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Bruce is sitting at the console of the Watchtower when he hears two sets of footsteps approaching him.
After all this time it's easy to identify the individuals as Clark and Diana, and he doesn't bother turning around or stopping what he's in the middle of, knowing that the pair will be content to wait him out. Some of the few who have that ability, really, and it's that reason alone that has Bruce not trying to drag out what he's working on, instead wrapping up his current line of thinking before turning in his chair to face them.
Both Clark and Diana are smiling at him, Clark with that warm, fond one that comes out at the strangest of times and Diana with something nearer to amusement. Both familiar expressions to Bruce, and his heart most definitely does not thud just a little bit harder at the sight.
"Everything clear?" Clark asks, tipping his chin towards the console to show what he means.
Bruce nods, briefly glancing back at the screen. "Relatively quiet. Regular crime, no imminent alien threats."
Then he waits for one of them to tell him why they're there. Neither are scheduled for monitor duty tonight—that would be Bruce and then Barry with the next shift, in a few hours—so there's no real reason for either of them to be on the Watchtower. And while this wouldn't be the first time they've interrupted him on the job for more...intimate reasons, they know him well enough to know he doesn't like making a habit of that.
"We got reservations at that place in New York you like for Saturday evening," Diana tells him. "Does six work for you?"
Bruce blinks in surprise; not quite at the invitation, because they've certainly gone out to dinner together before, but at the presumptive phrasing. Usually one of them will ask if he's free, or when works for him, or tell him that they have some planned excursion and wondered if he might join. The way Diana phrased that was like the three of them going out on Saturday was already a done deal, and he just has to confirm the time.
But, not one to be caught off-guard for long, Bruce nods a confirmation. If they want to take him out Saturday, then that's fine by him. He doesn't have any plans. "Yes, six is good."
They both smile again, Clark bright and beaming, Diana softer. Bruce's heart flutters, and the way Clark's smile widens just a little as he obviously hears the change makes Bruce want to curse himself, forcing his face to not heat through sheer force of will.
"Great!" Clark says. "We'll meet you there, then?"
Bruce nods again. Diana nods back. "We'll leave you to your work."
Then they're gone, Bruce staring after them and unable to stop himself from ruminating on the whole situation.
The three of them have been doing this...thing for a while now. This friends with benefits type arrangement. And it's good, Bruce won't deny that. He very much enjoys sleeping with Clark and Diana, has from the first time the three of them fell into bed together after a battle, all of their adrenaline pumping and pushing them towards something that might not have happened otherwise.
But the problem with the situation is that Bruce wants—more, from them. He...wants them, all of them, not just sleeping together from time to time and grabbing dinner whenever they feel like catching up.
He just. Can't have that. Because that's not what this is, not what it's supposed to be. They care about him of course—they haven't spent so many years fighting side by side to feel indifferent towards each other—but that's not the same as what Bruce is feeling. It will never be what Bruce is feeling.
Because they're...so much more than he can ever be. Superman and Wonder Woman, standing for goodness in a way that Batman doesn't even come close to. Clark and Diana, two of the kindest, most selfless people Bruce has ever met, and Bruce who is so closed off and critical, always pessimistic. It's just not something that fits in anyway. The three of them wouldn't work like that. And he could never bring them down the way he would.
He keeps waiting for the day that they announce they're dating, for the day that he truly becomes just a fun thing they do together. Or maybe these trysts would end all together; that might be better, honestly. Less painful. Less awkward.
But he's definitely selfish enough to keep clinging to the pieces of them he can have until they tell him it's over.
Bruce forces himself to turn back around, to pick back up what he'd been working on before the interruption. He compartmentalizes, shoving all thoughts of Clark and Diana and their strange arrangement into the corner of his mind, refocusing on the task at hand.
"You can't wear that."
Bruce glances up, locking eyes with Jason in the mirror. His son stands in the doorway of Bruce's bedroom, arms folded across his chest and leaning casually against the doorjamb. His face is twisted into a thoroughly unimpressed expression, a look that would be amusing on his tiny thirteen-year-old face if not for the confusion Bruce feels.
"What's wrong with my outfit?" he asks.
Bruce thinks he looks rather good, actually. His black cashmere turtleneck and tailored gray slacks are just about as high-end as they get, and hug his frame in a way that Bruce knows from years of flirting is appealing and attractive. It's also casual enough for going out to dinner with friends, but nice enough to match the restaurant they'll be eating in.
Jason shakes his head, like Bruce has done something particularly boneheaded, and pushes off the doorjamb to walk further in the room, eyeing Bruce's outfit like it personally offends him.
"Come on, Bruce, you gotta pick something nicer. You have like a gazillion suits—go put on one of those."
Bruce withholds a sigh. "Jason, I'm not going to wear a suit."
"You should!" Jason argues. "You can't show up looking so casual, you gotta put in some effort for them. Clark'll definitely be wearing a suit to this. Don't want to be upstaged by a reporter, do you?"
Amusement curves Bruce's lips upward. He doesn't know why Jason cares so much about this, as he's never paid much attention to the clothes Bruce has worn in the past, but it seems like this is something his son isn't going to just let go of, and he probably isn't wrong about Clark. Though, to be honest, the casual outfit Bruce is currently wearing probably costs more than the entire collection of Clark's suits.
Still, Bruce sighs and nods his acquiescence, heading back over to his closet to pick something else out to appease Jason. The pair of them have just started to move past Jason's initial skittishness around him, so Bruce probably is giving in faster than he might do for someone else—Jason not only showing an interest in Bruce's personal life, but entering his room and pushing for something he wants? That's extraordinary progress from where they first started out.
He looks for a while—it had taken him quite a while in the first place to choose the outfit he has on—before settling on a simple black suit and white button-down, forgoing a tie. He clips a watch around his wrist and pulls on a pair of shiny black dress shoes, then heads back out into his room for Jason's inspection.
Jason narrows his eyes thoughtfully, looking Bruce over like this is an extremely important decision, and then nods decisively. "Much better. Now you look like you actually give a shit about this dinner."
Bruce doesn't bother asking why Jason cares so much about Bruce going out to dinner with Clark and Diana, partially because he isn't sure he'll like the answer and partially because he doesn't want to risk scaring Jason's attention off with pointless questions.
Instead, he ruffles the boy's hair as he walks past, smirking at the outraged squawk that gets him in response, and heads downstairs.
Alfred is in the entryway, and once he sees Bruce he says, "All set to go then, Sir?"
Bruce nods, running a hand through his hair and straightening his jacket as Alfred moves to open the front door and escort him outside.
"Have fun!" Jason calls from where he's standing on the stairs, a wicked grin on his face. "But, you know, not too much fun."
Bruce shoots him a look, but doesn't offer any chastisement for the comment, instead shutting the door firmly between them and heading for the car.
The drive is a relatively quiet one, though one that slows down exponentially when they hit New York City's Saturday night traffic. He planned ahead for that though, so they're making good time and aren't late by the time they finally reach the restaurant.
He bids Alfred goodbye, and ducks out of the car and into the restaurant, buttoning his suit jacket by habit now that he's standing. The maitre d' is currently busy with a couple, but it isn't long before they're being escorted by a waitress to their table and Bruce steps up with a charming Brucie Wayne smile.
"Hi there, reservation for Wayne?"
That tends to be what the three of them put it under, when coming to nicer places. Not that this is as fancy as a lot of the places Bruce eats out in, but the name 'Wayne' is still far more likely to get a quick and easy reservation than a random 'Kent' or 'Prince'.
The maitre d' doesn't falter or hesitate the way many do when faced with Bruce, instead just smiling politely back and saying, "Yes, Sir, right this way. One of the other members of your party has already arrived."
He's led through an array of tables, and spots Diana almost immediately at one of the quiet tables in the back, the ones by the windows that look out over a small courtyard with a fountain. His favorite section in one of his favorite restaurants—they certainly picked well, if they want him to have a good night. Though Bruce can't tell if it's pointed or just them deciding it's his turn to eat at a place he loves, after that silly diner Clark chose last time.
And Diana looks stunning, of course. In a blue dress that makes her eyes pop and her hair twisted up in an elegant knot, she looks every bit the demigod princess she is, regal and powerful and otherworldly. Bruce finds himself smiling automatically, and she smiles back at him, a warm expression that combined with everything else nearly takes Bruce's breath away.
He steps forward, bending down to press a kiss to her cheek before settling in the seat across from her. He doesn't hesitate to tell her, "You look stunning."
Diana inclines her head in thanks. "Thank you, Bruce. You look rather dashing yourself."
Bruce crooks a wry smile. "Jason was quite opinionated about my outfit for the night. He seemed satisfied with the final result, so I'm glad I pass muster."
"More than pass muster," another voice says, and Bruce glances up to see Clark arriving at the table. He thanks the waitress who escorted him and then sits down, running a hand through his hair when his Superman curl falls forward. "You both look like a million bucks."
Clark is wearing what Bruce knows is his best suit, far better than the too-big ones he wears to work. This one fits him far better, showing off his broad shoulders in a very appealing way. To Bruce's trained eye it's still leagues in quality below what Bruce can afford, but Clark makes it look extraordinarily good.
"Sorry I'm late," Clark adds, shrugging off his coat. "Duty called, you know?"
"Not late," Bruce disagrees, easily understanding the excuse as one superman-related, and not to the general connotation of 'duty calling'. "I only just arrived myself. How was the flight?"
From there, the three of them settle easily into conversation, topics flowing from one thing to the next in between placing their orders and receiving their food.
This part always has been so easy with them. Bruce has never exactly been a star at socializing, at least not while being himself, but Clark and Diana wipe that away completely. Talking to them is as easy as breathing, and within five minutes Bruce already feels perfectly relaxed and with a warm sort of contentment settling in his gut.
Everything with them is easy, really. Everything from simple conversation to working together in battle to how they come together in the bedroom. Bruce doesn't feel like he has to be anything other than what he is with them. Years ago he never would've imagined forming this kind of trust with other people, so sure that he was in this fight alone and always would be. But with them, and Dick and Jason—it makes him believe that maybe he's not. Maybe he never has been.
A ridiculous notion, really. Because at the end of the day they're all going to go their separate ways, maybe with a fuck and maybe without, and nothing's ever going to change. It's never going to be more than this. He can never have more than this.
And he's just enough of a masochist to settle for occasionally getting to join them in bed.
"Gotta say you're definitely right about this place," Clark says, eyelids slipping closed with delight as he takes another bite of his food. "No matter what I get, it's always darn good here, and the view is amazing considering we're on the ground floor in the middle of Manhattan."
Bruce's gaze goes out the window at the reminder, a corner of his mouth tilting up at the beautiful garden, the stone benches, the fountain. The courtyard is boxed in by four different restaurants, and they all work together to keep it as beautiful as it can be for their customers. They're certainly effective; the view is always so peaceful, so lovely, so green. A sight that is rare to find in the city proper.
"I'm glad you approve," Bruce says, dipping his chin in a shallow nod. Across from him, Diana mouths 'darn', and Bruce's lips twitch at the subtle teasing of their farm boy.
"Shall we do presents?" Diana asks, looking between the pair of them with a smile.
Bruce simply blinks at her, utterly confused, but Clark nods enthusiastically and reaches into the pockets of his coat, pulling out two clumsily wrapped presents. Diana brings out two as well, wrapped far more neatly with precise corners. And then they both look at Bruce.
Clark immediately smirks when Bruce doesn't move, an amused and teasing expression, and says, "Come on, Bruce, you think we're going to believe you didn't get us anything? You always are dropping off random gifts for us when there's no reason for it, you've got to have something planned for an occasion like this."
Bruce stares back at them, trying to figure out what he missed. He doesn't understand. Gifts? Occasion like this? Yes Clark is right Bruce has a tendency to give them things when he comes across things he thought they might like, but they've never acted like he needed to do that, and especially not in such an organized fashion like this.
Has he forgotten something important? Is it one of their birthdays? No, that wouldn't make sense for giving gifts to multiple people. Is it...some sort of League thing? No, then it would be more than the three of them here.
The longer he flounders for some sort of explanation, the more the smiles fade off of their faces and shift into something far more like concern. "Bruce?" Clark asks. "Are you okay?"
"It's alright if you didn't get us anything," Diana says gently. "You give us so much and so freely—that is more than enough."
But he doesn't understand. Why is this even a topic of conversation? Why is it happening? He's racking his brain, trying to find anything that might warrant the exchange of gifts, and he's coming up completely blank.
"I don't understand," Bruce finds himself saying; admitting to this flaw is probably better than sitting and staring at them in silence. "Why are you...?"
The concern melts from their faces, and with it a portion of Bruce's anxiety. Clark crooks an amused grin at him, huffing a laugh, and says, "Figures you'd forget the date; your head is probably so wrapped up in a million cases that it completely slipped your mind."
"It's our anniversary, Bruce," Diana adds, a twinkle of amusement in her eyes to match Clark's smile.
Bruce blinks at them. Anniversary? Of...of the first time they slept together? Is that something people commemorate in arrangements like this? It has been six months, he supposes, but he didn't think—it didn't seem like something people celebrate. Not that he's ever had a long-lasting arrangement such as this before. So maybe people do do it? That's nice, if a little strange.
"My apologies," Bruce says, trying to kickstart his brain again. "I didn't realize that was something people commemorated."
Clark's smile doesn't fade, but his brows do furrow a little in what seems like confusion. "You mean celebrate six months? I think that's pretty standard for relationships, but maybe most people just do celebrations at the year mark?"
All of Bruce's thoughts jerk to a screeching halt at that word choice—relationship. Like what the three of them are doing is more than just friends with benefits. Which is...ridiculous, isn't it? That's absurd. They couldn't possibly mean that.
"Relationship," Bruce echoes, unable to get his mind to move on from that. "Of what kind?"
The furrow between Clark's brows deepen, confusion even more evident, but Diana's expression shifts into something of sad understanding.
"Our relationship," Diana says gently. "The romantic and physical one the three of us have been in for the past six months. Our committed relationship."
Bruce draws in a slow breath through his nose, staving off the panic. They—committed relationship? With him? They actually think...they actually want...?
"So this isn't—" Bruce starts, and then clears his throat, feeling awkward and vulnerable and way too bare. "This isn't just...sex?"
Clark's eyes go wide. Diana's sadness only deepens, and she reaches across the table, putting her hand on top of Bruce's. "No, love. It's not just sex. We've been under the impression that we've all been dating since that first night. I can see that wasn't your interpretation of the events. The only question is if this is a good or bad development to you."
Of course it's good. Of course it's—they not only want him that way, but thought they'd been that way for six months? Bruce kept telling himself it could never work, would never work, but for six months it apparently has been. They've thought they were dating him for half of an entire year, and had no complaints about the way he was acting or engaging with them. They've been content with him as he is, in a relationship.
It might not say great things about his mental state, how blown away he is by that. But blown away he is.
"Good development," he gets out, stilted and struggling but still truthful and spoken. "I...yes, good development."
They both smile at him, so obviously pleased, and that warm glow from before gets even stronger in Bruce's chest. Clark's happy laughter breaks the tension, and he reaches over to take Bruce's free hand, lifting it to press a kiss to his knuckles.
"Happy six month anniversary, B," he says warmly, and Bruce's heart thuds in response, still not in any way used to this yet.
"Happy six months," Bruce echoes, squeezing both of their hands.
Neither of them comment when he refuses to let go for quite a while more.