floating in the air.  

Clark cranes his head down slightly, his nose meeting your scalp. He kisses your head once, then twice, breathing in your scent in between.

“I wouldn't worry, honey. Whatever she throws at us, we can take it. Together," he whispers. 

You look up at him. His eyes are so, so sincere. That's what made you fall in love with him in the first place. He could never hide anything behind those eyes. 

You lean up to him, meeting his lips softly. He kisses you almost reverently, his hand coming to meet your jaw, stroking your cheek slowly. You don't know how long it goes on for. You are lost in the moment, just happy to be here. With him.

Your daughter seems to sense that she is being ignored, whining loudly. You pull away, switching your attention to your pouty baby and leaning over to pick her up. 

"Oh, how dare we?!” you gasp, feigning shock. “How dare we forget you for even a moment?” 

You kiss the soft skin on the side of her head repeatedly, trying to be forgiven for your sins. 

Clark is silent. 

He is almost brought to tears; his blues begin to shine. Yes, he thinks this is worth it.

All the worry, all the pain, everything was worth it just to see this. In this moment, he isn't ashamed of himself, of his nature. 

How could he be when it created something so beautiful? In every life he would choose this. He would choose you. 

 He would do it over and over again, and so would you. 

He peeled his eyes away from the floor, placing a hand on your knee, giving it a soothing rub. "B-but we’ll cross that bridge if we get to it, right?” 

His dimples popped out, his smile lopsided and sweet. What you wouldn’t give for a little version of him with your hair and that same smile. 

“Of course. No need to worry about it now.” You said, the corners of your lips twitching into a smile.

The conversation has eventually been filed into the back of your mind. Lingering, yes, but rarely at the front of your thoughts. 

Years later, that conversation was all you could think about. 

You shouldn’t be as nervous as you are. You’re married and financially stable after all. But still, your hands are shaking as you open a little blue box. 

You’re late. Very late. And you can’t exactly say you and Clark have been careful. Every moment of passion you manage to steal in between Superman’s busy schedule is done in a lust-infused daze. 

You can’t even remember if you did or did not use a condom—or when.

Omitting this information from Clark was a deliberate choice. He would have been a sputtering mess. Too nervous and excited to look at the situation with a clear mind. 

You took out the test with a bit of struggle from your shaking hands, peed on it, and waited. 

Your thoughts wandered as you waited a much too long five minutes. 

Should you have told Clark? It would have certainly made this whole process a lot easier for you. A shoulder for you to lean (or cry) on. 

But his responsibilities were so vast. Natural disaster after terrorist attack after robbery, then an article to write to top it off. This was one less thing he had to worry about. At least for now. 

Plus, you didn’t want him to worry if it was nothing! Maybe you’ve just been overworking yourself. Maybe you weren't eating enough.  

You pull yourself out of your own head when your phone chimes. The test is ready. You just had to dive in headfirst. Don’t think about it too hard, or you wouldn’t flip over the test for days. 

You flip the test and…two lines. 

Positive. 

Pregnant. 

—

Telling Clark actually ended up being much easier than you had initially thought. 

You kept it to yourself for a few hours after he got home. But eventually you just couldn’t do it anymore. Clark could tell something was on your mind. 

“Honey.” He said, voice low and light. You looked up at him from across the dinner table, your eyes trying desperately not to look into his for a moment too long. 

You hummed at him, flicking your eyes back to your plate, and you poked needlessly at your food. 

He stared at you for a moment, then finally sighed deeply. ”Please just tell me what’s wrong. You've been like this all day. Did I do something?”

“What do you mean? I’m fine.” You said, entirely too fast.

He set his fork down, reaching across the table for your hand. His other hand tilted your chin up to make you look at him. All he had to do was whisper “please” with those big blue eyes, and you broke.

“I’m pregnant.” You said as your eyes began to boil over with tears. 

He froze, eyes blown wide. He stood up abruptly, and for a split second, you thought he would walk out. Leave.

But no. Of course not. Clark rounded the table, falling to his knees next to you

He clasped both of his hands over yours and nuzzled his face against them. "That—that is… you’ve just made me the happiest man on earth,” he said, his voice broken and watery. 

Your smile broke, and you let out a barely-there laugh. You leaned down and pressed your forehead against his. “I'm sorry for not telling you.” You whispered. “It’s just all so much.” 

“No. Don’t apologize. I understand, baby. Our lives certainly aren’t typical.” He shook his head against yours.

 “But this is just…I can’t even begin. I didn’t know if it would ever happen.” His voice was airy and surprised, and his eyes were locked onto your low abdomen. 

You curled yourself over his kneeling form, comfortable in your silence. You basked in the moment, content to just listen to the gentle whistle of Clark's breath. 

Eventually, you pulled away from Clark. 

"We're going to be parents, Clark. We're actually doing it.”

His eyes brimmed with tears as he looked up at you, nodding his head.

—

It seemed like the bigger your belly grew, the less your body was your own. 

Over the last 7 months you've been feeling strange. Lethargic and fragile, but stronger all at the same time. This baby was doing something inhuman to you; you could not deny it. If you spent even 48 hours without sunlight, your body all but shut down—your head ached, and you could barely keep your eyes open. 

This baby was solar-powered just like their father. 

Even with the sun, your body felt weak. A half-alien parasite feeding off all the energy you had to grow. 

But still, your body was strengthening in a way. You could hear a pin drop from across the house. Smell the neighbors' food delivery from down the hall. It was overwhelming. You couldn't silence your mind. 

You could feel the city bustling like never before.

To say Clark was worried was an astronomical understatement. He didn't want to impede on your freedom or autonomy, but he urged you to take your maternity leave early and stay home. He didn't want you out there in the world if something bad happened. He could never forgive himself. 

He cursed himself for doing this to you. He should've been more responsible. He should've gone to greater lengths to discover if carrying his child was truly safe for you. He shouldn't have even allowed himself to dream of a family with you.

The guilt and worry were eating away at him. All hours of the day, his hearing was tuned to you. Were you eating enough? Did you feel weak? Did you need his help? 

Still, you powered on. You went to work every day as if nothing was wrong, as if you were having a totally normal, totally human pregnancy, and tried to assure Clark that you were completely fine the best you could.

Still, you could only keep that up for so long. 

We all have a breaking point. 

You fainted at work. Nothing serious in your opinion. You had just overworked yourself a bit, cramming to meet deadlines before your pre-planned maternity leave. You had not eaten or ventured outside all day, and your body protested. 

All you could remember was waking up next to your desk, your arm aching. Your coworkers surrounded you, one of them on the phone with Clark. 

He arrived at your office before your coworker could even sputter out the full story on the phone. He didn't bother to greet your coworkers or pay attention to their inquiries about how he got there so quickly other than muttering, "I was close by."

Very few words were exchanged between you two as he picked you up off the floor and whisked you home. You must’ve insisted you were fine about fifty times. He never responded, his jaw tight. 

You walked into your apartment together silently. He guided you to the shower and laid out pajamas for you, departing to the kitchen while you showered. Your arm was pretty badly bruised from hitting your desk on the way down.

Eventually you found yourself tucked into bed, the air tense as Clark brought you a plate of food. He watched you eat silently and brought your plate back to the kitchen when you were done. Then he just broke. 

Now, you are sitting next to a heartbroken Clark. His hands are shaking as he holds one of yours. He is ashamed of himself. Of his existence. His very nature is bringing you harm. 

“Clark, I'm sorry. Truly—" you mutter, but he cuts you off. 

“Stop. Just stop," he says as he runs his thumb across your knuckles, voice shaky.  

Seeing your strong, hopeful husband so downtrodden and devoid of joy sets off an ache deep in your heart. 

"You're telling your work you are leaving tomorrow," he asserts, clearing his voice and lifting his head to you. 

“What?” you exclaim, sitting yourself up in bed. “You can’t just decide that! People are relying on me!” 

He grips your hand tighter, looking straight into your eyes, gaze never wavering, then he starts, “You know I would never try to dictate what you do, but this is different. It's not safe.” 

"It's fine, Clark. I promise you. This was a one-time thing. I just didn’t get enough sleep last night," you respond. You have never seen Clark this serious with you. 

“No. You are injured. This is affecting you more than you want to admit, but I see it. I see that you're tired; I see that you are weak. I see that it's my fault, and I cannot allow you to keep working like this.” He maintained. 

Does he not think you could understand your own limits? "It's just a little bruise, Clark. I have responsibilities at work!”

“And I have a responsibility to you!” he yelled. 

He raised his voice at you. Actually raised his voice at you. Never in all your years of dating and marriage had he ever raised his voice at you.

Your eyes water as you shrink down into yourself, pulling your hand away from his. 

"I—I'm sorry,” he stuttered. “I didn't mean to yell… I just can't… I just can't take it anymore.” His voice breaks as you reach for his hand once again. You feel dread deep in your heart. Your poor husband was breaking. 

"It's okay, baby. This whole thing is just crazy, isn't it?” you say, taking his hand in yours. It truly was mind boggling—the fact that you had to live every day as if you weren't carrying an extraterrestrial being. “I promise you that I am fine, Clark. My life cannot pause because of one little fall.” 

“You still don’t understand, do you?” he sputtered, his jaw clenched and eyes teary.  

“This isn't just a fall. It isn't just a one-time mistake. You are going to get weaker and weaker. You’re going to resent me. Your body wasn't made for this. I should’ve known.” You were shocked at his admittance. Sure, you knew he was worried, but you never thought that it went this deep. You never thought that he regretted creating a life with you. 

Full-blown tears now fall from your eyes as you scooch yourself closer to him on the bed. “Please do not say that. I wanted this. More than anything.” 

“I know you do. Please don’t misunderstand me; I want this child too. Golly, you don't even know how long I've dreamed of this.” He chuckles lightly and pauses, looking out the bedroom window in contemplation.

“Still, it is my job to protect you. Always has been. Now it's my job to protect both of you, and you working is dangerous. It's not just a bruise. Gosh, tomorrow it will be another bruise, then a broken bone, and then what?” He was crying now, light sniffles escaping his nose as he gripped your hand almost to the point of pain. 

You pull yourself into his chest, guiding his unused hand onto your pregnant belly. “I understand," you murmured. 

He gently rubs your belly, almost reverently, and nuzzles his face into your hair. This man loves you more than anything. "I'll take my leave now, Clark. I don't want you worried sick over me.” 

“Thank you. Thank you so much," he sighs, embracing you fully. Almost on cue, your baby kicks hard, leaving you breathless. 

“I think your daughter agrees with you," you say, trying to soothe the little alien by rubbing the side of your belly. 

He pulls away from you suddenly. “Daughter? "I thought it was going to be a surprise?” he questions, covering your hand with his larger one. “What makes you say that?” 

“Motherly intuition, I guess..." As soon as you utter it, you find his eyes locked intensely on your middle. He was trying to use his x-ray vision again!  

“Hey! No peeking!” you exclaim, covering his eyes with both of your hands.

"Sorry, sorry! I just can't resist sometimes!” he squeaks, throwing his hand up in surrender. 

“If I don't get to see our baby, neither will you!” You say as you remove his hands from his eyes. A futile effort you realize. He could see right through them if he really wanted to. But the meaning was still there. 

He sighs, looking defeated. "Yes, I know. Ultrasounds only.”

"Exactly. Now cuddle me.” You lay back in bed and reach your arms up towards him. 

“How could I ever resist such a request?” he says as he crawls next to you. He pulls himself close to you, placing your head on his chest. 

You lay there for hours, everything important and nothing important at the same time. Baby names, paint colors, boring office politics, a cute cat you saw in a window. 

In that moment you feel…normal. No super hearing, no super strength, just a husband and wife cuddling and arguing about baby names.

You would do anything to make Clark happy, and sometimes, it's as easy as just staying home.