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“You’re late,” muttered Bruce as Kara Zor-El touched down on the windswept rooftop.
She shrugged. “I had a strong headwind.”
Something in her tone and body language raised a red flag in the detective part of Bruce’s brain, which he never really knew how to turn off. A teeny tiny red flag, one he would file away in case it became relevant but ignore for now. It wasn’t the flippant response that was unusual for her, it was the way she said it—just a bit sharper than usual, a bit too defensive, as if it was a sore topic. Usually she would take such a comment for the attempt at humour it was meant to be; her transit from National City to Gotham had, after all, only taken 40 milliseconds longer than usual—a negligible amount of time for anyone but a Kryptonian or a speedster. But Bruce noticed these little details. No “headwind” slowed Supergirl down; she could’ve flown face-first into a hurricane and still had time to grab her precious coffee. He made a mental note to ask her about it later, but decided to let it go for now. She was new to the team and he didn’t want her to think he was coming down on her for some harmless sarcasm. It was part of her personality. Clark on the other hand, being Clark, would no doubt have sincerely apologized.
Speaking of Clark… Bruce asked, “Where’s your cousin?”
Kara’s response could best be described as flustered , an adjective Bruce would normally only apply to Clark (especially when Selina was around). “He’ll be along,” she said, hesitantly. “He’s, uh, he got a bit… delayed.”
Bruce’s eyes narrowed. Now that was a non-answer if he’d ever heard one. Kara had never been anything but honest with him, Clark even more so, and it was wildly out of character for her to make excuses on his behalf (or for him to allow it). He revisited that tiny red flag, and the detective machine kicked into high gear.
The delay was so minuscule it actually ruled out her stopping somewhere along the way. Sometimes on her way from SoCal Kara liked to hit up a tiny coffee shop in Phoenix where she swore they brewed the best cuppa in the country, but Bruce doubted even they could make espresso in a fraction of a second. No, something was slowing her down, ever so slightly. His suit’s scanners would have picked up any traces of green kryptonite or red sun radiation and alerted him immediately, so it couldn’t be those. Maybe she’d lost a fight recently, but if anything strong enough to put a hitch in Supergirl’s stride had come to Earth he would know about it; and anyway, why lie?
Perhaps she was unaware of the change. Time distortion? Exotic particulates in the atmosphere? Possible but not likely; Occam’s razor led him to consider more mundane options first, like a slight increase in mass or air resistance. Those were no less troubling, because Kryptonians didn’t usually put on weight. If Kara had gotten heavier, either Mister Mxyzptlk was in town and messing with the laws of physics again or someone had stuck a tracking device on her cape.
She crossed her arms tightly and pursed her lips. Bruce turned away, ostensibly to scan the sky but actually not wanting to seem like he was staring. Out the corner of his eye, he measured her reaction to no longer being watched. She visibly relaxed. So she was self-conscious about something. Bruce wanted to roll his eyes; he couldn’t imagine ever feeling self-conscious while effortlessly maintain a figure straight out of Greek myth (and bulletproof to boot), but the Last Son and Daughter of Krypton somehow managed. That and he couldn’t shake this nagging feeling something about her appearance was off . Something was different but he couldn’t put his finger on it.
Red kryptonite, he thought. Perhaps she’d been exposed to it and mutated a dorsal fin or something. It would explain both the wind drag and her embarrassment. He adjusted his sensors to scan for other types of kryptonite radiation, and sure enough he got a hit. Not quite red, though; the wavelength was slightly longer, though not nearly long enough to be blue or gold. It must be a new type he hadn’t catalogued yet.
Then Clark arrived. Bruce felt one eyebrow slide up inside his cowl. “At long last. Why are you flying like that?”
For some reason, Clark was flying — well, hovering really — in an upright position, like he was standing on an invisible skateboard, with his arms tightly folded over his chest. Very tightly over his chest. The sensors were still active and detected the exact same type of k-radiation contamination on him as well.
Clark blushed furiously and looked away, cinching his elbows tighter. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
For a moment, Bruce was dumbfounded. It was not a familiar feeling. Then he saw a strange bulge behind Clark’s crossed forearms, a slight distortion in the S-shield on his chest. All at once it clicked. The pieces fell into place and Bruce finally figured out what it was about Kara’s figure that had been bugging him. An change in aerodynamics and an increase in mass…less noticeable on her, for obvious reasons, but where Clark was concerned…
Kara sighed in resignation. “Kal… I think he’s figured it out.”
Clark nodded and slowly lowered his arms, his normally square shoulders slumpng so much they almost went round. They weren’t the only thing on Clark that had become round. In Kara’s case, the unique new kryptonite radiation had only increased what was already there. But on her cousin, it had resulted in a fine round pair of breasts that would have given Diana a run for her money.
To his credit, Bruce didn’t laugh. An eternity seemed to pass as he struggled to find the right words. He had been to space, descended into Hades, seen gods and monsters that made the earth tremble; but he had never seen anything like this. All he managed was “Well. Huh.”