'Trying' was a foreign concept to you and Clark.

Despite any troubles that crossed your path, things had always been easy. There was never any doubt as to whether the two of you would 'work', no worry that things would become difficult.

So when he brought up having kids, you decided not to try. You would just let it happen.

But when three months came and passed, you both started to get antsy. Clark would turn every strange craving into a sign (yeah, scooping into a tub of chocolate ice cream with a potato chip wasn't super normal, but you'd caught him munching on metal more than once). Every bout of nausea sent you to the corner store for a test.

Not trying was starting to feel unwise, at least for this aspect of your relationship. But in the back of both of your minds, keeping a calendar and looking up advice felt like defeat.

And eventually, the nerves faded. You leaned into the que sera, sera of it all, and in time, you'd pushed it all to the back of your mind. Clark thought about it every so often, you could tell, but in the end you were both young. If you were meant to have a baby now, you'd have one now.

The last night before he left on Superman business, he rolled off of you with a deep exhale, clearing his throat before getting any words out. "Maybe that was it." Maybe. Or maybe it had already happened. You were leaving it up to fate.

The next morning he was called off, somewhere that you were too tired to catch the name of. It wasn't typical for him to be gone for days at a time, but it was nearing the end of a week when he finally landed on the balcony, hair losing its slick after an extended flight.

You were in the kitchen, feeling hungrier than usual. It had been a week of lethargy, though you could usually just attribute that to your mind and body protesting the lack of Clark.

Quick to change out of his suit, he came in behind you wrapped in cotton, a sweater you'd bought him years ago and the only sweats you'd found in months that could actually reach his ankles. It was comfortable, familiar, the way he wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face in your neck.

You knew he didn't fare too well without having you around either.

His hands paused on your stomach, his body going stiff for a second. "Clark, what are you doing?"

You could barely start turning around before he was grabbing your waist and doing it for you, dropping to the floor to be face to face with your abdomen. Normally you'd tease the hell out of him, but the concentrated expression on his face made you keep quiet. "What is it?"

Slowly, he leaned in, pressing the side of his face to your stomach and relaxing his shoulders. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you tight against him. "I can hear a heartbeat."