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They don’t get to spend the night together a lot, at least, not the three of them. If they all get to spend the night together once in a week, then Clark knows that it’s been a good week. Normally it only happens once or twice a month.
Just two of them getting to spend the night together, though, that normally happens once or twice a week.
Diana drew the short straw at the last League meeting and ended up patrolling in Seoul in the middle of the night (Metropolis time, at least). Bruce, however, was able to spend the night at his place last night.
They normally meet at Clark’s, or sometimes Diana’s, never Bruce’s, though. Bruce isn’t quite ready to let them into that part of his life, and while Clark understands that he doesn’t totally like it. But that does mean that the two of them spent the night at his apartment last night, which is nice.
It’s domestic, and it makes his place feel more at home. It’s not normally this domestic though. Bruce is already dressed in his suit, sitting at the counter and drinking his coffee. Which is weird, because Bruce normally would have already gone into work by the time that Clark gets up. He takes way too much ownership of his work because he actually owns it. But then again, Clark suspects that Bruce would be this much of a control-freak if he had an entry level office position. He’s just the sort of person who puts his all into everything he does.
It’s how he ended up running around Gotham in a bat costume.
Clark doesn’t think much of it, and pours himself a cup of coffee. He sits down next to Bruce and picks up his physical copy of the Daily Planet. Bruce takes a sip of black coffee. Then, he sets it down, almost deliberately, in front of Clark. “The World’s Okayest Dad” is written in bright white letters on the black mug.
Bruce says, “We need to talk” with that serious, default expression of his. That could mean just about anything. Bruce has delivered everything from proud stories about Robin to terrible news with that face. It tells Clark nothing.
“About what?” Clark asks. Bruce’s eyebrows lower, and he looks angrier.
“You know what.”
“No,” Clark says, “I really don't.” Bruce’s look darkens, like he’s annoyed that Clark isn’t just apologizing already.
“It’s Superboy.”
“Oh.” Clark picks his newspaper right back off the counter, and opens it all the way up. He does it so that it makes the dramatic “whoosh” noise and he makes it very clear to Bruce that he did it to avoid discussion. Bruce rips it right out of his hand, and crumples the newspaper up. He shoves the whole ball on the counter.
“Hey-”
“You don't get to avoid this,” Bruce says. And no, that’s a load of shit. Clark does. He gets to avoid this all he wants. He doesn’t know how to deal with it at all. He can’t deal with it.
Someone stole his DNA to make a weapon. He feels violated, like no matter what he does he'll never feel clean again, never feel safe again. He is so far from being ready to deal with this. He can't even consider that yet.
“No,” Clark says, getting up to leave for work thirty minutes early, “I’m not talking about this.”
"He's your son, Clark.”
"No, he’s a weapon made by CADMUS.” Clark knows that Bruce thinks he’s just a kid, but Clark doesn’t. He just can’t.
"He's a kid, Clark, your kid." Superboy is not his kid. He’s not a kid to begin with, but even if he were a kid, it has been a long time since Clark wanted kids. It doesn't seem plausible anymore. The man of steel, the dark knight and the exiled Princess of the Amazons weren't exactly going to all tie the polyamorous knot and head straight to picket fences and PTA meetings.
But that doesn’t even matter, because CADMUS didn't create a person with that part of him. They made a weapon. If Bruce wants to delude himself, he can, but Clark won't go along with him for the ride.
"If you care so much, adopt him yourself."
"Maybe I will," Bruce growls, and he stands up abruptly and marches out the door. He leaves his “World’s Okayest Dad” mug lying on the counter, coffee half drunk. Clark feels like it’s mocking him.
Bruce doesn’t talk to him for days, enough to let Clark know for certain that he’s not talking to him. Which, coming from Bruce isn’t much of a surprise. Bruce has worked not talking about his feelings into an art form. Clark can’t say that he’s much better about it though, which is why sitting alone at his kitchen counter.
He doesn’t stay that way for long. Diana comes through the door, and shoves a bottle of wine on the counter.
“We need to talk,” Diana says. This time, Clark knows exactly what it is that they need to talk about.
“Alright,” Clark says, “but can we have wine first?” Diana smiles slightly.
“That’s why I brought it.” Clark gets out two wine glasses, and pours some for each of them. Then he sits down at his stool and she sits down beside him, in the same one Bruce was sitting in when they had their conversation. Clark takes a long swig as he remembers it.
“I bet you already heard Bruce’s side of this,” Clark says wryly.
“I did. Now I want to hear yours.” For as blunt of a woman as she is, Diana can be real diplomatic. Clark takes another sip.
“Bruce is being unreasonable,” Clark says. Diana raises her eyebrow. Clark sighs. He realizes that’s not a good enough explanation for her. He supposes that when you share a boyfriend you can’t just say “he’s being stupid” and call it good.
“He wants me to be Superboy’s dad,” Clark says, like it’s the most ridiculous thing that he’s ever heard. He gulps down more wine, and wishes that it was something harder. Maybe he should get the rum out of the cabinet.
“Yeah, he does.”
“Superboy isn’t a kid,” Clark says, “he’s a weapon that they made with my DNA, without my consent. He’s just- he’s a mess of CADMUS programming and Kryptonian powers. That’s all he is.” Diana looks at him like he’s grown a second head.
“Have you talked to him?”
“Not you too,” Clark says, laying his head in his hand. He thinks that he heard one of the younger reporters at the Planet call the motion a “facepalm”. Diana sighs, and then takes a long swig of wine. Then she sighs again, and takes another drink of wine.
Clark has definitely frustrated her this time. He expects her to start telling him how wrong he is, to completely take Bruce’s side.
"Have you ever heard the story of Oedipus?" Diana asks.
“Oedipus?” Clark says, and he feels his face flush. He doesn’t know why Diana wouldn’t bring that up.
“Not that part of the story,” Diana says, “I’m talking about the part that led up to that. Oedipus’s father, the king, heard a prophecy that his son would one day kill him, so instead of raising the baby in a nice stable home environment where he’d never think of that, he got rid of the baby. Oedipus's father worried and worried, and years later, his son did come back to kill him. He didn’t even know that he was his father. The prophecy came true solely because the king thought it would."
"You're saying Superboy will become dangerous because of how I'm treating him."
"I do not know this while situation," Diana says. Diana can be both more and less reasonable than Bruce is, sometimes at the same time.
"All I know is that Bruce thinks that Superboy is an orphan, and that you made him one.” Orphans are a sore spot for Bruce. Dead beat, neglectful or abusive parents? They're his definition of Satan, basically. And suddenly, Clark understands why Bruce hasn't spoken to him.
"That's not right," Clark protests.
"Black Canary thinks he's a good kid," she says. Black Canary doesn't have the same sore spots as Bruce. She doesn't look at every person and see someone who needs saving.
“He was a CADMUS clone. He was programmed to be a weapon,” Clark protests. No, he can’t be wrong about. He can’t be wrong about this, because that would mean- that would mean he was treating a kid like a ticking time bomb. Or worse, he was treating a kid like a terrorist.
“The bad guys made him, Clark. That doesn’t make him one.” And for the first time, he lets himself think that maybe he was wrong about this.
“Diana I-I” he doesn’t know what he can say to make this better, now that he’s starting to accept the idea that Bruce may have been right.
“I know that you feel violated, Clark. I know that you look at him, and you think about what CADMUS did and what they wanted to do with him. But you can’t keep doing this.”
"I didn't want a son," Clark says. He doesn't feel ready to be a parent. He has barely adjusted to the idea that Superboy isn't a threat to humanity.
"You have to make it work, Clark. He didn't ask for this either." Clark feels a lump rising in his throat.
"He's just as out of place as we are.” An exiled Amazon and the last son of Krypton, alone together in Man’s World, always just slightly outside of the norm. He might not be the last son of Krypton anymore, and he might have screwed it all up already. She takes his hand in hers.
“He needs someone to care about him. He needs you, Clark." God, Diana’s right. He knows it. He doesn’t know what would have become of him without his Ma and Pa. If he had someone who was supposed to encourage him telling him he was a monster? He doesn't like to think about it.
He realizes now that he needs to be that for Superboy. He realizes what he should have known all along. He also realized that he needs to ask for Bruce’s help. He’s not sure which part of that is going to be harder.
Diana spends the night, which makes Clark feel slightly less like a sack of shit. That’s an important confidence booster for when he goes into Wayne Enterprises the next morning. All of the staff on the bottom floor know who he is and that Bruce trusts him and he gets up to his office easily enough.
Getting past his secretary, however, is a bigger problem. Karen Pratchett has survived multiple acts of terrorism on Wayne Enterprises and gotten through three attempted kidnappings unscathed. It’s a damn good thing that she knows that Bruce likes him too, or he wouldn’t get within twenty feet of Bruce’s office.
“You don’t have an appointment.”
“Bruce wants to see me, I promise,” Clark says. Karen rolls her eyes.
“Yes,” she says in a half exasperated, half fond voice, “I’m sure he does. Just go on in.” Clark opens up the door, and is reminded how simple Bruce’s office really is for a billionaire. He has large windows with a potted plant on them. Then he has an average sized desk with a standard computer on it, a spinning black chair, and two chairs on the opposite side of the desk for other people to sit in. Then he has a single picture on his desk of himself, Alfred and Robin.
“I”m here for an interview,” Clark says with his biggest sweet farm boy smile. Bruce doesn’t even look up from his paperwork.
“What do you want, Clark?” Bruce says dismissively. It kind of hurts, but Clark knows he kind of deserves it.
“You were right.” The words almost hurt to say, but Clark knows that he has to. He needs Bruce’s help to fix this. Admitting that he was wrong is the first step to fixing everything, their relationship included.
“What?” Bruce asks, finally looking up from his paperwork.
“You were right. I was being… unfair to Superboy.”
“A complete dick.”
“What?”
“That’s the phrase you were looking for,” Bruce says, “you were being a complete dick to Superboy.”
“Well,” Clark says, “yeah. I was.” Bruce looks confused for a moment, then pleasantly surprised.
“You’re actually apologizing.”
“Yeah,” he says, nodding a little awkwardly.
“Never thought I’d live to see the day,” Bruce says. Clark rolls his eyes.
“No really,” Bruce says, “this is a big moment. I should take a selfie.”
“Did you really just say selfie?” Bruce shrugs.
“I have a teenage son.” That's when Clark realizes something. This wasn’t just personal because Bruce saw himself in Superboy. He saw Robin in him too, and every other kid who has ever been alone in the world. Clark really fucked up, Instead of acknowledging this, Clark plows right on.
“How do I fix this?” Clark asks.
“What do you mean?” Bruce says, “you just talk to him.” This is hypocritical advice from someone who once didn’t speak to him for three days Clark accidentally threw away his toothbrush.
“But how do I do that without making it awkward?”
“Ask the kid to get coffee or something,” Bruce says, “he’s a teenager, not a foreign President.”
“Thanks Bruce,” Clark says. Bruce looks down at his papers like he never thought he’d live to see the day. Clark isn’t done talking yet, though.
“Are you coming over tonight?”
“I’ll think about it.” That’s not a yes, but it’s a softer no than the one he was expecting. Clark’s making progress again.
Clark drops by the Cave, and tries to make it seem casual, which honestly doesn’t work at all. He isn’t involved in the daily lives of the Team like Red Tornado, Batman or Black Canary. He’s barely interacted with any of them and all of those interactions have been negative.
Clark barely peeks the the main area when Superboy sees him. He’s working on some sort of tech, and he comes over immediately. He looks completely confused.
“Superman?” He sounds conflicted: a little excited, a little confused, and little scared too, like Clark might start yelling at him any second. It’s not like those fears are unfounded, really.
“Um, hey,” Clark says, “it’s nice to see you.” Superboy sends him a look like he just sprouted an enormous pimple but he’s too confused and polite to say anything about it.
“Uh, yeah,” Superboy says, “sure? Nice to see you too?” He obviously doesn’t know how to small talk with the man who, as far as he knows, hates him for his very existence.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was looking for you, actually.” That doesn’t lessen the boy’s confusion.
“I wanted to ask if you’d like to get coffee or something,” Clark says.
"Coffee?" Superboy asks.
"Or we could do something else," Clark says, hurriedly, "Batman just said that's what the kids do nowadays."
"Uh yeah, sure," Superboy says, gruff adult voice, "that's fine. "The "kids" do that." Clark gestures to the opening of the Cave.
“You wanna fly there?”
“I can’t fly.”
“You can’t?”
“No,” Superboy says, sounding a little embarrassed, “don’t have that or the heat vision.”
“We can zeta there, then. I know this great place right by the zeta in Metropolis.” Superboy smiles then.
“That sounds great.”
They don’t talk much as they go over, and then Clark buys them both some coffee. He isn’t surprised that the kid orders his black too. Clark likes his bitter, and considering that the kid has the same genetic code as he does, he probably has the same tastebuds. Clark tries not to think about that too much as he strikes up a conversation.
“Do you have a civilian name yet?”
“Conner Kent.” Clark nearly spits his coffee out his nose. Conner Kent sends him a concerned look.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” Clark says, laughing a little, “it’s just- my real name is Clark Kent.”
“I could change it,” Conner backpedals.
“No, don’t,” Clark says, “it suits you.” For the first time since they started talking, Conner smiles. He looks at home. They get to talking, and the longer they do, the more comfortable they both get. Conner talks about all the members of the Team, but mainly he talks about Miss Martian.
"She's amazing," Conner says, and his eyes light up as he smiles. He seems really in love with her, and Clark smiles as he realizes that. Conner was created to be a weapon, but he isn't one, not anymore than Clark is. He's as human as anyone else. He feels awful that it took him so long to realize that.
They talk and they nurse their coffees until an hour after the coffee is gone and there isn’t any excuse to stay there. Clark walks him to the zeta tube.
“I’m sorry that I didn’t do this sooner,” Clark says, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I’m just glad you’re doing it now,” Conner says. Clark feels a sense of relief and warm affection surge through him. He guess that it is better late than never. Then Conner zetas away, and Clark feels a sense of relief.
He is so glad that he finally did this.
He picks up Chinese food on his way home, and he expects to be greeted by his empty apartment. Instead, both Diana and Bruce are situated in the living room. Bruce is going over some figures at the coffee table, and Diana is lounging on the couch.
"You're back," Clark says.
"You don't sound thrilled," Diana says, as Bruce says "yeah?"
"I just- I wasn't expecting you so soon." He thought that he'd messed up enough that he'd be doing weeks of wrap up before he saw either of them in the apartment again.
"I messed up," Clark says, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck.
"You think?" Bruce asks, raising his eyebrow. Clark lets out an awkward chuckle.
"You're working on it," Diana says, "that's all anyone can ask." Clark nods. That is about all that he can do. Clark takes off his coat, and sets it on the coat rack.
“Want to watch something?” Diana asks, picking up the remote.
“I’m trying to do my taxes here,” Bruce grumbles.
“You know, you could get someone else to do those for you,” Clark says, walking across the living room.
“They wouldn’t do them right,” Bruce says. Of course Bruce wouldn’t let someone else do his taxes, even though he has billions of dollars and some of the most complicated tax returns of anyone in the country. But then again, if Bruce were to let anyone else look at his finances they might notice something was up. Bruce is careful enough that he doesn’t trust anyone with his money or the slight possibility of finding out his secret. It’s paranoid, but it’s smart. It’s one of the things that Clark loves about him.
“I’m turning on the tv,” Diana says, rolling her eyes, “last chance to pick the show.”
“Put on Luke Cage,” Clark says, sinking into the couch beside her, Bruce sitting crosslegged on the floor in front of him, “I want to watch someone else do the superheroing for once.” They all laugh, and the world feels right again.