Work Text:
Clark didn’t know him.
The man he loved cared deeply for had thrown him halfway across the memorial park into a police cruiser and then stood over him prepared to strike again, and there had been no recognition in his eyes.
Bruce’s mind kept playing those few moments over and over on a loop. It would probably have hurt less if it seemed like Clark’s memories had been wiped completely. But just as those eyes he had come to know so well, so intimately, had started to burn again, Lois Lane had appeared like the universe itself had summoned her. And Bruce had watched as Clark’s entire body softened in her presence, as he embraced her.
Her wild and uncertain green eyes had met Bruce’s own, silently asking for guidance, but he had just shaken his head. Better to let Clark follow his instincts and feel safe than potentially overwhelm him with memories.
It didn’t matter that, as he watched the two of them disappear into the sky over Metropolis, Bruce had felt his heart split all over again.
Maybe Arthur was right. Maybe this had all been a huge mistake.
Lois sat on the porch of the Kent farm with her cell phone in her hands, watching Clark standing in the middle of the corn field, staring into the distance and running his hands through the stalks. Bruce had called just minutes after they had touched down on Kansas soil. He had told her he thought it was best if they played along with whatever was in Clark’s head for the time being. That there was no way to know how much damage there was to his memories, or what further damage trying to push him to remember could cause.
She didn’t know how much she agreed with that, but she didn’t know enough about memory loss to argue. And though they were no longer romantically involved, she still cared deeply about Clark. The last thing she wanted to do was cause him any harm.
When Bruce had asked her to take care of Clark and to keep him updated on any changes, there had been a vulnerability and an undercurrent of hurt in his voice that she didn’t think anyone had heard from billionaire and known rake Bruce Wayne. Anyone except for Clark.
The sound of wheels on gravel brought her head up, and she watched a wide-eyed Martha climb from her truck. There were tears in the older woman’s eyes as she came to stand at the foot of the steps, one hand over her mouth as she gazed at her resurrected son.
“Is it… is it really him?”
Lois huffed out a slightly wet laugh, and stood to join Martha, linking her hand with the other woman’s.
“It’s really him. I don’t know how they did it, but they did. They brought him back.”
Martha sobbed once, then hurried through the corn towards Clark. Lois followed at a slower pace, her heart swelling in her chest at the tender smile on Clark’s face when he turned to gather his mother into his arms. God, she couldn’t believe he was here. Couldn’t believe this was possible. It felt like the world had righted itself again.
She watched Martha run her hands over Clark’s face and hair and shoulders, her eyes drinking in the sight of her son. “I can’t believe this. Oh Clark, I’ve missed you so much.”
“I’m here, Mom. It’s okay.”
Martha gave him another teary smile, and then confusion flashed on her face as she looked around, smile turning down as her eyes settled on Lois. “But, where’s—”
Lois subtly shook her head, mouthing later behind Clark’s back. Martha still looked confused, but she didn’t press. But Clark, ever observant, had picked up on the silent exchange and his head tilted in that old familiar way. “Where’s who, Mom?”
Thankfully, Martha shook her head and waved it off. “Not important, honey. Now why don’t we find you some shoes, and you can let your mother make you some dinner, hm?
Bruce knew better than to think he would be left alone with his thoughts. He’d come to realize over the course of their relationship, both professional and personal, that Diana was as observant to his moods as Clark had been. A fact that made her an extremely effective partner and a good friend. Which was something that he wouldn’t have been able to admit even to himself before… well, before.
She found him sitting at the edge of the dock staring out over the lake, bare feet trailing in the water. In a move that was pure Diana and completely unsurprising, she didn’t hesitate to remove her boots and roll up the legs of her pants to join him. One of the things Bruce adored most about the Amazon, and one of the first things she had taught him, was that she wasn’t afraid to be vulnerable. She didn’t think twice about putting her toes in the water, or leaning against him to provide the comfort she thought he needed.
“Are you alright, Bruce?”
He sighed, running a hand over his face. “He didn’t… he didn’t even know me. There was nothing in his eyes as we fought. Even when we fought before, he was never that aggressive. This time, it was like none of our time together even happened. There was no recognition, no…”
“Love?”
“Yeah. It was like he’d never seen me before.”
He felt rather than saw one of Diana’s delicate hands slide across his thigh to take his own limp one and squeeze. Bruce hesitated for a moment, then squeezed back, clinging to her like a lifeline. He still struggled to show this open side of himself, still kept it hidden under the lazy playboy mask in public at all times. But it was easier with Diana, with Alfred, with Barry and Victor.
With Clark most of all.
“He’ll remember, Bruce. I’ve seen the love he has for you shining in his eyes. You don’t forget a love like that, trust me. It is there, just… hidden by his mind.”
Bruce finally looked at her, the easy confidence on Diana’s face soothing that hurt place inside of him, just a little. But the tiny twinge of hope wasn’t enough to dispel the fear that he was going to lose the love he’d been searching so desperately for for so long all over again.
“And if he doesn’t? If he doesn’t regain those memories?”
She smiled softly, bringing her free hand up to the back of his neck to tug him closer and press their foreheads together.
“Then you let him fall in love with you all over again.”
Bruce slept fitfully that night, dreams becoming nightmares. Lois not showing up in time and Clark delivering the killing blow, his beautiful face twisted in rage. Clark marrying Lois with Bruce watching from the shadows. Clark joining Darkseid and delivering all of them directly into the monster’s hands.
There were six missed calls from Martha when he finally dragged his tired and aching body from his bed. He didn’t bother with a shirt when he went out to the dock to return her calls, torturing himself with the deep purple bruises left by Clark’s fists.
“Bruce? Where are you?”
He wasn’t sure what answer she expected from him. “At the lake? Healing, with the others. Did Lois not explain what happened?”
“She didn’t have the chance. The three of us were together all night, but she just took him back to her apartment so this is the first moment I’ve had to myself. Why wasn’t it you here with him?”
Bruce sighed, the sound ragged and rough as he covered his eyes with one big hand.
“He doesn’t remember me.”
Martha made soothing noises, and some of the tension in his shoulders seeped away. He had been startled, at first, at how the older woman welcomed and accepted him with open arms the first time Clark had taken him out to meet her. It had been strange, after going decades without any kind of mother figure in his life. And he had just started to get used to it when they’d lost Clark. It had been a miracle that she hadn’t abandoned him when Clark died, and their continued relationship had been one of the only things keeping him afloat the last six months.
“What are you going to do?”
He sighed again, then sat up to stare out across the lake. Clark had loved being here by the water, and Bruce had spent what most people would probably consider an unhealthy amount of time sitting here on the end of the dock since Clark’s death.
“For the moment? Nothing. Diana thinks his memories will come back on their own, though she’s not a doctor and neither am I. I just… don’t want to push him. I don’t want to—”
“Get your hopes up?”
Bruce huffed out a laugh. “How do you always do that?”
He could hear the smile in Martha’s voice when she answered. “Know what you’re thinking? Seems to be a Kent family trait. The uncanny ability to read the mind of the great Bruce Wayne.”
“Hmm. Clark told you he could read my mind, did he?”
“Oh honey, you can’t hide anything from someone who loves you like that.”
Bruce’s heart seized in his chest. They had never said those words, not to each other, but Clark was the closest he had ever come to realizing what being in love really meant. He swallowed a few times to try and clear the emotion clogging his throat, but his voice still came out rough.
“Did he… did he say that he…?”
“Not in so many words, no. But Clark’s always been easy to read. He was never one to hide what he was feeling. He loves you, Bruce. Don’t give up on that, you hear me?”
He chuckled, feeling lighter than he had the day before, something that felt like hope blossoming in the pit of his stomach. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good boy. Now, I’m expecting you for dinner tonight. Don’t make me wait.”
Something was missing. Or, maybe it was some one ? Lois had been cagey, only telling him that they thought he was missing roughly a year of his memory. She told him that he had died fighting a monster created by Lex Luthor alongside Batman, the vigilante from Gotham, and a woman she called Diana. The same people, with three other men, who had brought him back somehow. The same people that he had fought back against in a confused rage.
He remembered standing over Batman, fear and pain in the other man’s eyes, and something that felt strangely like guilt and sorrow brewing in his own gut and attempting to override that rage. Then Lois appeared. And the haze in his brain had settled, and everything had felt right.
Almost.
Her hand in his had felt… not wrong exactly, but off somehow. There had been a flash, like his brain was telling him the hand holding his own should be bigger. Stronger. And when she hugged him, leaning down to embrace her didn’t feel right. Like he should have been the one reaching up instead.
And then the police had shown up, and Clark was on high alert again. Lois had begged him to just go, please Clark let’s just go.
Now, while Lois slept, he wandered around the apartment. Even though she had told him he’d only been gone six months, strangely there were none of his things anywhere in the apartment. Not even tucked away in boxes. And Lois was nothing if not sentimental. She would have kept at least some mementos for long after he was gone.
And he couldn’t forget the strange confusion on his mother’s face back at the farm. The way she’d looked around like she expected someone else to be with them. The way she and Lois had whispered about someone named Bruce when they thought he was out of the room.
Something, or someone, was being kept from him, and he wanted to know why.
He waited until they were eating breakfast to confront Lois about his suspicions.
“You didn’t keep any of my things.”
She startled, choking on the sip of coffee she’d just taken, and coughed a minute before blinking up at him. “What do you mean?”
Clark shrugged, taking a sip of his own coffee—
How the hell do you drink it so sweet? Good thing you can’t get diabetes.
The gruff, unfamiliar voice in his head threw him for a loop. It almost felt like a memory, like a conversation he’d had with someone he was supposed to know. Was this the voice of the person he couldn’t remember?
“Clark?”
He blinked, surprised to see Lois staring at him with concern. How many times had she called his name before he’d noticed? He shook off the fuzzy feeling creeping into his brain, leaning forward to brace his forearms on the table. “I didn’t see any of my clothes, no photos. Not even packed into boxes.”
“You went through my stuff?”
“Something doesn’t feel right, Lois. I know there’s something you and mom aren’t telling me.”
Lois sat back, blowing air out of her face. She stared at her coffee cup, fingers tapping on the porcelain. Clark got the sense that she couldn’t meet his eyes, a sure sign that she was hiding something. Her tells were second nature to him, after so much time together.
“Lois—”
“We’re just trying to protect you. It’s bad enough that you’re missing such a large chunk of time. No one wants to risk any further damage by trying to shove those memories at you.”
So they were keeping something from him. He thought about the flashes of a stranger in his head: thicker hands, a deeper voice, the rasp of stubble against his skin. Had he been unfaithful to Lois with this unknown man? Had she left him? Was that why there was nothing of his to be found anywhere in her home?
“Lois, did I… did I hurt you? Was there someone else? You don’t have to keep that from me, I—”
Lois got out of her seat, hurrying around the table to crouch beside him and take his hand. “No, Clark. No. You’re too good of a person to ever do something like that. But…” She sighed, then squeezed his hand and smiled gently. “But there was someone else. Someone you were clearly in love with, and I could tell you were hurting by denying it. So we talked, like the adults we are, and we agreed to end things between us so that you could pursue this relationship. And you were so happy. And I was happy for you.”
“Lois…”
“It’s okay. Honestly. You and I, we still loved each other, just not in that way anymore. You’re never getting rid of me, Clark. You’re my best friend.”
Clark reached out and pulled Lois up and into his arms. This, embracing her with a love that he could now name, felt right. He could now see the romantic love he thought he felt for her as the shade it was, a shade over the things he couldn’t remember.
“Who is he, Lois?”
She leaned back, shock written all over her face. “How do you know it’s a man?”
He sighed, closing his eyes as he tried to reach into his memory. But all he could grasp were the flashes he’d already seen, the rest blocked by some kind of wall. “I’ve gotten flashes of him. His hands, his voice. It’s deep, and rough.”
Lois snorted, shaking her head. “I think he has a habit of making it deeper than he really is, to seem more intimidating.”
“Who is he?”
The redhead pulled out of his embrace, taking his face between her hands and smiling warmly. “He’s a good man, Clark. He tries hard to pretend otherwise, but I think you saw through to the heart of him immediately. Your mother loves him too, and she’s a better judge of character than anyone I’ve ever met.”
“That still doesn’t tell me who he is.”
But Lois just shook her head and went back to sit across from him. “Your friends think your memories will come back on their own. Let them. Remembering him for yourself will be much more rewarding, and probably less confusing, than me just telling you. And besides all that, he’s still hurting, Clark. He lost you, and now you’re back and don’t remember him? The last thing he needs is you coming around asking him a hundred questions and reopening those wounds. Give it time. Give him time.”
Clark tapped his fingers on the table. What she was saying made sense, even if the seemingly impenetrable wall in his brain felt like an itch he couldn’t help but scratch at. Having such an important piece of himself missing felt like all the years he’d spent not knowing who he really was or where he came from. And he hadn’t truly settled until he’d finally known.
His father had helped him find those answers. Maybe his mother could help him find these ones.
He knew his mother wasn’t alone the minute he touched down at the edge of the farm. He could hear quiet conversation coming from inside, small talk with no real substance alongside the clink of silverware. His mother’s voice was easily recognizable, but the deeper, rolling tones of an unfamiliar man were foreign to him.
Or maybe, not as foreign as he thought.
Clark focused harder on the man’s voice. The words were irrelevant, but the cadence, the gruff texture he could practically feel against his skin sent a shiver down his spine. Could this be the voice he’d been hearing in the quick flashes of memory?
He needed to find out. Now.
Jogging up the front steps to the farmhouse, he called out as he opened the door. “Mom? You home?”
Martha’s voice came from deeper in the house, from the direction of the formal dining room. “Back here, Clark! No need to shout!”
As he rounded the corner into the spacious room, he could see the man with his back to the doorway tense hard where he was seated across from Martha, who was smiling brightly at Clark. The man had thick dark hair curling gently at the ends, shot through with silver. Clark had to clench his fist against the urge to run his fingers through the strands, an action that somehow felt insane and instinctual at the same time.
What the hell was happening to him?
“Clark, this is Bruce Wayne.”
Bruce Wayne? The Bruce Wayne? When had his mother become friendly enough with the CEO of Wayne Enterprises to have him over for dinner? And what made a multi-billionaire want to come for dinner on a rural Kansas farm?
If Clark could get a headache, this would probably be the moment it started.
“I actually need to be going, Martha. Thank you for dinner. It was lovely. I don’t get the chance for a nice home cooked meal very often.”
The older man stood, and his mother rose as well, looking concerned. “Oh, Bruce, you don’t have to rush out just because—”
Clark could hear Wayne’s pulse rising, and he took a step back. Was this man afraid of him? They’d never even met. How could a man with more money than God be afraid of some nobody journalist from the sticks?
Wayne turned, and when their eyes met, it felt like all of time and space stopped around them.
His eyes. Clark knew those eyes. Yesterday he had stared down into those same brown eyes, full of fear and an emotion that could only be the deepest grief. But it wasn’t just yesterday. He had seen those eyes so many times before, full of laughter and anger and sadness and tenderness and…
Love.
He couldn’t speak. Could barely think. Couldn’t even react at all when Bruce gently pushed past him with a polite excuse me and slipped out the door. There was the sound of an expensive engine roaring to life and speeding away. And then there was only silence in the farmhouse.
“Clark—”
It felt like someone grabbed both sides of his head and tore it apart like a coconut. The pain was like nothing he’d ever felt before, searing down the back of his neck and spreading out. It was so intense, it brought him to his knees.
The last thing he heard was his mother screaming his name before everything went black.
Bruce barely slept after having dinner at the Kent farm. Hearing Clark’s voice had been… difficult, to say the least. And maybe he had left quicker than strictly necessary, but he couldn’t sit around and pretend they were strangers. He wasn’t ready for that. Maybe, someday, if he had to. But not now.
So he tossed and turned for a few hours before finally giving up and going to watch the sunrise over the lake from the edge of the dock. Alfred, bless his soul, had brought him a steaming cup of coffee before leaving him with a gentle clap on the shoulder. And there he’d stayed for the better part of three hours, just staring out over the water until finally forcing himself to go back inside and down to the cave to get some actual work done.
Work being a relative term. All he’d managed to do was tinker on the gauntlets he and Alfred had come up with. Gauntlets that might have saved his life when Clark—
Damnit.
He shoved the piece aside and hung his head, scrubbing his hands over the back of his skull until he heard a ping signaling an incoming message from Alfred.
“Yes, Alfred?”
“The proximity alarms have been triggered, Master Wayne. It seems we have a visitor.”
Bruce’s head snapped up, meeting Alfred’s eyes on the monitor. The older man didn’t even seem slightly concerned. “Is there a reason you haven’t activated any of the defenses, Alfred?”
The question made his butler smile and sit back in his chair. “Oh, I don’t believe our guest means either of us any harm. But, I suppose you could just go out to the dock and ask him yourself.”
Bruce wasn’t sure he’d ever moved so fast in his life. He was out of his chair like a shot, rushing through the cave and up in the elevator, making it to his room in record time. The look on Alfred’s face, coupled with the instruction to go to the dock meant it could only be—
Clark.
Their feet hit the two ends of the wooden dock at the same time. Clark looked nothing like he had only two days ago. There was no edge to him, no rage, no blankness in his eyes. Now, he looked exactly as he had the last time Bruce had seen him before they suited up to face off against Luthor’s monster: soft, warm, wrapped in red flannel.
That damn flannel.
“Getting out of shape, old man? You look like you’re breathing a little hard from that run.”
Bruce huffed a laugh, and he was only a little embarrassed at how wet it sounded. “Careful, son. I’ve got no problem showing you how in shape this old man is.”
“That a promise?”
“Jesus, Clark. Do you… how much do you remember?”
Clark took a couple steps toward him, and Bruce couldn’t have stopped his own feet from closing the distance if he tried. The younger man held out a hand, and Bruce took it without hesitation. Their hands slid together like two puzzle pieces clicking into place, making their picture feel whole again. He hadn’t felt this real in months.
“Everything. All of it. You and me. Bruce, I’m sorry I forgot it. I’m sorry I forgot you.”
“No, Clark, you don’t have to—”
“I do. We both know what that loss feels like too well. And to have me back, but not remember? I can’t imagine. And… I hurt you.”
Clark’s free hand came up to ghost over his ribs, like he could remember exactly where the hits had landed. Bruce wasn’t looking forward to the conversation that would come when he saw the bruises hiding under his shirt.
“You didn’t know what you were doing. You didn’t know who I was, and you acted on instinct. You saw me as a threat.”
“I should have known. You’re not a threat.”
“I am. You know that better than anyone.”
“You’re not a threat to me. Bruce, you’re the most important person in my life. It kills me to know that I forgot you, even for a minute.”
“Clark, you don’t have to—”
“No, I do. I need to. Please.”
Bruce nodded in understanding, and brought his free hand up to cup the back of Clark’s neck in silent support.
“The last two days, I knew something was wrong. I knew something was missing. I kept getting… flashes. Your hands, your voice. I kept finding myself looking up, expecting to see you standing next to me. I just didn’t know it was you I was missing. Until I saw you in mom’s kitchen. My hand almost moved on its own, like it knew what your hair would feel like between my fingers. And then you stood up, and you turned around, and I saw your eyes. And I just knew that you were what I’d been missing.”
Bruce shook his head, swallowing through the emotion clogging his throat. “You’re a real sap, Kansas, you know that?”
Clark just shrugged, stepping closer until there was no more space between them. “You can’t fool me, Batman. Lois was right.”
“Was she?”
“Mhmm. I saw through to the heart of you right away. You can’t hide from me.”
“Maybe I don’t want to.”
Clark lifted his head and kissed him. Bruce savored it, guiding the younger man to take it slow. They had all the time in the world now, a second chance to get it right. And second chances were beyond rare in their world. So he intended to appreciate every second.