Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It had been a long time since Bruce had had to come out to anyone. As transgender or bisexual. Coming home from Ra’s Al Ghul and the League of Shadows had been emotional, yes, but he knew Alfred had at least suspected before. Adopting Dick was easy, and Alfred had told him the ‘secret’ some years in. Jason had just went “cool” and went back to watching whatever shitty detective show passed as quality television nowadays, and Tim had gone into research-mode before it was brought up again. Damian knew both his and his mother’s surgical statuses.

So, of course, Bruce was... confused, to say the least, when Clark mentioned how much he hated certain aspects of having a penis. Particularly morning wood.

“You’d think this was a conversation for Jordan and not me,” he grumbled, pouring a coffee from the Watchtower’s machine. Clark blinked at him owlishly before regaining his previous bluster.

“Gross, Bruce. I know Hal is, like, more open about that stuff but he’s not like... us, you know? Best friends?” Bruce rolled his eyes, and Clark continued, “Besides, why wouldn’t you be right for this conversation. I’ve known you for, what, a decade now? and you don’t use words you don’t mean. So what’s up?”

That gave him a pause. He had grown comfortable in his body even without bottom surgery (nothing was quite up to his standards yet) and had, honest to god, forgotten that some people didn’t know. He had thought it a given. After all (and Clark had said it himself) they’d known each other for ten years.

“Clark,” he started, cautiously. He reached up to pull the cowl off of his face, taking a long sip of his coffee. “You have X-rayed me before, yes?”

Clark raised a brow. “Uh, yeah, Bruce, why? You’re kind of freaking me out here.” Bruce took a deep, calming breath in through his nose.

“And, in those times of X-raying me, you have never noticed anything... different about my reproductive system?” Clark started to blush, now, and Bruce would have found it amusing if not for the wildly thrumming nervousness that beat against his chest.

“No, Bruce, I’m usually too busy trying to figure out if you’re dead! Stop being so gosh darn cryptic for once in your life and ***tell me what you mean***.”

Bruce sighed.

“Clark, I’m transgender.”

Superman blinked slowly, and Bruce was reminded of a cat. It was endearing.

“You’re what?” Oh, now Bruce was starting to enjoy it. Clark looked like he was about to burst, though Bruce wasn’t at all sure what from. He let a smirk slide across his lips, and his eyebrows quirked devilishly downwards.

“When I was born, I had a vagina. And I was raised as a girl. But I have, since then, corrected those flaws.” He spoke slowly, as if to a child, and he could see Clark starting to get frustrated; in part from the condescension and in part from being caught off guard.

“N-no I got that. I know what trans people are, Bruce, Jesus, you don’t have to mansplain to me. I just... how?”

Bruce rolled his eyes good naturedly and strolled over to the couch where Clark was lounging. He balanced his elbows on the back and leaned forward, sarcasm dripping from his tongue as he said, “You see when two people love each other very much...”

“Okay! Okay, okay, I get it. I’m... just... how did I not know?” Boyscout. Never learns. Bruce could tell he was beating himself up over it- likely lamenting all the times Bruce might have needed him but was too scared to come out, or times when he accidentally made him uncomfortable (there were none) or...

“Relax, Metropolis. It’s not like I’m very public about it.” This seemed to assuage his fears a bit, and he slumped in his seat. “Man. What else don’t I know? Are you secretly gay too?”

Oh, shit.

Chapter Text

Water trickled down the stalactites on the cave’s ceiling, bats shuffling quietly overhead. The steady drip, drip, drip was an almost judging drone as Bruce stared at himself in a mirror. It was an old antique thing, with varnished edges and a gentle sheen to it. Soft blue light glowed about the room, the only lighting available; the only lighting needed.

The Batsuit was a beautiful monster, refined and powerful in the way only machines could be. The armor didn’t hug his body too tightly and it was well ventilated in all the right places. Truly a masterful creation. But, Bruce lamented internally, he wished the top wasn’t so accentuated.

Perhaps it was his own fault for placing the bat insignia there. It wasn’t necessary, obviously, and Bruce took pride in his pragmatism. It had been a moment of selfishness, he supposed. The want to brand himself was nothing more than aesthetic desire and he was sure that the clown in Metropolis had something to do with it. But that was beside the point.

The point being his chest.

Or, coincidentally, the lack thereof.

Wearing a binder in the suit was impractical, to say the least. It constricted his breathing and put a toll on his already battered ribs. No, he wasn’t super like that other hero, so he had to be more careful. And, besides, he couldn’t take the time off in order to get top surgery. No matter how much he might want to. So, for now, no binding in the Batsuit.

None of his rogues (god, he hated that he had rogues at this point) knew he was trans. Nobody knew he was trans. There was no need to suspect and no need to question. Not like when he was Bruce Wayne. God, why was being Batman so much easier? Maybe he needed a therapist.

No, he was getting distracted.

He drug his eyes down the contours of his chest, curling his lip in a half-snarl at the perceived softness. He knew, logically, that it was comprised of sharp lines. Jagged, cutting things made to simulate the hyper-masculine power fantasy he had going on. Nothing soft about them. But he… he just…

He wished, for a moment, that he hadn’t told Alfred to go to bed without him. He wanted to hug the man - his father - tight and have him whisper comforting nothings into his ear. For him to lie, because surely that was what he was doing.

He sighed and pinched his nose. This was solving nothing. Another night.

He put the mirror away.

-

It had been years, since then.

He still didn’t bind in the Batsuit; that was dangerous. He still hadn’t found time to get top surgery (between all his Robins and his children dying he didn’t quite have any spare months to throw around like that). And he still had that damned mirror.

It was still shiny, in the way that old things were. He hadn’t touched it since that night… there had never been time. He never really had time, did he? That’s why he’d never had surgery. It’s why, every morning, he had to dab concealer under his eyes to hide the dark-purple bags beneath them.

But, shockingly, he had time tonight. And so he stood in front of the mirror in full Batman garb (sans cowl) and stared. It was while he was staring that an alarm went off.

It was soft, an almost bass-like sound. An actual recording of Clark’s heartbeat. He could feel the tension bleeding from his body at the sound, though he would never tell Clark that. The gentle sound of a flapping cape could be heard as Superman drifted into the cave through the specially built skylight, created for all flying members of the Justice League. No one had to know that Superman used it the most.

Just as Bruce was about to turn the sound off with a button on the wrist of his gauntlet the sounds turned loud. Rather than the comforting sound of his best friend’s (was that what he was calling Superman now?) heartbeat it was rather… lewd? Almost moan-like…

He slammed his fist against the button, scowling as Clark landed behind him with a nervous smile. A certain Hood was going to get a stern talking to. And maybe a suspension from Alfred’s cookies.

“Superman,” Bruce growled tersely, not turning to greet the man himself. He kept his eyes on the mirror, adjusting the gauntlet that he was pretty sure was broken now. Damn.

“Bruce!” Superman chirped, trying his best to look casual. The tips of his ears were red and he coughed into a fist, floating over to where Bruce was standing. “What are you doing?”

His scowl deepened further. “No names in uniform,” he grumbled, more out of habit than anything else. He could see the soft tilt of Clark’s head, a quirk he had developed to show he was listening. It was… sweet. Though Bruce would never say it.

Ignoring him, Clark continued, “Are you working on a case? Is this mirror haunted?” Bruce curled his nose in disdain and swiped a gloved hand across his face. “No, Superman, I am not.” He didn’t even dignify the other question with a response. Supes only looked more confused, head tilting further.

“Okay…” he said slowly, finally touching down just behind Bruce. “Then what are you doing?”

This was it. Bruce Wayne was out as trans, and Clark knew who he was, but they had never had a conversation about it. Bruce was a man and Clark knew he was a man and that had been that. But this… this was a moment of insecurity. Of vulnerability; something Clark had shared with him, but never he with Clark. And, perhaps, he owed it to the man at this point.

“I’m considering remodelling the Batsuit,” he murmured, one hand reaching up to trace his pec. He appeared to be the peak of masculinity- chiselled jaw with a touch of stubble, a defined lower lip, and muscles of iron. Nothing betrayed femininity and he was sure that it was all in his head but… but…

“It hurts.” Clark’s eyebrows met his hairline, and he looked ready to cry. He always did when he thought Bruce was hurt, and Bruce mirrored the sentiment. He brushed the man’s shoulder with his own, however, in an attempt of comfort.

“Not… not physically. Mentally.” He tapped a finger to his temple. “The chest it’s… bad,” he finished lamely, his eyes falling to the cave floor. He didn’t expect Clark to understand (how could he?) but he at least wanted to try and tell him.

“Hurts how?” Bruce didn’t lift his gaze, but he was sure that Clark had that pleading look in his eyes, the one he got when Bruce was being particularly repressed. The Dark Knight took a deep breath and scuffed his feet.

“Not flat enough.”

If Bruce had been looking, he would have seen Clark’s face soften. His hand came to rest on Bruce’s shoulder, and he shook him a bit.

“Alright, turn.” Superman floated and swivelled on his axis, facing to their shared right. He fixed his posture into the normal Superman stance; he had fallen into something between that and Clark Kent… simply Clark. Bruce copied, hunching his shoulders to simulate a larger frame. His cape hissed against the ground, falling around him like an inky tide.

“There, see?” Clark pointed at their chests, his own much larger. Bruce, despite not binding, had always had a small chest and it was only his perception that gave him such pain. But even with this objective comparison he gave a miserable huff. Clark looked crestfallen.

“I understand if you still want to change it. M… maybe I can take over the suit, for a while, and you can get surgery.”

Bruce’s head snapped up at that, eyes narrowed. His mind scanned the statement, looking for holes, for places where Clark could take advantage. He found none.

“J’onn could shapeshift to play Batman as well. And I’m sure Dick wouldn’t mind taking a vacation to come see you too.”

It was only when tears streamed down his cheeks that Bruce realised he was crying. Clark softly wiped them away and pressed his nose to Bruce’s forehead as he floated a few inches off the ground. It was brotherly, despite Bruce being the older of the pair. It reminded him of his parents and of love and he cried. Maybe he didn’t have to sacrifice so much. He had people to pick up the slack.

“Okay,” he said, voice cracking a bit as he looked up at Clark. “Okay. I’ll ask Leslie and I’ll let the boys know and I’ll see about getting the media involved, and…”

Clark laughed and hugged him, nose buried in the crook of his neck. “You’re so silly, Bruce. I love you. I’m glad you’re doing this.”

And he cried.

Chapter Text

The first thing Bruce noticed upon waking up was the sharp stabbing pain that raged just between his legs. His stomach was numb from the cold and he could no longer feel his fingers and he was almost certain his ribs were broken. A low curse left his frozen lips as he struggled to stand up, legs wobbling uncertainty.

He wasn’t all that sure how he had gotten into that situation in the first place, though he supposed it didn’t matter considering the circumstances. His mask was still in place and he didn’t remember being in a fight, which was more than he could normally ask for. He’d likely passed out mid-swing. All things considered, there were worse ways to wake up in an alley.

The scorching stickiness between his legs was in sharp contrast to the cold state of the rest of his body, heat catching and dripping down his inner thighs. He shivered in a way unrelated to the biting cold and bit back a pitiful moan. He’d need to get a new pad.

He reached for an absent grapple gun, eyes narrowing as he noticed it was missing. He must have dropped it. He’d paused for a moment, glancing around for it, when suddenly a gross stretching sensation overtook him and he could feel blood seeping through his body armour. His body wracked in a dry sob and he began to stumble towards the closest safe haven he knew of.

-

Gordon’s home held a gentle sort of warmth, the glow of lights visible even from the streets. Bruce dropped precariously into an adjacent alleyway, hands clutching at damp, painted brick with numbed fingers. He banged a fist against startlingly clean glass, the resounding thump making him jump in his half-mad stupor. He could hear the faint cocking of a gun and barely had the mind to duck as a shot was blasted between the ears of his cowl. Gordon's head peeked just out the window, a look of confusion and concern shown on his face.

“Batman?” He called, looking down at the man, who was, as of now, curled in upon himself in what was clearly pain. “A-are you okay?!”

Bruce grunted in response, slowly heaving himself up and through the jagged glass of the broken window, managing to get naught a scratch on him. Gordon was there to catch his tired body as he landed on the floor, steadying the heavier set man.

“Batman? Has there been a breakout in Arkham? Did you get more intel on the Scarecrow? Talk to me!” Bruce fought the urge to clamp his hands over his ears, instead opting to simply clench his jaw and try to formulate words and sentences. Gordon was patting him down, searching for wounds or where the blood dripping onto his floor might have come from.

“Your wife,” Bruce managed to choke out, causing a flare of panic to light in Gordon’s eyes. Bruce barely managed a wince in response- not the most tactful way he might have worded it. “She has.. sanitary products, yes?”

Now the Commissioner's brow furrowed, but he nodded. “You… need them?”

Bruce felt like a child again, confronted by this man who was nearly Alfred’s age. It took all he could to stop himself from shuffling his feet and smearing the blood on the floor. “Yes. Can I use your bathroom?”

Gordon looked confused out of his mind, nodding nonetheless. “I, I mean of course, it’s down the hall to your left. My wife’s pads should be next to the toilet.” He couldn’t begin to fathom why Batman needed pads. Maybe for a criminal he had caught? Not that it was his place to know or ask- this was clearly a favor and not a business meeting. And, frankly, Jim was willing to take any closeness with this man that he could. He was simply fascinating.

Bruce nodded curtly, taking long strides towards the restroom. He had already known where it was- of course he did, he had done a search of Gordon’s home before even speaking to him. The continued stabbing sensation that roiled in his belly was more than enough to render him more mute than usual, however, and he ignored Gordon’s saddened look at the blood on his floor as he set about unclasping his uniform.

It was easy enough to unclip the codpiece, his extra leg armour falling with it. They landed with a dense thunk, Bruce wincing at the unneeded noise. He rolled down his chainmail leggings and thermal underwear regardless, cringing at their blood soaked state. The pad he had half heartedly put into his briefs had long since been demolished, barely recognisable save for the brighter crimson that the previously white material held in contrast to the black he normally wore. With one hand he flicked open his utility belt, neatly wrapping the object up and placing it, blood and all, back into his chamber. He hadn’t had the foresight to bring another pad— where would he have changed it regardless? There weren’t many public restrooms that Batman could be caught in, much less a Batman on his period. He loathed to think of himself in the women’s restroom, but somehow feared being caught in the mens’ even more.

After wiping his bloodied gauntlets off on some toilet paper, he made quick work of Mrs. Gordon’s pads, not even bothering to check if they’d fit. He only needed them to last until he got home- it was obvious he wasn’t in any place to finish patrol and taking painkillers was dangerous in his line of work. One missed laceration could spell the end of all his hard work.

And he couldn’t have that.

-

In the other room, Gordon’s mind was running through each and every detail of the night. He wasn’t only curious about the Batman (who wouldn’t be?) but also worried about the man he considered a tentative friend or, at the very least, an ally. They had walked the careful precipice of criminal and vigilante together, two men caught up in a cause that neither had begun. But, all the same, they were brothers. A brother in need was a brother indeed, or something.

Gordon supposed that a criminal or a vigilante or any number of individuals may need those menstrual products. He wasn’t so caught within his bubble that he was unaware of the struggle to attain such simple needs. But, alas, the sudden thunk that resounded from the other room was enough to make him reconsider his options.

His detective’s mind spirinted through conclusions and leads that stopped short, each small piece of evidence piling into a neat little stack that he wasn’t sure he was ready to face.

There were only so many rich women.

Gordon stopped, backtracking. Batman would have branded himself differently had that been the case. Wouldn't he? Gordon couldn’t be sure. He wasn’t sure of anything, right now.

Then, suddenly, the realisation.

There were only so many rich, trans, men.

Only one that he knew of, actually. And, coincidentally, one with a past dark enough and vague enough to warrant such extreme actions as Batman.

Gordon looked down at the blood on the floor and went to get some paper towels.

-

Bruce was achingly tired, with his hands shaking from blood loss and adrenaline. He wondered if he had forgotten his shot again, if that was what caused this to happen. Or, perhaps, his body was still learning to understand this medication, the medication he only had access to upon his return. Not that the wondering prevented his current situation.

He had been sitting in the restroom for far too long already, Gordon’s puttering about quieting down to just the clacking of his keyboard, likely chasing leads on his identity. Bruce wasn’t stupid; he knew he was stalling. Prolonging the inevitable, extending his suffering.

His stomach hurt.

It was easy enough to stand, to go through the motions. Wash his gloves of the blood, certain that the heavy, lingering scent still remained on his suit. He clicked his codpiece and armour back on, and simply stood in front of the door. One hand on the handle.

He could leave, now, he supposed. The window behind him opened and was large enough for him to squeeze through. Probably a security failing on Gordon’s part, Bruce thought suddenly, irrationally. He could leave.

Instead he took a steeling breath and stepped back into the living room, eyes meeting Jim’s from where the man sat on his couch. An understanding was reached between them.

“Look, Batman, it’s really not my place-“ Jim started up, eyes falling back to his laptop in an attempt to avoid awkwardness. Bruce interrupted him, words thick in his throat.

“I am a man.” Gordon nodded hastily, nervousness leaking from every fibre of his being. “Right, yes, of course. I… I know who you are.”

Bruce tipped his cowled head to the side, considering. “I know.”

Jim’s brow met his hairline and he pursed his lips. “You do?”

A nod, and Jim let out a shaky sigh. “Of course. You’re the Batman.” A slow smirk now, and Bruce harrumphed in acquiescence, nodding. Gordon almost crumpled in relief, the miniscule comfort more than he had received within their whole year of coalition. “Yeah, well, at least this time it’s you needing my help, eh?”

Bruce didn’t quite smile but he didn’t quite frown, and, frankly, Jim counted that as a win.

“Goodnight, Commissioner.”

Jim closed his eyes.

“Goodnight, Batman.”

When he opened them, he was gone.

Chapter Text

Alfred... Alfred isn’t a servant.

Perhaps, at one time, so long ago, he was, but that was dropped the moment those gleaming white pearls had hit the grimy alley floor.

No, Alfred takes his role as a “servant” out of his own sense of duty. He was never treated like one. A father, yes, but never a butler. It was easier on the press, though, I’ll admit, to see him as just that. But never to me. When he’s gone - and I dread the day - the name Alfred will always be in congruence with father.

I barely remember my parents. I can’t remember what I called them; was it mother and father, or dad and mom? No, safety has always been tied with well-pressed suits and weathered hands adjusting my tie a bit, with a quiet, “There you go, my boy,” alongside it. Alfred was the one who knew who I truly was- long before my parents. Alfred was the one who spent his free evenings researching so that he could better support me. He was the one who held my hand that first day of school after my parents had died. He was the one who told me that everything would be okay, even when I knew that he had lost his family too.

I know Gaelic because of Alfred, did you know that? Surprisingly helpful in my... night shift. I learned a large chunk of my languages from him, actually. Life as a spy will do that to a man. I’d have even ventured to say I inherited my polyglot nature from him, if the genetics tests hadn’t run back negative. Not that those have ever mattered much in this family.

No. No, Alfred isn’t a servant. He never was, to me.

Chapter Text

It was agony.

The doors. I'd opened them.. Thought that we could empower the people. Show them that they were the heroes, not us. That they were the reason that we could do all this. 

They tore me apart first.

I remember it. I remember it all. My cowl had gone within moments, my face barely glanced at as they beat me. I've been trained to survive all sorts of systematic torture, but this was by far the worst of them all. There was no rhyme or reason. They cut into my ears, they broke my nose. Ripped away my suit as though it were paper, thousands upon thousands of hands and feet turned into claws and thundering hooves as I lay on the floor. I've beaten droves of men and women with ease, but it was overwhelming.

When the first hour had finished, I'd passed out. I remember being woken up by a knife in small, shaking hands, slowly sawing through a strip of my flesh. Shaking out of excitement. His father crouched above him, smiling at his child's cruelty as he took the skin and muscle and put it in a bag. Keepsakes. Memorabilia. They defeated the Batman.

I could smell it. The blood. Arthur stank of fish. Rotted, somehow, already. Had I been out that long? 

I don't know when I woke up, but the hall was destroyed. Absolutely ravaged. I didn't see Diana, but Dinah was there. Dead. Clark had fallen before all of us. I'd been roused by a little girl's footsteps in the long empty hall.

I had no tongue or teeth. Blood had seeped deep into my eyes, minute fractures - if not clean breaks or pure destruction - littered my every bone. I'd tried to tell her to go and hide.

She'd lit me on fire. It took her six tries. 

I'd writhed on the floor, every inch of my being scalding. There was pain in places I had thought long nerve-dead. She giggled at me from a foot away. Fire had danced in her eyes.

I knew, then. It was me. Not Lex Luthor. Not The Joker, not even Darkseid. 

I'd killed the world.

I'd failed.

I wondered if Alfred would be okay. My sons. Cass. Steph. Barb. I was probably mutilated beyond recognition, by now. I don't know if they'd even bother to track them down. How would they react? The great Batman. Dead. Killed, not by some great villain or beast. Not by some cunning plan. By the very people I'm supposed to be saving. I think my parents would have been disappointed. Alfred would be. Heartbroken, surely, but disappointed nonetheless. Damian would be too. His father died. Where I was supposed to stand tall I'd crumbled, only because of sheer numbers. Naivety.

I hoped to god that the machine I built would never be used. No Bruce Wayne, no Batman, no man should ever have to remember this torture.

But I remember.

I'm sorry.

Chapter Text

I am not a man who loves easily. My affection, when given, is strained and taught and weak, snapping at barely a moments notice. Loving others was never something I was built to do well, not after my parents. The only people I truly love are my family, and that love... well that love runs deep.

It is tougher still, when such a deep love is severed.

Talia was the first, when I was with the League of Shadows. Another, like me. Her father had hated her for it, and loved me for all the wrong reasons. A daughter where he should have a son, and a son where there might have been a daughter. She’d taken a shining to me nearly instantly, as hate filled as that infatuation was. I don’t think I ever stopped loving her as much as I came to stop hating her, even after we parted ways. But imagine my surprise when she drops a child, ten, at that point, at my stoop. Already gone through his year of blood. “I thought you’d be taller.” And pain had laced up my spine.

Selina was the second. Not so much like me, this time, but a kindred spirit nonetheless. All black leather and whips - you’d think her profession would be something other than thievery. But she was a spitfire, and I must admit that I am attracted to a tenacious spirit. And, as Brucie, I was wanted for my money and my looks, regardless of my... biology. With Selina... she didn’t know, not until I told her. And her interest hadn’t been feigned. Perhaps it was cruel of me to use her as a euphoria boost, but I couldn’t help it. Our time together was, dare I say, blissful. Then she was gone. “We would lose Batman,” she’d claimed. And pain had laced up my spine.

Diana was the third, once again like me. She grew up knowing who she was, though, so perhaps not much like me. What we had was short, and a comfort. She is a sister to me, I know now. Nothing more, and certainly nothing less. I love her, but not in the same way. Perhaps I never did. She’d been the one to split it off. “It’s not me you want,” she’d said, her voice soft and honeyed. And pain had laced down my spine.

Love, I find, is a painful thing. And women are fickle creatures. And, perhaps, love was not something I was built for, not after my parents had died. But family... family, I can love. And perhaps that is all I need. For romance finds me at night with backaches and bruised that speckle my shoulders...

Like thorns in my rose tea.

Chapter Text

---------CAT---------

It was a wet, rainy night in Gotham, though they usually were. Pelting droplets hit the rims of Selina's goggles in a hypnotic patter, a constant drone overpowering even the night's ambiance. The wind whipped across the rooftops and tousled her rain-soaked hair, one clawed hand reaching up to tame it into something befitting a woman of her standing. Overall, a standard night.

---------BAT---------

The Bat of Gotham stood about four blocks eastward of her, tailing the Cat with the sort of practiced ease that came with vigilantism. They'd been... further acquainted with one another for some time now, though it has never escalated past heated kisses on the roof of whatever warehouse was nearest. He couldn't deny the way his heart cinched around her, longing and tight. He knew that, to escalate things, he'd have to remove the cowl... but...

---------CAT---------

For as good a detective as The Batman was, there were things that could be hidden. For a thief of Selina's caliber... it wasn't any extra burden for her to clear her medical history. There was no way for the Bat to know. And, she knew, for things to escalate she'd have to tell him. And she was fine with that; she'd seen him save plenty of trans sex workers from both muggings and from pimps, and she was more than aware of his friendship with Dr. October (a friend of her as well). She wasn't all that worried, though coming out never became any easier for her. She doubted it ever would.

---------BAT---------

"Alfred..."

The British gentleman gave a low huff over the comms, and Bruce could imagine the look his father had on his face. "I'll have none of that now, my boy. You go chase that young woman down right now or I shan't be making that Thermidor you're so often demanding about." Bruce let out a breath of a laugh, easily picturing the smile that would curl on his butler's lips. "Okay. Okay, yeah. Sorry, Dad."

"Of course, my boy. Now shoo, I have chores to do."

And the comms clicked off.

---------CAT---------

Heavy boots hit the rooftop with a thud, the hiss of the bat-cape following after just as expected. She let a smug smile slip across her lips even as Batman grumbled.

"Kyle," he ground out after a pause, noticing that she wasn't going to say anything. "Yes, Batman?" she all but purred, slowly turning until she was sitting on her rooftop perch, facing him.

The Bat's bottom lip twitched, and she wanted to lean up and bite it. He was the very image of masculinity - rough stubble and a stiff upper lip paired with broad shoulders and miles of muscles. Or, at least, the suggestion of muscle. Though one didn't lug around at least fifty pounds of Kevlar without picking something up.

"I know you stole the jewels." She let out a tittering laugh, pulling the gleaming stones from their pouch on her belt. "Oh, these little old things?" She admired them as they dangled from her metal claws, pretty and shiny against the moon and city light.

"I don't want to fight you, Selina," he continued even as she admired her catch, his voice almost pleading. "Just hand them over and you can be on your way."

She let out another laugh, replacing the jewellery. "Oh, Batman, we've done this song and dance before. You and I both know I'm not going to jail, and that I won't be giving these back." She leaned back until she was sprawled across the little ledge, one knee raised and a hand pressed to her forehead. "I'm just so lonely," she went on, laying it thick. "What's a gal to do?"

---------BAT---------

Bruce grumbled - they had done this song and dance before, and everytime he proved that he was weak. Maybe Alfred was wrong, just this once. He was betraying The Mission for a criminal! A very beautiful and enticing criminal, of course, but a criminal all the same!

"Not tonight, Selina." She stood, heels (how did she even run in those?) clicked against the roof as she moved to stand in front of him, trailing her claws down his chest and abdomen. "Oh, yes tonight, Bats. You know we're standing on a hotel, right? Oh, and I've already rented a room..."

Bruce fought the urge to run a hand down his face. Batman couldn't do that and, besides, the glove would feel terrible. He settled for pressing his lips together harder, barely suppressing a snarl. "Selina," he growled.

---------CAT---------

"C'mon, Bats, take off that cowl and lets get to know each other a little better. I promise the room isn't bugged, I already checked." She traced a claw across the cowl-line, gentle and barely there. His lips pressed tighter in response.

---------BAT---------

He couldn't. Shouldn't. It'd be a terrible idea. One of the worst he's had in recent years. A breach of security and too many responsibilities and way more commitment than he was used to. But...

"Okay." His voice was low and he pressed gloves hands to her waist just as her own came to his shoulders.

"Okay?" She sounded bewildered, as though she couldn't believe that had worked.

"Yes," he agreed and reiterated, easing her towards the edge of the building. "Which window?"

---------CAT---------

"The one just below this ledge."

She couldn't believe that worked, or at least that he had come with so little fighting. Wow.

He took hold of her waist with one strong hand and lowered them both through the predictably opened window, slipping her in first before following. It was a luxurious room considering the outside, all deep red walls golden lighting. Batman took it all in with a white-lensed gaze, gently clicking the window shut behind them. The rain quieted down to a low hum, and she took off her goggles.

She didn't want to tell him explicitly - he'd react better to a surprise. Give him less time to ruminate over it. She took off her clawed gloves and tried to comb her hair into something more human, The Batman smiling at her and going to the bathroom to fetch a towel.

Soon his gauntlets joined her gloves and he was softly drying her hair with a too-fluffy towel, their respective armours dripping rainwater all over the nice bed sheets. She hummed low in her throat and sat comfy, slowly undoing some of the less needed zippers.

"You going to take that cowl off, Batman?" she asked, her voice low and passive, not wanting to scare him off. If this was all that they would be doing then she was fine with that; it was sweet and intimate and told her that he cared. He tensed behind her but didn't stop drying, though, and so she let out a soft hum.

---------BAT---------

"I..."

He paused, for a moment, before continuing. "Yes. I will." She hummed again and he smiled, setting down the towel and nudging for her to turn and face him.

Now, Bruce Wayne wasn't publicly trans. He'd been a secret for much of his early childhood and had already come out by the time he was in the public eye. As far as the media knew, the Wayne's had never had a daughter. And so...

He unclipped the cowl, sliding it out of the buckles after the sensors on his wrists beeped. He shook out his mask-pressed hair, shooting Selina a Wayne grin. "Hi. I'm Bruce Wayne."

---------CAT---------

Her breath caught in her throat before it bubbled into a laugh. "Why, Mister Wayne, this certainly explains a lot." He let his grin drop into the softer Batman - Bruce - smile, and he cupped her face and kissed her. "Why, Miss Kyle, I'm glad to clear that up for you." She giggled again and pulled him closer, the rough edges of the bat-suit pressing into her shoulders.

"Well, Mister Wayne, I must say I have a few secrets of my own. See, I'm a very particular kind of lady," she started, looking at Bruce seriously. He nodded. "And i a very particular kind of man." She huffed a laugh and kissed him again. Of course the millionaire and Kevlar fetishist would have particulars in bed. "I doubt we are speaking on the same terms." He looked stunningly serious for a brief moment before melting again and kissing her back. "No, I doubt we are."

---------BAT---------

Bruce slid Selina's mask off of her face, her piercing eyes blinking a few times to adjust to the feeling. Something warm curled in his chest at the visual. He was too scared to give it a name.

He traced his bare thumb across her smile-lines, wordlessly pondering how on Earth he was going to do this. He wasn't... he wasn't a subtle man. He had loud cars and was far too dramatic for his own good. He spoke in no uncertain terms and rarely said something he didn't truly mean. He...

"Selina," he murmured against her lips before pulling away, tracing her cheek one more time. Hopefully not the last time. Although he hated to reason it that way, she was at least bisexual. There wouldn't be a problem. Would there?

---------CAT---------

She smiled at him reassuringly as he pulled away, not wanting to scare him. He wasn't very prone to vulnerability, no matter what sort. Even if this was necessary it was best to make the process smooth. Encourage the behaviour.

She brought her own hands up to cup his jawline, thumb pressed to his slight stubble. She didn't miss when she used to grow the same hair, not at all. Bruce seemed to steel himself, closing his eyes (warm and brown and hazel and coal all at once, like the night and like her favourite coffee) before reopening them and meeting her gaze.

"Selina I'm trans."

---------BAT---------

His heart thumped against his chest like a wild jackrabbit, loud and angry. His blood rushed in his head and he felt his lip quiver without his consent, fists tightening where they sat on his lap. His eyes had screwed themselves back shut in the rush of adrenaline, and he felt the pad of her thumb trace his brow.

---------CAT---------

Selina. Well, Selina could hardly keep from laughing! All of this build up. All of this stress...

She would never laugh at him, though. She knew what this was like - hell, she'd just been through it! And this vulnerability was rare, she would never shoot it down so needlessly. She pressed her lips to his forehead and shifted further into his lap.

"My love," she breathed, and his chest jumped with a sob. "Who all knows?"

---------BAT---------

Large hands came up to hold Selina's arms, desperate and clinging. He held back sobs... he was The Batman, damnit! But coming out had never become easier, even in his 30 some odd years of living.

"The family." His breathing evened out as he calmed himself, grip loosening. He hoped he hadn't bruised her.

---------CAT---------

Her heart jumped at his terminology. The family. As if she were part of it. "Who else?"

"Members of the Justice League. A few members of the League or Shadows." She nodded. Pressed another kiss to his brow line.

Oh, to hell with subtlety.

"Me too."

---------BAT---------

The brow she held beneath her lips furrowed. Me too? Me too as in she knew? That she (he???) was also trans???

"Huh?"

She laughed softly, peppering kissed all across his face. "Me. Too." She punctuated the words with small kisses, tangling her hands in his cowl-mussed hair. "I am too. The other way, obviously."

His heart did what he could only describe as a quadruple somersault as she leaned back on her haunches, looking at him with amusement dancing in her gaze. He wet his lips and looked her up and down, all of his social skills going out the window.

"Oh. Oh, uhm. You. You don't look it." This time she did laugh, warm and familiar. "You don't either, Bats. The Batman, transgender! Who would have thought." He smiled at her laughter, the sound contagious. This was.... well it was awfully unexpected, certainly. But it was good. Very good.

"We have so much to discuss," he muttered, hands trailing down to hold her waist. "How long have you known? How didn't I know? Are you on hormones? Who else knows?" He pressed his nose to her cheek, gently kissing the crease of her lips. They curled into a smile. "I knew you'd ask too many questions. You're so predictable." He huffed something between a scoff and a laugh, kissing her to shut her up. She pulled away and tangled her hands in his hair once more. "How about this. Fuck now, questions later?"

Bruce paused. Considered.

"Yeah."

And he kissed her again.

Chapter Text

Rebecca Martha Wayne was 5 years old, and he was a boy. 

Now, one may ask, how did he know this? He was born a girl and he was raised a girl; how can the heart long for what it has never had?

And the answer to that question was very simple.

Rebecca Martha Wayne was a boy, and he knew this because he hated being a girl. And he'd tried being neither, for a time, but he had also tried being a boy. He'd tried whispering to himself softly in his mirror, hair pulled up to look like it was cut short, and dressed in his suspenders and a boyish shirt.

He'd tried that and he had liked that. And, so, he must be a boy. Being a five year old boy was an awfully simple existence. Not much thinking had to be done. 

Now, B (for he had two in his name, so it must be the most important letter), as he had decided to call himself for now, wanted to share this with the world. But, as life would have it, his mother and father were overseas for some business something or other. And so he turned to Alfred.

"Alfred?" His voice was soft, though he had tried to make it deeper. Not that it did much.

"Yes, Miss Rebecca?" B pouted a little - he didn't like that name. All the same he walked up to where Al was working in the kitchen, all shy hand movements and shuffling feet. The butler looked down at him and quirked his brow, shutting the stove off and setting the pot aside. This must be important.

"Is there something you wish to share, young missus?" B twiddled his thumbs again. Alfred took in what he was wearing with a bit of curiosity. The khakis must have come from another student at school, for he was certain that the missus didn't own any of those. The polo shirt as well, as it hung loose on his frame.

"Yes," B said before clearing his throat. Then, louder, "Yes, there is." Alfred preened at the posh accent that be spoke in, knowing very well that the young miss was mirroring his tone. It was always very cute. "Very well. What is it?"

Chapter Text

It was.... Quiet.

Clark had made sure of it. This wasn't the sort of discussion he could just spring on Bruce out of nowhere. He... well he knew Bruce wasn't bigoted. But it was different! He knew it was different! And this was especially different! He wrung his hands as he floated just out of reach of the Batcave's sensors, nervous.

He knew what he was going to say. What he didn't know was how Bruce might react. What he would say. Clark would call him his best friend, even if he was closed off after these past years... Gosh, this was so stressful. He chewed on his lower lip and his eyes glanced around, watching Bruce through the cave. Damnit.

He just.. he just had to do it. Just go in. Just go in and do it. He was gonna. He was gonna!

He darted into the cave and rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly. Bruce kept at his computer, not even grunting in acknowledgment. Clark knew he wasn't working on anything important; this was... this was just how he was. Which was fine! This was fine, Clark was expecting this! He wasn't panicking at all.

"Bruce!" he started, floating a little bit closer. This was something that he loved about his friend; he could really be himself around him, powers and all. He liked being human, but his powers were an intrinsic part of who he was too, and it was nice to be able to be wholly himself. Even his mother told him to keep his feet on the ground. This... this was another level of understanding. And, hopefully, after tonight, there might be another level of undertsanding.

"Hn." Bruce grunted in response, hands pausing over the keys before continuing. He had attention, at least.

"I uhhh. Can I talk to you? It's uhh kind of important!" He wrung his hands again and pulled his legs up so that he was sitting cross legged. He floated over and smiled down at Bruce, who looked up at him with a white-lensed gaze. Clark couldn't see it, but he could feel the brow raise. Clark's smile turned more sheepish and he chuckled. "Yes. It's cowl-off serious."

Bruce tugged the cowl off and met Clark's eyes. Clark was struck by how deep they were, like wells of warm brown honey. They sparkled with untold intelligence, and Clark loved that they belonged to his best friend. The only one who really knew him. All of him. It was time to do this.

"So... Uh." Bruce raised his other brow, a ' Come on, hurry up ' signal. Clark chuckled a little. "Okay. I was looking through Krypton's databases about Kryptonian culture and customs and such and uhh." Bruce seemed interested, now, but that only made him more impatient. He finally spoke, grumbling out a terse, "Hurry up , Kent." Clark flushed and twiddled his fingers together.

"Well uh I've always felt like... like I didn't really fit in? And, I mean!" He held his hands up placatingly, grinning again, brows tipped up. "In more than the alien fashion! And I thought that was just part of the alien thing! And it is! Kind of!" Bruce sighed, but gestured for Clark to continue. "Well, on Krypton, gender was a construct. More than it is here. And I know you know it is here, since uhhh, since you're friends with Dr. October and you protect all people and uhhh, well." He took a pause, and Bruce let his brow twitch. Clark gulped. "I don't? I don't think I have a gender?" His voice was a squeak, and he ducked his head. "And it's, uh. It's more than just an alien thing. I was doing research with online forums and a lot of people had really similar experiences to mine. Not really feeling a connect with gender and the social norms tied to it. I don't really have masculine days or feminine days, I just have days but I'm not a man either? If that makes sense?"

Bruce, for his part, looked incredibly thoughtful. Clark took this as a sign to keep talking. "And I don't really want to use any different pronouns! He and him are still fine. I don't mind others either." He rambled, hoping to fill the space that Bruce seemed to be taking to process. "But I also don't think I'm a man and I just really wanted to share this with you and sorry if it seems unnecessary since nothing is changing I jus--"

Bruce lifted a hand with a low, "Clark." Clark stopped and looked up. His eyes were round and shiney with unshed tears - Bruce was the first he'd told. This was his first coming out and.. and it was raw. Difficult. Like he was pulling a piece of his soul out and cupping it in his hands for inspection. And Bruce had just stopped him and he sounded mad and oh Rao, Clark just wanted to run away and curl up forever--

"I accept you." His fitful ruminations came to screeching halt and he looked at Bruce with his sea-salt eyes meeting melted caramel. Bruce took a deep, steadying breath. And then.

"I'm not exactly cis myself."

Clark knew the term - knew it like the back of his hand. He'd spent ages on forums before he'd even dared to label himself, the pseudonym ' BananaMuffin ' keeping him warm as he typed on the Fortress' computer. Cis and trans and xenogender and so so much more. And Clark was pretty sure he was stalling because what?

"Y-Yo-You're not?" Bruce smirked and leaned back in his Bat-seat, crossing his legs neatly. "No. I am not. That's what I said, Smallville, do we need to get your superhearing checked?"

Clark sputtered, all but falling back into his bumbling reporter persona. "No! No I heard you just fine it's just a lot to take in is all!" Bruce shrugged. "You're not cis. I'm not cis. The trans are taking over. It's a decepticon world we're living in."

Blue eyes narrowed challengingly. Brown met them unflinchingly. 

"Did you just make a joke?"

Bruce shrugged again and Clark was overcome with the urge to hug him. He was... God, The Batman making a Transformers reference. The League would literally never believe him.

He laughed a little hysterically, letting it clench up his belly and rock his sides as he rolled about in the air. It slowly dissolved into fits of giggles, all the while Bruce looking on fondly. He wiped tears from his eyes and clutched his not-at-all burning sides as he calmed down.

"Okay. Okay, so you're not cis. How?"

Bruce shrugged (he was doing that a lot, but Clark knew he didn't like to talk sometimes) and grunted. "Trans. Male. He and him pronouns." Clark noticed the lack of mention of his original sex, and he cottoned on. "Oh! Okay. I'm surprised I didn't notice. You know." He gestured vaguely to his eyes, and Bruce rolled his own in response.

"Magic exists, you know. The one thing you're weak to?" Clark tilted his head like a confused dog, and Bruce scoffed. "League of Shadows. It was better than surgery and still is." He stood and started taking off the Batsuit, causing Clark to meep and cover his eyes. Regardless if he'd seen it before he was still an innocent farm-kid from Kansas who was vulnerable to attractive men. Bruce chuckled, low and deep before turning to show off his lack of top-surgery scars. "See?"

Clark raised a hand as if to touch, and Bruce nodded his permission. The Kryptonian ran his thumb reverently over his pec, and Bruce was clearly preening under the attention. He smiled up at him before sitting back down, and Bruce fully changed into more comfortable clothing to lounge in.

"Who else have you told?" He asked after he was seated again, pen twirling in his fingers as he rocked back and forth in his chair. Clark rolled over in the air, cape draping over his arm as he worried his lips again. "You're the first," he admitted a touch nervously. Bruce paused in his fidgeting before continuing, telling Clark that he'd realy caught him off guard. "I see."

"Sorry." Bruce screwed his face up, obviously confused. "What for?" Clark shrugged in response. He didn't know, really. The shorter man waved a hand, grumbling. "Don't apologise then. Dumbass."

And, well.

Who was Clark to say no to that?

Chapter Text

It was early evening in Gotham, and Bruce Wayne was on the run. 

His cheapest shoes (name-brand; everything else was tailored) beat against the sidewalk as he held his wool coat tighter around his shoulders, his breath coming out in ragged pants as he went. The binder he'd purchased discreetly pressed against his ribs, one size too small for him. His voice was wheezy and his legs were tired and God , how much longer did he have to keep running?

You see, Bruce Wayne was the heir to Wayne Enterprises, and he was a boy. Which, under normal circumstances, was more than okay. Great, actually. Fantastic. But these weren't normal circumstances.

Bruce Wayne hadn't been born Bruce Wayne. Or a boy. And that's where his predicament lay.

In a fit of teenage rage and pent up angst he'd made a rash decision and cut all of his hair off, just above his ears. Well, he hadn't done it - he'd had Alfred do it - but still. His parents would lose it and Alfred couldn't protect him. So, he'd left. He was good as disowned anyway. Why would the Wayne's want a freak as a child?

He breathed heavy and hard as he stopped, leaning against a chilly brick wall as he tried to catch his breath. The streets were cleared (Gotham winter wasn't one that many braved, and crime tended to dip during the cold months) and Bruce was thankful for it, not at all sure how he'd respond to a person approaching him. He rubbed his gloved hands together and pulled his cap further down over his ears, breathing frosted air over his fingers in an attempt to warm them. 

In an adjacent alleyway, a shadow moved.

---

Selina Kyle was a firecracker of a young lady; she knew what she wanted and she knew how to get it. A burglar of high calibre, and she'd just spotted her next target.

The young man was clearly wealthy, with his fancy wool overcoat and his cashmere hat. He was alone to boot. She'd been tailing him for about a block, now, and figured it was time to pounce. She slowly approached him from the opposite street, doing her best to look careless and flirty.

---

Bruce, for his part, was immediately suspicious of her. He wasn't used to women coming up to flirt with him (just yesterday he wasn't even he ) and people only ever approached each other in Gotham to mug them. He wrapped his coat around himself tighter, going on the defensive. He scrunched his nose up and looked her up and down, chin tipped up in a feigned contempt. 

"Hullo. Who are you?"

---

Selina brushed a gloved hand through her hair, smiling at the boy in a way she hoped was pretty. "Hey." He seemed to withdraw further and she mentally cursed. Usually the posh kids were easy targets...

"Who are you?" He'd asked, and she floundered for a short moment. Should she tell him? 

Well... building trust with a target couldn't hurt. "I'm Selina. Selina Kyle." The boy nodded a bit stiffly in response, still rubbing his hands together. He seemed to be thinking, and Selina let him, though she did sidle a little closer. She hoped it looked flirtatious. 

"I'm... Bruce Wayne."

---

"I'm Bruce Wayne." 

God, it was a relief to say that out loud. It was like finally breathing after being stuck underwater his whole life. He shook a little with the adrenaline. The girl seemed entirely unaffected and just smiled. "Bruce, huh? Nice. I like it." She took another step closer, and Bruce stepped away in response. "What's got you down in Old Gotham?"

He shrugged; he really didn't have an answer. Well. He could tell the truth. He was sure he could physically fight her off. He looked at their slight height difference and reconsidered. He could probably fight her off. Maybe.

"I ran away from home." Another shrug. "The usual."

---

She was a bit taken aback by that. She wasn't really sure what she was expecting, but it wasn't that. "Oh." 

The boy shrugged again and looked at the ground. Selina felt a little bad for wanting to steal from him. "What for?"

He looked back up at her, as though surprised she was still here. Or that she hadn't beaten him up and taken whatever money he had on him. "Uhm. I cut my hair."

Now that was surprising. Selina looked him up and down again and noticed all the little things. The feminine cut of all his clothing. The softness of his voice, not yet broken despite their age. Ahhhh. "Trans?"

---

Well, there goes his stealth.

He nodded, shuffling his feet. He hoped she wasn't bigoted, but the fact she could even tell was good. Meant she knew of it, at least. She seemed to consider for a minute, the pair standing in silence. Bruce had nowhere to be and wasn't really opposed to the company (they were less likely to get jumped if there were two of them) and she obviously wanted to say something more. So he waited.

"Me too."

---

Selina watched a variety of emotions filter across his face with mild amusement, one brow quirked. "The other way. Obviously." She flicked a strand of loose hair over her shoulder and cocked her head to the side. "C'mon. Let's get you somewhere warm, you're going to need it if you're on the streets now. I was gonna rob you but...' She looked him up and down again, and he had enough brains to look offended. She scuffed him across the shoulder and gestured again. "C'mon. Bruce."

---

Well... 

She seemed trustworthy enough and Bruce didn't really have anyone else to turn to. It was obvious that she was experienced and had been on the streets for a while and Bruce could tamp down his pride and see the value in that.  "Okay." 

She laughed and took his hand, leading him further into the heart of Old Gotham. Bruce watched the towering buildings drift by as they walked, feeling somehow safer when he was with her. She was larger than him, certainly, and she held a sort of confidence in herself that Bruce could only dream of. And it was clear by the way she spoke with other street rats that she was well respected. Bruce could... he could appreciate that.

---

"Where are we going?" 

His voice was soft and melodious, still holding onto that posh lilt. Selina bit back a giggle at the sound, but turned to look at him. "Cheap restaurant. Get you some hot chocolate, then we'll sit up on the roof and talk. No one's going to come looking for you, right?" 

He seemed to pause and consider this. "No. no one is."

And that was that.

---

No one was right? 

Alfred, maybe? But he wouldn't go against his parents, not when he was employed by them. And Bruce didn't even want to give himself false hope and think his parents would want him after this. It was better if he just left. So... no one was coming for him. 

Selina kept dragging him along, only stopping at a cozy looking small diner. It had a familial vibe, and Selina clearly knew the owners. She greeted them as Bruce stood to the side, withdrawn and worried. No one was going to come... right? He was having second thoughts.

---

Selina watched Bruce worriedly. He was getting less and less talkative, which really wasn't great. She remembered when she first left home all those years ago. The fear and anxiety that ate at her very soul. She hoped he wasn't going through that now. 

"Hey, Bruce?" He startled, and she smiled at him. "Let's go upstairs. To the roof. I got a blanket." She lifted the tattered thing up, but he didn't seem to care, nodding and following her up to the roof access. It was cold and snowflakes drifted as they perched themselves on the very edge, hands warm around Styrofoam cups. Selina draped the blanket over both their shoulders and took a long sip.

"So. Bruce Wayne. Like Wayne Enterprises?" He nodded, and took a sip of his own. "Yeah." Made sense as to why he ran away, then. Not that Selina knew the Waynes to be bigoted... but a big public family like that? She shuddered at the thought.

"And you just cut your hair. How's that feel, big man?" He flushed as she elbowed him gently, burying his nose in his cup again. He shrugged and she laughed gently, bumping him again. "I'm just teasing. I'm happy for you."

---

She laughed, and it sounded like bells. Bruce was pretty sure he was a little bit in love. 

Well, not that he'd really know what that felt like. He wasn't even sure if he was attracted to girls. Was he gay? Could he be gay? 

"What about you?" he asked, trying to cut off that train of thought. "You're trans too, right? Where do you get hormones?"

---

Well, she couldn't say she wasn't flattered. "I'm not on hormones." He looked surprised, if the way his brows shot up was anything to go by. She laughed again, pressing their shoulders together properly. "It's easier to get your voice to sound higher, I think. And I've had a lot of practice. What about you? Ever consider hormones?"

---

He shrugged. He hadn't even thought past getting his hair cut. God, how did anyone do it? This was a lot. How could he even get hormones? "I guess. Dunno how I'd get them." Selina huffed another laugh and rested her head on top of his. He blushed... but at least she couldn't see it. "I know some sellers," she said, clearly imagining it. "I could hook you up." He flushed harder at her word choice but nodded nonetheless. "That'd be cool."

The sun had set at this point, and the city glimmered beneath their feet. Old Gotham didn't have too many towers, and so the street lights were shiny and golden and beautiful against the onyx buildings. He wormed his hand out from beneath her shoulder and intertwined their fingers. Even if it wasn't romantic, not really - not so soon at least - they were still kindred spirits. She was as much of a boy as he was a girl, and he could appreciate that. Two wayward souls who carved their own ways.

His poetic wonderings were cut off by Alfred's frantic yelling, and it was obvious that he was on foot. His mother and father were nowhere to be seen... not that Bruce was surprised. And he was shouting that old terrible name and God Bruce didn't want to go back.

Selina's grip on his hand tightened, and she pulled him a little closer to her side. "Who's that?" she whispered. Bruce swallowed his fear and cleared his throat, replying, "Alfred. my butler. And godfather. I... he's like a father to me. He's the one who cut my hair." Selina nodded, and peeked over the edge. "Does he know?"

Bruce shook his head, gripping her hand ever tighter. "You should tell him." 

He knew, logically, that he should. Alfred would support him no matter what, he'd said as much when Bruce had said he liked girls. But this was more than just liking girls and boys, this was... It was different, Bruce was sure. And love only spanned so far... didn't it?" 

Selina stood and all but dragged him down the fire escape and down to the first floor, pushing him down towards his father figure. Bruce landed with a low ' oomph and dusted himself off, Alfred spotting him.

Bruce blocked that terrible awful name from his mind, embracing the butler in a warm hug. "Alfred." That name again and it grated on his ears. Bruce lifted his eyes and met Alfred's grey ones, both their brows furrowed. 

"Alfred. My name is Bruce."

---

Selina watched the pair talk for a moment, doing her best not to eavesdrop. She'd found a friend in the boy and she didn't want to violate his privacy so blatantly. Even if she was originally going to steal from him.

After a few moments he scampered back over to her, and she held out a hand that he took. He was a ruddy red from the cold and was smiling from ear to ear, causing her to smile back. He cleared his throat a little before looking up at her. "I told him." 

She smiled a bit wider; obviously it'd gone well. "I'm glad," she said, and she meant it. He seemed to pause, worrying his lip, and Selina tipped her head a little to the side. Just as she was about to ask him what was wrong...

---

Bruce wrapped Selina in a crushing hug, nose pressed against her collarbone. "Thank you," he muttered. She smelled like vanilla and coffee and cider and snow. He loved it. 

She gasped softly, and Bruce took her surprise as an opening to tuck a few hundred dollar bills into her back pocket. "Thank you," he said again. Then he stepped back and brushed himself off. "Now. You buy yourself something nice, young lady." She giggled and covered her face and he dropped the haughty act in favor of a smile. "I'm going to go home, now. But." And he took another pause, serious once more. "I will not forget this."

---

Selina nodded, and took a step back herself. "Alright, Mister Wayne. I'll hold you to your word." Another nod from him and he awkwardly wrung his hands. "Bye." She smiled, eyes crinkling as she gave him a little wave. "Bye." 

She knew she'd go home to a cheap apartment and a few cats but... but at least she had a friend. 

And maybe...

Just maybe...

They'd meet again.

Chapter Text

Thomas and Martha Wayne were dead, and Bruce was all alone. 

Well... not entirely alone.

It'd been a year, since those pearls had his the alley floor. It felt like it was just yesterday for Bruce. He could still remember how shaky Alfred was. How they'd clung to each other like lifelines. How tired he'd felt all the damned time.

It'd been a year, and Bruce was supposed to be moving on. He supposed he was, in small ways. Alfred had become Father in his mind. Dad . Even if they didn't say it often. There were the little things. The small things.

Alfred pressing Bruce's lapels down with a tut and a little scolding, "There you go, my boy." Bruce, pushing his face into pristine suits and sobbing, clutching at Alfred's shoulders. The gentle lulling lilt of Alfred reading him bed-time stories (even if he was getting a bit old for it).

Everything about the butler (though he'd dropped the title and rehired some of the staff) screamed Father to Bruce. The way he held Bruce's hand. The way he made Bruce lunch. The way he started attending the PTA meetings and started signing all of Bruce's school forms. It... it wasn't like replacing. Alfred wasn't replacing Thomas. It was like... passing on the torch.

Now that Bruce was getting a little older he was starting to look into hormones. He knew he wasn't old enough just yet but.. but there was no such thing as being too prepared. And Alfred... Alfred, the saint, had been nothing less than supportive. Bruce's parents had already gotten his birth certificate changed (sometimes Bruce enjoyed being rich) and school wasn't terrible for him so, naturally, this was the next step. Bruce didn't want to develop anything girly, after all. He was sure he'd rather die.

“Alfred?” The older man turned from his desk, having taken up shop in his old servant’s office. He may not be a servant anymore but it was still his. Bruce just thought of it as Alfred’s office.

“Yes, Master Bruce?” Bruce was still fighting him on that one, and so he pouted a little. “Bruce,” he insisted, but took a step into the office anyway. Alf was dressed in a comfy looking sweater vest; that is to say he was dressed as far down and Bruce had ever seen. Alfred had always preferred suits, if those old grainy photos from his young adulthood were to be believed. “And, uh… I wanted to ask if you could pick me up early from school and take me to the doctors. I already made an appointment…” 

Alfred’s brows quirked, and he smiled a little. He pulled out Bruce’s smaller seat and patted it, gesturing for the boy to come over, and he did. Bruce hopped up and cross his legs at the ankle, looking up at his father curiously. Alf, for his part, pressed a kiss to his boy’s forehead, smiling a little wider. “Of course, of course.” He cupped Bruce’s little cheeks in weathered hands, looking at his son like he’d hung the moon. “You didn’t want to ask me first?” 

Bruce looked down, twiddling his thumbs as Alfred started to tuck some of his papers away. “I was worried you’d say no.” Alfred huffed a little in response, putting his glasses away now. Bruce knew that he’d never deny him something like that but…

“It’s alright, lad. I understand.” 

And the best part?

Bruce knew he meant it.

The little heir jumped off of his seat and hugged his dad’s middle, earning a pat on the head for his trouble. He was just about to exit the room before he paused, remembering something.

“Oh. And Alfred?”

Alf hummed, and Bruce grinned.

“I trashed the kitchen.” He bolted out of the room, hearing Alfred yell as he thumped his knee against the bottom of the desk. A fondly irritated “You little bugger !” trailed after him and Bruce knew he wasn’t alone. 

He wouldn’t be alone ever again.

Chapter Text

Alfred smacked Bruce's hand away from his neck, grumbling as he continued the stitch. Bruce never had been able to sit still for these sorts of procedures despite the consistency of it.

Bruce wrung his hands instead, biting at his lip and hissing every time Alfred pulled the suture a little too tight.

One of his rogues had discovered he was trans.

It had been Ivy, who he had suspected had known. Her particular brand of villainy had always been mixed up with libido, and he was sure she'd always wondered why he didn't react the same way as cis male recipients, antidote or not. She'd just proven it by taking off his chest armour today, and, if her gasp was anything to go by, she'd recognised his top-surgery scars.

She'd let him go after that, repelled by his newest 'weed killer' he'd been wanting to try out. Not without leaving him a nasty slash on the back of his neck, though. Of course.

"Fuck!" Alfred smacked him on the back of his head softly, and Bruce murmured and apology even as the old butler swiped some analgesic cream over it. Bruce slumped a little in place, and Alfred gave a little hum.

"So. Miss Ivy found out," he started, knowing his son was too stubborn to actually start a discussion of his own free will. Bruce grunted, rubbing his hands across his face. "Yeah. She did." Alfre hummed in response, pulling the stitch a little tighter. Bruce jolted and glared, but quickly backed down at the look Alfred gave him.

"And what, pray tell, are you going to do about it?" Bruce could tell Alfred was trying to tell him something but, for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what. "I'll... I don't know. There's too many variables... what if she tells the other Rogues?! I mean, they won't be able to tie it back to my identity but... I..."

Alfred finished the suture and bonked Bruce on the head again, much to the man's chagrin. He grumbled and rubbed the back of his head in mild annoyance, looking at his Father like the petulant child he was. "Well, what do you suggest I do, then? Talk to her?"

Alfred gave a more pleased hum and nodded. "Precisely. I'm sure miss Ivy will be more than understanding..."

TBC

Chapter Text

Bruce groaned loudly, one hand pressed to his stomach.

It was late afternoon in the Manor, and sunlight streamed through Bruce's curtains. He knew he really should get up... but...

He'd gotten his period just as patrol ended (miraculous timing, he knew) and had been absolutely miserable since. Alfred had given him a kiss on the head which had made things better for a while, but then his father had left to go grocery shopping; something about "being prepared." Bruce was too out of it to care.

Although his period very rarely showed up it still reared its ugly head... well... periodically. It was a once a year deal now and he was willing to suffer through it even if it wasn't ideal. He could still hate it though.

He rolled over in bed, grumbling at the pain in his stomach. He could deal with normal, wound-oriented pain, but this was another beast. He hated the sticky feeling of pads but despised the intrusive sensation of tampons more. It was a lose-lose situation for everyone, but mostly him. He didn't even hear when the Manor's door opened.

"I'm home!" Bruce jolted at the sound before calming. He hasn't expected Dick today; either he'd slept for another two days or he was paying a surprise visit. He was pretty sure it was the latter.

"Padre?" Dick poked his head into the bedroom before grinning, Bruce smiling back despite the agony occurring between his legs. "Hey, chum," he managed, lifting an arm. His eldest nestled in and hugged him warmly, Bruce swiping a kiss over his forehead. "What's got you here so early?"

"Grandpa texted, said you were having the thing." Bruce hummed in response before burying his face back into his pillow. "Yeah. Won't be much fun hanging out with me though. Don't you have work in Blüdhaven?" Dick laughed at his father's muffled response, patting the mess of dark hair lovingly. "Well, now we get to pamper you like you did us when we were sick." Bruce grumbled again before pausing. We?

"You in here old man?!" Jason's voice was thundering, his footsteps even more so. Out of all his children, Jason had gotten closest to his height and stature and it was especially noticeable when he was being purposefully obnoxious. He smirked as he entered the bedroom, pointing finger guns at his dad.

"Pops!" Bruce smiled wearily at him, rolling over and moving to sit up. Jason was quick to stop him, though, pressing him back down into the sheets and cuddling up to his side. Dick left with a tittering laugh to go do something else, leaving Bruce alone with his second eldest.

"What are you doing here, Jaylad?" Jason kissed Bruce's cheek and he brushed a hand through his white tuft of hair in response. Jason smiled, a genuine one this time. "Heard you were feeling' like shit. Thought I'd come poke fun." Bruce huffed a laugh, flicking Jason's ear. His son laughed back at him, rubbing at it with two fingers. "Kidding. Alf asked the whole gang to keep you company. Something about how this is the worst since you started T. You feeling alright?"

Bruce wasn't, to be sure, but he couldn't say if this was the worst or not. To be fair, he tried to forget them immediately so maybe it was. He shrugged in response and flipped the pillow to the cold side, rolling back over to hide his face in it.

"Alright, well goodnight I guess. Not that you'll be getting much sleep. We may have left the nest but the whole flock is on its way home now." God, Bruce hoped not. Wasn't Tim with the Titans? And wasn't Damian at the Kent farm? He didn't like his children seeing him like this; he felt weak. He was supposed to be dad, for gods sake. His kids shouldn't be taking care of him!

Jason didn't care about his inner turmoil, though. He just got up and fixed both their hair and left, calling out to his older brother to stop trashing the kitchen.

Bruce floated for a while, Dick coming back to feed him painkillers after a little. He finally got up to change his pad and was about to go back to sulking when Tim arrived.

He came in through the cave, still wiping his eyes of black paint as he came into say hi. He smiled softly and sat with Bruce, who was now nestling himself into the sheets. The Bat sat up to give Tim a kiss on the head, though, smiling into the black locks.

"Tim," he hummed, his son playing with the sheets as he settled. "I'm guessing you're here for the same reason as your brothers?" His more soft spoken son nodded, threading their hands together even as Bruce laid down. "I'm getting your Wayne Enterprises work done for you. Thank me later." Bruce snorted before grimacing at the flood it caused. Tim made a face as well, likely inferring why he looked so upset. "You just rest, Dad. The rest of us'll be here in a bit to say hi too. I think the de-- Damian just got dropped off by Clark."

Bruce assumed he still had an earpiece in, and nodded. "Tell him he can come in. Keep your brothers in line for me, okay?" He winked, and Tim rolled his eyes but leaned up to give him his forehead kiss before leaving.

Damian was, as expected, the next to arrive. He was wearing the same thing he'd been wearing when he'd left yesterday, and in his hand was a sketchbook. Bruce smiled and Damian gave him a stilted one back, walking over to the bedside and thrusting the book into his face.

"I have drawn you a picture, baba." Bruce raised a brow but scooted to sit up, taking the book and looking. It was a drawing of him and Alfred; Bruce was pretty sure Dick had snapped the photo last week at family dinner. He felt tears prick the corners of his eyes ("Damn hormones," he'd say later) as he gave his youngest a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you, Damian. I love it. I'm very proud."

He ignored the way his son's cheeks flushed as he left the room, back and steps stiff. He yelled for his brothers as he made his way out into the hall, feet speeding up to the run. Bruce rolled his eyes fondly and cuddled back in, excited for his other wayward children to find their ways home.

Barbara, Stephanie, and Cassie were the next to arrive, presumably having been out together. They'd disappeared to the Clocktower after their own patrol, but Bruce was still glad to see them despite the short time they'd been apart. He sat up fully to give each of his girls a kiss on their heads, giving Cass an extra kiss on the cheek, making her giggle.

"How are you girls doing?" Barbara rolled her chair back and forth in a gesture Bruce had come to recognise as similar to rocking back and forth on ones feet, a habit she'd no doubt picked up from Dick. "Oh, you know. Stopping crime. Punching villains. Being smarter than you. The usual." Bruce scoffed and bopped her nose, making her snort and cover it, looking fondly annoyed. "That's what you get." She grumbled, muttering about how The Worlds Greatest Detective ought to be more mature.

Cass sat on the bed, kicking her feet as she signed a simple 'Good.' Bruce was glad to hear it. He turned to his old Robin, tilting his head. "And you?" Steph was munching on a still-frozen waffle, presumably snatched from the boys when they weren't looking. She shrugged. "What Babs said. The usual." He bopped her on the nose too before gathering them all up in a hug and sending them on their way, promising to join them as soon as he was feeling less shitty.

Duke was the last to arrive, since he'd been at school for his clubs. Late afternoon had finally trailed into night and his most recent ward pulled his headphone out and hugged his dad. "Hey, Bruce."

He smiled and ruffled his son's hair, leaning back. "How was school, kiddo?" Duke shrugged. "Fine. Heard life went to crap. Thought you might be bleeding out." Bruce shrugged right back at him, smirking. "In a way. Go join your siblings, I'm feeling better now. I'll be out in a sec." Duke smiled and, like his siblings before him, gave his dad a kiss on the head. "Okay. See ya."

He left, and Bruce finally stood, adjusting his pants and shirt as he began to get ready to greet his whole brood. Hopefully they hadn't burned anything down.

And, yeah. His period sucked. It sucked hard. But...

Forehead kisses could make anything better.

Chapter Text

“Mister Wayne!”

Bruce waltzed into the gala with a wide smile, arms curled around some model’s waist. He didn’t remember her name, though he knew she only knew his because he was Bruce Wayne. She cared about as much as he did, only hanging onto his shoulder like a particularly annoying parrot because of his name and money.

“Mister Wayne, Mister Wayne! Any comments about the governor’s latest order about trans students? Mister Wayne?” He waved off reporters despite wanting to respond; it didn’t fit with Brucie’s character. He hated having to play the idiot playboy sometimes. He did have opinions, thank you very much.

As they entered the more private area of the gala he dropped his hand from the woman’s waist, taking a flute of champagne from one of the many servers. His eyes skimmed across the ballroom as he searched for a reporter to give a statement to - the faster he got that done the faster he could leave. Just a quick interview and some requisite socializing and he could go home and have a cup of tea with Alfred. 

His heart skipped along with his eyes as he caught Clark Kent’s eye, a smirk slipping across his lips. He deposited his flute on another tray and started to weave his way through the crowd, happy to note that his friend looked at least a little annoyed. 

“Mister Kent! Fancy seeing you here!” He gave the other man a kiss on the back of his hand, lingering for a moment longer than was necessary. Clark gave him a look that spoke of an eye-roll without explicitly being one. “How are you?” 

Clark fixed his tie and slipped into his bumbling reporter role, blushing. Though Bruce was sure a bit of it was real. “Oh, Mister Wayne! It’s an honour to see you, I’m doing well! How are you?” Bruce shrugged with one shoulder, smirking a little. “You know. Good, for the most part. What’s got you here? Punishment from White?” 

Bruce liked that their secret identities gave them enough wiggle room to have genuine conversation. He hooked an arm around Clark’s waist as he started to respond, guiding them to the nearest dry bar. “Yeah, it was this or obis. I didn’t know you’d be here!” 

Oh, now he was just lying. 

“So fortunate!” He ordered himself a ginger ale and Clark a madras. “Don’t you have any questions to ask me?” 

Clark got more serious at that, sitting them both at the bar. “In fact I do. Care to comment on the new governor’s order?” Bruce huffed, but nodded. He did. “Well. You know me. Being trans and all. I think it’s bullshit, and you can quote me on that.” Clark nodded and scribbled that down as Bruce leaned back on his stool. “I’m adding more funding to LGBTQ+ organizations and support and, well. You know I’ve never liked that governor.” Then, discreetly, “I’m sure our Dark Knight has some opinions on him too. Y’know, Batman is trans. He told me himself.” 

Clark looked just about done with him at that point and smiled fondly. “Thank you for your time, Mister Wayne. Want me to link you the article when it’s done?” Bruce rested his chin in his hand and raised a brow. “Why do I even ask.” Then it was Clark’s turn to give him a kiss on the cheek, leaving Bruce a blushing mess as he walked off. “I’ll text it to you. Bye, Mister Wayne.” 

Aw, damn him. 

Chapter Text

"Talk to her," he says.

As if it were that easy!

---

Bruce felt every bit like the petulant child he was, muttering under his breath as he jumped from roof to roof, careful but sure on his feet as he went. Gotham flew by in a stream of dark ink and scattered gold, the swell of love and loyalty in Bruce's chest nearly rivalling his nerves.

Because, yes , The Batman was nervous.

Ivy was one of his more reasonable Rogues, and he, more often than not, agreed with her goals if not her execution. She even liked Bruce Wayne, since Bruce did his damnedest to be environmentally friendly, even at the cost of financial gain. And Batman was as green as he could be with the limitations that such high tech had.

So he wasn't scared , per se. Not of her. But he was scared of what she might think; what she might say. He cursed under his breath as he finally landed in front of the warehouse that was serving as her and Harley's current base. Old, sea-rusted metal was curled with vines and clown decals and honestly , couldn't villains be more discreet? Not that he had room to talk, what with the bat theme. 

He walked in with relative ease - these vines were sentient enough to sense threats, and, by extension, non-threats. Harley was nowhere to be seen (by the docks, admiring scenery without her beau, Bruce knew) and so Bruce basically had complete clearance of the whole building.

Ivy was (quite casually, Bruce noticed - had she been expecting him?) sitting on a ratty looking couch in the middle of the room. Dressed in her usual flora-based garb, and looking at him with a raised brow.

"Batman. I was wondering when you'd show up." She tipped her chin upwards almost seductively, but Bruce knew better. Not here, not now.

He shifted on his treaded feet, grunting a bit before clearing his throat and nodding. "Yeah. I..." 

His immediate reaction was anger and sarcasm - 'get your threats over now, Isley, tell me what you want in order for me to keep your mouth shut' - but Bruce wasn't a hotshot anymore. He had the tact to deal with this.

And Alfred would be mad if he was rude anyway.

"I know you know," he finally settled on, though it felt flat considering the gravity of the situation. Ivy hummed and tilted her head again-- oh, she wanted him to sit.

He walked over stiltedly, sitting down with as much grace as a baby deer. He hadn't expected this, and it showed. He turned to look at her, white lenses of the cowl giving away nothing. She smiled demurely. 

"I know you know I know," she responded circularly, previously kind smile morphing into a smirk. "But I also know something else."

Well, that wasn't specific. He raised a brow on instinct before recalling that she couldn't see it. "And that is..?"

"Take off that armour of yours." He scowled; why? She's already seen it. But he obliged, carefully peeling the plates off before turning back to her, scowling. His gloved hands clenched for a moment before he forced himself to relax. " Why am I doing this, Ivy?"

She raised a leaf-covered hand to silence him, vines curling and approaching them both. He tensed, preparing for an attack as they slowly unfurled. Within them is a small stack of files. Bruce glared at them.

"Open them," Ivy scoffed, the vines scooting closer. Bruce carefully plucked them from the nest and flicked through them. What...

"No."

"Yes."

The files held the proof of existence of a man who never was. Just like the woman he never was. He looked down at the files, an image of Ivy pre-transition settled upon them. He looked back up to her. "You don't look trans."

She snorted - honest to God snorted - and covered her face. "Smooth, Bats. Put your damn armour back on and get out of my base."

He placed the files back and set about replacing his armour, looking at her mildly. She stared back with the same look in her eye - kinship. They were like souls, harbouring the same hurt. He clipped the last piece into its slot and turned fully to look at her.

"Your secret is safe with me, Batman. Go. Harley will be back soon." Carefully, he nodded, pulling out his grapple gun and aiming. Shooting. Disappearing into the shadows.

He watched as Harley returned, loudly telling Pamela how nice the water was. Ivy amused her, green eyes darting to where Bruce hid, continuing to do so long after he left, his cape but a swirl of ink in the night. 

He knew Alfred knew something.

Chapter Text

Bruce and Clark in Smallville (Alf is entertaining Martha in Gotham) and Clark is showing Bruce lightning bugs for the first time. He catches one gently in his hands, showing Bruce how it glows. Bruce gently kisses the side of his mouth. "Do you want to catch one in a jar to look at, Bruce?" Bruce looks Clark up and down. "I think I've caught enough glowing exotic beauties to last me a lifetime." Clark flushes, letting the fly go and turning away to cover his face. "Fireflies aren't exotic--" is all he manages to stammer out through his embarrassment, and Bruce holds him by the waist and kisses him softly.

Chapter Text

Bruce groaned as he made his way towards his quarters on the Watchtower, one hand pressed beneath his armpit. He'd... he'd bound in the Batsuit. Yeah. Yeah, he usually didn't. He wasn’t supposed to. But... there was something about that pain in the very base of his head - that treacherous feeling that told him he wasn't a real man. That they knew. That his chest wasn't flat enough. It... it was painful. And, so, he'd bound. In the Batsuit. Damnit.

The actual tissue of his chest hurt. And the stuff around it. He hated thinking about... that. God, this was terrible. Horrible. His back ached too. And his neck. The chest area was so sensitive. This sucked. And, no, he wasn't pouting.

The door to his small dorm slid open and he stepped in with a huff, gauntlets coming up to pull his cowl off. The wrist sensors beeped, and...

"Batmaaaaaaa-- is this a bad time?"

Just his luck. He had the voice modulator installed in the cowl itself (contrary to popular belief, he didn't do the voice himself; not anymore) and it took time to get it back on. They'd just finished a mission, no reason for another... 

"Yes, Superman?" he ground out, letting his voice dip down into the old Batman growl, fists clenching where he held the cowl.

"I was just checking in on you?" Kal said it like a question, and Bruce was sure that if he turned he'd see the Kyrptonian looking placating. 

"Well. You've checked." His grip tightened further.

"I uh. You've seemed off? And the uhhhh muscles in your chest look really inflamed? Are you okay?"

"Yes." Bruce moved to step into the room, but Kal caught his shoulder. 

"Batman... I'm worried. This was... it's sudden. Your chest has never looked like it does now. Did something happen? B..?" 

Fucking boyscouts and their sad (adorable) voices. He drew in a hissed breath before putting on a spare domino mask, grumbling. He ran a hand through his hair and turned back to Kal.

Superman smiled and floated into the room, the door closing behind him. The two founders walked over to the sparse bed, comfortable but minimalist. Bruce sat down.

"This..." He took a deep breath, running a gauntlet-clad hand down his face before taking the glove off. "This is hard to explain."

Kal's eyes were big and wide and oh-so-blue, and he smiled encouragingly. Bruce grimaced. "Okay. Don't look at me like that." A glare, and he continued, Kal looking like a kicked puppy, "I'm. I have a... condition..."

Superman looked very unconvinced at that, a sort of dead-pan stare on his face. "B... I think you would have told us. And.. this is new. No way it's a condition. I may not be a detective like you but... I mean..."

Bruce groaned. Damned Kryptonians. Damned X-Ray vision. Fucking yellow sun. He buried his face in his hands, threading his fingers through sweaty hair. 

"Fine. You win. I'm trans, Kal, is that what you wanted to hear?" Just like every time he'd come out before, blood rushed in his ears and his hands started to shake a little. Would the Kryptonian even know what that was? Bruce wasn't sure if he had a human identity or not (he was pretty sure he did, but he respected his privacy. Contrary to popular belief) and even then...

"Oh!" Bruce was snapped from his reverie by Kal's exclamation white lensed eyes snapping up to meet blue. The alien had the audacity to blush, looking nervous. "Oh. Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. Uhm, it's just that Lois and Jimmy are trans too. I didn't, uh, know before they befriended me at wor-- Oh. Oh gosh uhhh." He was bright red now, and Bruce would laugh at him if he didn't feel so bad. Obviously Kal hadn't meant to talk about his civilian life.

"Clark Kent, Daily Planet? Friends with Jimmy Olsen and Lois Lane?" Bruce knew who Clark was (evidently better than he expected) and had run into him a few times. Kal - Clark - squeaked but nodded, still looking bashful. Bruce barely spent a moment of deliberation before pulling off the domino and running a hand through his hair again. If it were possible, Clark looked like he'd have turned even redder.

"B- B- B- Bruce Wayne?" Bruce smiled softly - his real smile. "Hey, Clark. Good thing these walls are soundproof, huh?" Clark nodded, eyes still wide and shocked. "Wow," he breathed. Was... was Superman star-struck?

"Clark?" He jumped, nearly flying out of his seat. "You were telling me about Lois and Jimmy." 

"R-Right! Right!" He moved to push up glasses that weren't there and managed to look even more embarrassed. "Uh, well, I'm uh. Not exactly cis myself? I mean - I'm not exactly trans, I think Kryptonian biology just isn’t the same, and I’m not exactly a man and I’m not exactly anything else --" Bruce raised a hand and cut him off in his increasingly distressed rambling. "You're fine. I accept you. Any pronoun changes?" Clark shook his head, and continued. "Uhm, well, uh, anyway, Jimmy was tellin' me all 'bout this thang in Metropolis where trans people who bind get real bad pains and uhh. Uh there's like massages 'n stuff to help em and so I watched some of them vidyas about it and learned it? ‘N there’s plen’y of workshops, ‘n stuff I attended too. So I could help Jimmy out. Not as like a sexual thang, just between friends and I'm rambling ain't I?"

Bruce would have laughed if it wasn't so endearing. "You were," he huffed, smiling a bit wider. "So you wanted to try these massages on me?" Clark turned bright red once more (he'd returned to a healthier shade of tan but it jumped right back up) and twiddled his fingers. "Aw, gee, yeah, I would, I mean, since I came here to help and now I know the problem and I can help, but I totally understand if you don't feel comf--"

He let himself laugh a bit, a low chuckle that rumbled pleasantly through the base of his chest. "Clark. Yes, I'm comfortable. Let me get the armour off. Lock the door for me?" Clark seemed excited, and did as he asked quicker than the speed of light. Then he stood there awkwardly. "Sh-Should I look away, Mr. Way-- Bruce?"

Bruce quirked a brow, smirking a Brucie smirk. "It's nothing you're not going to see, Mr. Kent. Do what you want." Clark looked like steam ought to be coming out of his ears, "O-Oh yeah, 'course, mhm." 

Bruce went about unclipping his armour, humming that song that Alfred always hummed when he cleaned. It was a small comfort as he navigated this new territory, this new section of their friendship. It amazed him how complex relationships could be, really. He absent-mindedly went to undo another section of his armour before realising he couldn’t reach. He glanced over his shoulder at Superman, huffing softly. "Ah, hey, Clark, could you get this clip for me?" Alfred was always there to get that one… 

"Oh! Sure! Mhm!" Clark was still red, but he pushed the pin and the armour fell apart in neat chunks that Bruce stashed on his armour stand. He stretched his arms slightly to get feeling back into them (the armour was heavy) before sitting back down. "Thanks."

Bruce sighed, taking off his thin black shirt (soaked through with sweat at this point) and slowly unclipped his binder. Angry red lines marked the crease at the bottom, his chest aching and his ribs screaming with relief as the pressure abated. He rolled his shoulders again and coughed a bit to clear any fluid, tiredness seeping into his bones. Clark looked on worriedly.

His chest wasn't large - if anything he could easily pass it off as just a little bit of flab, just a bit of extra skin and tissue seated just at the base of his pecs. If he weren't so perfectly cut they would barely look out of place. He did his best to ignore his state of undress, though, looking up at Clark and pretending nothing was wrong. "So. These massages. What exactly do they entail?"

Clark perked up, smiling sheepishly again. "Oh, it's just some simple things to help with posture and muscle pain and stuff." Bruce rolled his shoulders and laid down on the small cot, propping his chin onto the solitary pillow almost casually. Honeyed eyes sparkled, almost challengingly. "Okay. Work your magic, then."

The Kryptonian blushed and situated himself firmly on the small of Bruce's back, the other man hissing in pain as he settled. Even that ached, though he was pretty sure he was just tense in general. Clark's hands were warm as they pushed against his shoulders, and Bruce forced himself to relax as the other hero began to massage.

Clark, for his part, was absolutely enamoured with the planes of muscle and scar tissue that were laid before him. Bruce's back was indistinguishable from any cis man's (and though Clark hated himself for comparing he truly couldn't help himself) and his muscles... Rao, his muscles .

He barely suppressed a shudder as he ran his thumbs along Bruce's spine, pressing gently and rolling the lean flesh beneath the pads of his fingers. Clark was pretty sure he was having a queer panic right now. Like, 99% sure. Bruce sighed and Clark nearly 'meep'-ed in response. Was his voice always so deep and smooth?

Bruce was very much savouring the massage, sort of tuning the world out and just letting his friend work. He hadn't had someone do this for him in a long time, and the relief it provided was much appreciated. He was glad that Kryptonians ran a few degrees hotter than humans at that moment, the warmth really seeping into his bones. 

"Thanks," he muttered into the pillow, back arching a bit like a cat. Clark was reminded, then, that the man beneath him (oh Rao he was beneath him!) was truly just a lazing big cat, lethal and sleek. His throat ran dry and he paused in the massage for a split second. Thankfully Bruce didn’t seem to notice - too caught up in his pampering to care. 

Bruce floated as Clark worked, taking the time to mediate. He hadn’t been able to relax in a while, and it was nice to be able to trust himself fully around Superman. No, not Superman. Clark . 

He was sure he’d have figured it out sooner if he hadn’t been so bent on letting Kal have his civilian identity be a private matter. Though that was neither here nor there when said civilian identity was giving him the massage of his life. 

Tension and aches seemed to melt away under careful hands, never pushing too hard. It was obvious that he was experienced in doing this; Bruce wouldn’t be at all surprised if he’d volunteered his hands once or twice in the past. It seemed like a very Big Blue thing to do… any power he had he wanted to share it. He smiled and sighed again, settling in further. 

Clark all but lost his shit at that, carefully flipping the near catatonic Bruce over and hoping against all hope that he wouldn’t open his eyes and see how red and sweaty his partner had gotten. That’d blow over well. “Why are you so nervous Clark?” “Oh you’re just basically human perfection in male form and I’m very attracted to you. Might even be a little in love with you.” Bruce would probably pull out his green K then and there. 

The skin of his chest was an angry red, lines from the binder crossing all over it. His breathing was laboured even without it, and it was obvious that he was wheezing. Clark winced in sympathy and gently pressed his hands down against the flesh, kneading. He ran his thumbs across the surprisingly firm lines of his pecs, fingers pressing gently. Bruce hissed and cracked a blue eye just the slightest bit open as he winced. Clark panicked and slapped a hand over Bruce’s eyes.

“...Clark.” This time he did meep, and promptly slapped a hand over his mouth as well. “Clark, what are you doing?” 

He slowly parted his fingers that were firmly pressed against his lips, swallowing thickly. “..Nothing?” 

Bruce sighed. It was obvious that he was fairly used to weird antics, and he simply licked his lips and tipped his chin up. Clark nearly fainted. 

“Okay. Why is your hand over my eyes?” He spoke as if to a child, slow and deliberate. Clark felt both patronised and slightly glad for it, as he wasn’t sure his processing systems were really at full firing speed. Not with Bruce Wayne spread out beneath him. 

“Because… you opened them?” he answered truthfully, if not hesitantly. Bruce licked his lips again, clearly considering his options. “Okay. Could you possibly remove your hand?” 

Clark shook his head before remembering that Bruce couldn’t see the movement. “No.” Bruce’s lips pressed into a thin line, and Clark could imagine the deadpan look they were getting. “Uhm… promise you won’t peek?”

Bruce took a deep breath through his nose, clearly trying to keep hold on whatever strands of sanity remained. “Yes, Clark. I promise I won’t look.” Clark was pretty sure he was getting  Bat-glared.

He slowly removed his hands, and, true to form, Bruce kept his eyes relaxed and shut. Clark let out a sigh of relief and returned to his task, eyes never leaving the softly fluttering lids of Bruce’s own. He took deep, calming breaths of his own as he continued his work, methodical and professional. He was being awkward! He had to just… zone out. Bruce couldn’t know that Clark liked him like that. Though, really, who wouldn’t like him like that? Finding out your best friend was actually voted Sexiest Man Alive twice wasn’t easy. 

Silence passed easily for a time, the pair settling back into something of a routine until Bruce shifted again.

Bruce, eyes still closed, pursed his lips slightly and spoke, voice husky, “Why…” He cleared his throat, trying again, “Why me?” 

Why me?

Clark leaned back, all but straddling Bruce, making him open his eyes. Clark couldn’t even bring himself to care.

“What do you mean?” 

Warm pink crept up Bruce’s chest and neck, which Clark watched curiously. He turned his head to the side, pressing his nose into the pillow. “I… What about the other League Members?” You get along with them more , he wanted to say. Clark screwed up his face, completely ceasing his massaging. “What about them?” He knew what Bruce was implying, but he wanted the man to say it himself, to hear how nonsensical it was. 

The Bat scowled, now, and Clark could practically see the tension lines reforming. “Why didn’t you check up on them?” he gritted out, finally. 

Clark took a deep, solidifying breath, closing his eyes before giving Bruce an almost patronising look. Deep blue shimmered with undisguised concern for his friend, and Bruce repaid it with obvious anger. Clark knew he’d react like this, though, far too used to The Bat’s repressed nature. He placed the flats of his hands across the planes of Bruce’s chest, a resolute look on his face.

“Bruce, you and I both know that the rest of the team are okay. You checked them just as thoroughly as I did. You know I wouldn’t be here if another team member was injured.” Another deep breath, his eyes fluttering shut once more. As if he couldn’t bear to look at Bruce as he spoke his next words. “And you and I both know I care about you. More than words can say. You.. You doubt your value, Bruce. Stop it. Stop trying to get me to ‘admit’ that you mean nothing to me. You don’t. So just… stop.” He opened his eyes, looking down at Bruce. He still looked angry. Clark had expected this, though - anger was his immediate reaction to any form of affection. It always has been. To clamp down the steel walls of his heart to keep himself from getting hurt. 

So Clark just leaned back down and kept massaging.

Bruce was silent for the rest of the time, quietly processing and rolling over Clark’s words in his head. Clark knew this, and gave him the needed time. He knew his friend well. Knew he needed his time. So he provided it.

After a while Clark finally stood, smiling softly at Bruce, who was finally breathing normally. His skin had settled to a light pink, a major improvement from the red it had sustained earlier. Clark was frankly quite proud of his achievement. 

“Well…” He gestured a bit awkwardly, shuffling on his feet. He felt every bit the bumbling reporter in front of the scandalously gorgeous businessman, even if said businessman was frowning at him from a half-removed suit of bat armour. 

Bruce sat up and tested his muscles, brows raising at how limber he felt. He hadn’t felt this young in a while. He’d honestly say maybe since he first started being Batman. “Holy shit , Clark.”

Said alien beamed, floating a few inches off the ground. Bruce grunted at him in response, almost as if to say ‘ Stop looking so pleased with yourself, Boy Scout. ’ Clark could practically hear it.

“I’ll… see you at the next League meeting?” Bruce hadn’t offered him any respite, simply sitting there in his half-armour. Clark felt a touch awkward. He should probably leave, right? 

Bruce shook his head, though, clearing his throat and looking Clark in the eye. It was obvious, then, that he’d been thinking the whole time rather than just sitting. “No, no wait.”

Clark stopped, slowly returning tothe ground. “Wait?”

Another nod, and Bruce wrung his hands together. Once. Twice. Bit his lip, looking all too uncertain. It was beginning to put Clark on edge; he’d never seen The Bat so vulnerable. He wasn’t sure how to respond to it.

“Now that we know each other’s secret identities.” He looked down at the floor, as if it would give him the answer to life’s greatest questions. “Would you like to go out for coffee? As Clark and Bruce?”

If Clark found the sudden third-person reference to be off-putting, he didn’t comment on it. Just smiled wider. “Sure. Friday? I’m off.” 

Bruce nodded again, daring to glance up at his friend. “F-Friday, then.” He got the distinct sensation that their places had been switched, with him the bumbling one now. 

“Friday, then!” 

And then he was gone. Bruce buried his face in his hands, taking a deep breath and sighing, feeling a blush crawling up his back towards his face. He’d just asked Clark on a date, and he wasn’t even sure if Clark knew it was a date. He had to know, right? His attraction was so obvious (and Bruce dealt in attraction). But he really couldn’t be sure. Goddamnit.

A quiet ping from his communicator. 

Big Blue

- It’s a date? (Just now)

Bruce smiled.

Big Blue

- It’s a date? (Just now)

(Just now) It’s a date. -

Maybe he should bind in the Batsuit more often.