Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

A note. That’s all he’s left with. A short note that doesn’t explain anything or even so much as leave Clark with a number to call. It’s not even a business card, there’s no way for Clark to contact Bruce. He didn’t even ask for his last name and now he’s sitting here, staring at the note, wishing he did. Regretting he got too caught up to do even that much.

Thanks for a good time

-B

Clark flips the piece of paper over several times, despite knowing there’s nothing more there. Just five words on a note that he stupidly keeps with him.

When he goes down to the lobby to figure out what to do about the bill – the bill! How could Bruce stick him with his hotel bill after the night they had? He feels like such an idiot – he finds that Bruce has already paid it in full and even extended the checkout time. Clark presumes it’s so he doesn’t have to get kicked out before noon, but Bruce needn’t have bothered. It’s barely 9am and he’s well on his way home. With that stupid note in his pocket.

He knows he can just look for him. Search out Bruce’s heartbeat anywhere in the world and go there. But to do what? Bruce was honest from the start; he wasn’t looking for someone to date, he was looking for someone to fuck. It’s a bitter pill to swallow and Clark isn’t sure he’ll be able to for at least another few days, but he can’t blame Bruce for leaving. He can, however, be a little bitter about how he left.

How Bruce managed to sneak out past him, Clark has no idea. He was worn out, sure, but enough that he didn’t notice Bruce leaving the bed, getting dressed and sneaking out? That leaves him with an odd feeling. Is he getting sloppy, or was his focus just elsewhere? He really did think he’d wake up next to Bruce, maybe offer to buy him breakfast, show him more of the city. Not that Clark knows it that well himself despite having lived here for almost two years now. He’s still getting acquainted with Metropolis, although in his defense it isn’t much time he actually spends here unless there’s an emergency.

Last year there was an attack – coordinated and brilliantly planned – and Clark couldn’t fix it by himself; he couldn’t save everyone by himself. That’s when he met an amazing group of people. They didn’t know each other all that well either but since then, since that very first mission, Clark has gotten to know this group. They’re stubborn and loud, they’re strong and caring and most of all they’re like him. They make him feel less alone, less alien. Not all of them are actual aliens, obviously, but they all bring something special with them, something that makes them different from other people.

The group keeps Clark busy even when he could be resting, because they’re not just a group of strangers anymore, they’re… well, friends might be a little strong, but they’re close. They could be friends. In the past year he’s helped Arthur with a civil war situation in Atlantis, an actual god attacking Diana’s homeland, fought off Shayera’s evil ex who brought an invasion with him, and somehow – graciously – been permitted to work on the outskirts of Gotham itself. He’s still working on getting the old Bat to let him actually help out. It’s a work in progress. Batman works alone even when he shouldn’t. The stubbornness in this group of people is 99% from Batman. Not that he’d ever admit as much.

Batman is… an interesting guy. Clark has a hard time getting a read on him. He’s usually good at reading people but Batman is odd. He clearly wants to help; his planning and execution is flawless even at the worst of times. He’s a fast thinker, he’s smart and he’s amazingly talented in a way Clark has never seen any other human be. He’s also impossible to talk to. The man communicates in grunts, short hums to acknowledge that he heard you speak and then sometimes, if you’re lucky, he scolds you like he’s your disappointed father. That’s mostly how he speaks to Clark, because apparently, it’s a sin to act before having seventeen contingency plans. Clark is sure Batman must be a meta because his “I’ve been doing this since before you could walk” speeches must be proof that he’s seven thousand years old.

Clark and Flash have a theory: Batman is a vampire, who’s lived on Earth for hundreds of years and he’s so bitter and dark because he’s seen every dark thing humanity has ever done. It’s not a theory they’ve shared with others, obviously, because as Flash puts it: “I’d like my blood to stay inside my body, thanks.”

Despite their differences – and there are many – Clark has a deep respect for Batman. He respects the entire group. They’re all very different and they don’t always get along but somehow, they make it work. Clark doesn’t really want to admit it, but it’s mostly because of Batman and his stubbornness that they work. He’s anal, he’s grumpy, he’s so damn sure he’s always right that Clark wants to fly him to the moon and drop him there just to not have him actually be right all the time.

Batman keeps them in check. Diana, too, although she’s much nicer about it. She, unlike the Dark Lord himself, even introduced herself to Clark as her actual name. Batman is just… Batman. Then again, Diana doesn’t have a lot to lose by revealing her identity. Clark does and maybe Batman does too. But at least Clark offered a name – he really doesn’t want to be called Superman by people he considers sort-of friends – and the others use it. Clark likes being called Kal, it makes him feel closer to the others even if he hasn’t revealed who he is yet. He’ll get there one day, he’s sure of it, but for now he’s just Kal. Or Supes – Flash really likes nicknames.

So, while Clark loves Metropolis and it is his home, he hasn’t spent a lot of time just walking around the streets, getting to know the city. He likes to keep busy and the League – The Justice League the papers called them after that first mission – makes sure he doesn’t have a lot of time to get bored at home. Whenever he does have the time, he goes to the park he showed Bruce, but that’s pretty much it. Between his job and Superman’s responsibilities it’s a miracle Clark even finds time to go out.

He makes a point of not regretting decisions he’s made – as Superman he would never be able to breathe if he had to regret every single decision that didn’t turn out right – still, he can’t help but be a little bitter that he even met Bruce in the first place. He can’t stop thinking about him. The rest of the weekend he’s trying not to search him out and whenever his mind drifts, he has to snap himself out of it.

Thankfully, may his mother forgive him for being grateful for it, there are quite a few emergencies the next couple of days both in Metropolis but also on a larger scale. They help keep his mind occupied. He doesn’t forget Bruce, he doesn’t think he ever could, but he does have something else to focus on.

At least until he lies alone in his bed at night, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom. He can’t help but wonder. Imagine. Fantasize. Would Bruce like Clark’s place? Would he point out how small it is, or would he enjoy the homey feeling? Clark imagines Bruce in a penthouse apartment, overlooking his city. Which one, he doesn’t think too much about, he just likes imagining going to see him. How surprised he’d be at seeing Clark at his front door – surprised, but not upset. He’d invite Clark in, and they’d spend another night together. And then one more and one more.

It's stupid, Clark is well aware. You can’t love someone you don’t know. But Clark feels like he knows Bruce, would’ve known him even better if he’d stuck around even just a few more hours. He tries so hard to just forget that night, about Bruce, but he can’t – he mopes around at work long enough that Lois pulls him aside to tell him to get it together. Instead, she ends up listening to his love-sick thoughts. Lois is a great friend but she’s also a human being; she can’t help but tease even as she comforts. Clark is grateful she is the way she is.

After the first week Clark thinks he’s doing alright. If you ignore the fact that he went back to the bar to search for Bruce on Friday (and Saturday), he’s actually doing just fine. He still keeps the stupid note but he’s coping. Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be. Bruce was very clear about that. Clark just has to get with the program and get over it. Move on.

“Still thinking about tall and ancient?” Lois teases on Monday. She knows where he went this weekend when he “couldn’t come drinking with her and Jimmy because of other plans” and she’s making a point.

“He wasn’t that old,” Clark protests with an eyeroll. 

“Sure thing, Smallville,” Lois waves a hand dismissively. “When you’re done moping over your retirement home lover, could you proofread this?”

“Yeah, yeah, leave it here,” he gestures towards the other piles of papers on his desk. He usually keeps it tidy, but tidy means that he’s got too much time to think. So he accepts Lois’ odd jobs more easily these days. It’s a win-win. Lois is happy and Clark doesn’t have to stare into space, wondering what Bruce is doing.

A few hours later he’s through most of the top layers of his neatly stacked piles when he hears the first call for help. It’s choked out and followed by coughing. There’s a small apartment fire six or so miles East of the Daily Planet (it’s 5.6 miles but who really checks these things) and Clark figures it’s about lunchtime anyway. The fire itself is easy enough to contain and Clark leaves with a little soot on his nose and a smile on his face. Firefighters are always incredibly nice to him when he makes sure they get to the scene without any casualties. He could theoretically blow the fire out, but the buildings are so close downtown that he doesn’t want to risk it. Besides, his lunch is only 30 minutes.

He grabs a hotdog on the way back to the office because he deserves something yummy and he forgot to bring lunch anyway, and then nearly chokes on his first bite when he sees the billboard across the Daily Planet. It’s always been there, or at least for as long as Clark has lived in Metropolis, and it gets replaced every other month or so unless something amazingly newsworthy happens (or someone famous is in a risky commercial).

Speaking of someone famous being in a risky commercial.

There he is. Bruce. Clark’s Bruce. Right there in black and white. They’ve photohopped it so that his eyes are still that brilliant blue Clark remembers from when Bruce was panting underneath him, looking at him like he could see straight into Clark’s soul. He’s in a white button down, although it’s open to show off his muscular chest, the dark hair a stark contrast to his flawless skin. They’ve erased his scars, which is a shame; they may have seemed scary to some, but to Clark all they did was bring even more mystery to Bruce. Despite Bruce not wanting Clark to ask about them, of course he wondered. There were so many.

In this commercial though, on the billboard, there are no scars. Just his broad chest on display, one leg up. The dark jeans stretched over his strong thighs. He’s lazily holding onto a woman’s ankle; her high heeled foot resting between his splayed legs. She’s out of frame but the intent is clear – not even this supermodel can resist Bruce’s charm. Bruce’s other hand hangs casually off the side of the armrest of the chair he’s sitting in. His fingers are covered in rings, black stones matching the dark polish on his nails. A feminine touch. Clark knows Bruce’s hands, he knows they’re calloused and rough, and yet he wonders if it would feel different to have Bruce touch him when he’s all dressed up like this. He’s staring directly into the camera and Clark can barely breathe. It’s like Bruce is right here, looking straight at him.

In the corner is a pale blue perfume bottle, the color matching Bruce’s eyes perfectly. Clark won’t be surprised if every single person who sees this commercial runs out and buys that perfume. Even he’s a little tempted to pick up Jimmy Choo’s Glaze.

And right there at the bottom in smaller letters it is. Bruce’s name.

BRUCE WAYNE FOR THE FIRST MEN’S FRAGANCE

Bruce Wayne. His name is Bruce Wayne. Clark blinks once, then again. Bruce Wayne. He knows that name, but from where? Oh, that’s right, Bruce is… Bruce Wayne is… He had sex with Bruce Wayne?! The prince of Gotham, the billionaire playboy with a new lady on his arm every other week? The Bruce Wayne who hosts galas and parties and is then found in the supply closet or water fountain, too drunk to walk to his own car?

Okay, so maybe he’s a little too quickly back at the office and maybe he rushes through his work so he can sneak in a search or two while nobody’s looking, but who can really blame him? This is the Bruce Wayne. How in the world did Clark not know this? He’s seen Bruce’s picture in magazines, he’s sure of it, but he never connected the two. The cocky, always charming Bruce Wayne and the gorgeous stranger sitting in a random bar in Metropolis. Granted, Clark doesn’t spend much time reading gossip articles – which is usually where you’ll find Bruce’s name – but still.

Clark would like to say he’s above getting obsessed and living in his own head too much, but he is only a man, no matter what the papers say. An Angel On Earth would not spend nearly as much time Googling Bruce Wayne as Clark does. He finds every article, every posh piece, every mention of Bruce’s name and reads it all.

Lois catches him, because of course she does. If anyone can sneak up on Superman, it would be Lois Lane. She has to be half-cat or something, Clark is sure of it.

“Wayne, huh?” she asks casually, smirking when Clark jumps at her words.

“What?” he says dumbly because he really doesn’t know how to explain why he’s so interested in a Gotham celebrity all of a sudden.

“He’s handsome,” Lois says, like she’s agreeing with something Clark said. “A little ditzy for my taste, but you do you.”

“He’s-” Clark wants to defend Bruce. The man he spent hours with wasn’t ditzy, not at all. He was funny and smart. Charming and gorgeous. He doesn’t know how to explain that without letting Lois know that his mystery man is Bruce.

“Tall.” Lois nods. Then she winks at him with a smirk as she walks to her own desk. “And ancient.”

There’s a reason Lois is known and respected for her reporting skills. There’s no hiding anything from that woman. She doesn’t comment any further on it though, for which Clark is grateful. He’s not sure he’d be able to come up with any words – or excuses – to convince her that Bruce isn’t the one he hooked up with.

He really did though, didn’t he? He had sex with Bruce Wayne.

No wonder Bruce didn’t stay, he must be used to one-night stands in a way that Clark can only imagine. The articles and pictures he finds speak for themselves. There’s something nagging at the back of Clark’s mind though. The Bruce he reads about and the Bruce he met does not seem to match up completely.

There’s also the fact that half the women Bruce has dated in the past seem to be younger than he is, so the age excuse he was fixated on seems to be just that: an excuse. It makes Clark confused but more than that it makes him curious. Like he needed extra fuel on that particular fire.

Clark tries to keep it at that. Curiosity he just needs to forget. Do his little obsessive Google search and then get over it. It’s easier said than done.

Despite desperately trying not to, Clark can’t stop thinking about Bruce. He seeks out his name everywhere and it’s driving him crazy. He could just show up at Bruce’s home – everybody knows where Wayne manor it – or any of the places he frequents, but what would he even say? How would he explain showing up after Bruce very clearly let him down?

Thankfully, one could say, Clark isn’t always Clark Kent, reporter at the Daily Planet. Most days he’s also Superman, and Superman can’t be busy thinking about handsome billionaires when there are people who need his help.

Although when Clark slams through that handsome billionaire’s face on the billboard that has haunted his dreams both in and out of sleep, he’s not exactly grateful to be Superman. How Luthor keeps finding new ways to try and beat him, he doesn’t know, but he does know he’s getting his ass handed to him and if he’s not careful, he’ll end up hurting actual people with his falls and not just billboards.

Clark has a sinking feeling in his gut, that feeling he only ever gets when he’s near Kryptonite, and he knows Lex is saving it for last, for when he’s already beaten Clark to a pulp. The finishing blow – it’ll probably be some fancy gun, loaded with the green crystal. It’s been an issue for months; no matter how many times he beats him, Lex always comes back with a vengeance and the last handful of times he’s come back armed with Kryptonite. Clark doesn’t know where he keeps getting it, he’s almost certain there shouldn’t be that much of it on Earth. He could be wrong though.

As he takes another metal coated fist to the face (why is always these extravagant suits? Can’t Luthor just hire goons like everybody else?), Clark has to admit that he maybe should’ve asked for help on this one. Or at the very least let the League know that he’s been dealing with Lex and his endless supply of Kryptonite for the past couple of months. He’s not too proud to admit that it’s mostly been because he doesn’t want to be on the receiving end of Batman’s “why haven’t you told us sooner” stare. It’s almost as bad as his “how are you such a dumbass” frown. Both of which Clark somehow always gets from him.

Right now, he would endure just about any of Batman’s glares if it meant he was there to help. Batman always has a plan, it’s his fault that Clark knows about Kryptonite at all. Leave it to Batman to do all the research and find all the answers just to be able to tell Clark about his own weaknesses. He might be offended if it hadn’t saved his life more than once. If Batman hadn’t saved his life more than once. He still remembers a particularly nasty incident with Kryptonite shrapnel in his back; Batman was the one who carefully took out every single piece. Although he did do so in that judgmental silence of his.

When Clark slams into a building – doing his very best not to have it crumble underneath him – he falls to his knees and can’t get up. There’s thick dust in the air and it’s suffocating him, the green glow coming closer enough to have him sweat and gasp as he tries to breathe through the pain. He’s preparing for another blow when suddenly the green glow is gone.

Someone just knocked Lex several hundred feet in the opposite direction.

And that someone is Wonder Woman. She turns to help Clark to his feet with a gentle smile on her face. How did she even know he was in trouble? He doesn’t have time to ask because Lex comes flying back, rage painted clear on his face. Clark worries for nothing though because not even a second later Shayera comes in from the right and smashes her maze into his chest. Clark flinches at the sound but he doesn’t hear any bones breaking. Hawkgirl really needs to work on pulling her punches.

“Need a hand, Wonderboy?” Shayera asks with a feral grin on her face. She’s clearly in a good mood. Then again, she’s always the happiest when she gets to beat on someone. At least as far as Clark has seen the past year.

“A hand would be nice,” Clark says but he doubts she hears him. She’s already flying off with the maze raised above her head. Clark suddenly feels a little sympathetic towards Lex. He doesn’t know what he’s getting into.

“We saw you on the television,” Diana says as she hoists him off the ground. He still has to get used to anyone handling him with such ease.

“On the-” Clark finally notices the many phones and cameras surrounding them. Ah, of course. He should know better than to keep a fight in the middle of the city, but Lex is smart. He knows Clark can’t fight properly when he’s surrounded by civilians, which is why he does whatever it takes to keep Clark downtown. “Thank you for coming,” he says.

“You should thank Batman,” she says. “It was his idea that we go assist you.”

“Why isn’t he here then?” Clark asks curiously. He searches for that almost familiar ringing heartbeat. He doesn’t know how Batman’s done it, but he’s somehow made sure Clark can’t get a proper read on his heart. Paranoid much? Clark is pretty sure his suit is somehow emitting noises that interfere with his listening, which is obviously impressive but annoying as hell. “Helping too?”

“You know how he is, Kal,” Diana says with a soft smile.

“Stubborn,” Clark agrees as he smiles back at her. “But he did make sure you guys got here on time. I’m not sure how much longer I would’ve lasted without you.”

Diana hums softly as she brushes dust and dirt off Clark’s shoulder. She can be exceptionally careful when she wants to be. He can barely feel her touch. Then: “You should go see him. Tell him that you appreciate it.”

“I’m not sure he’d be happy to see me in Gotham,” Clark laughs. He keeps an eye on Hawkgirl, but Green Lantern has already joined her, and he sees no reason to come between those two and a good fight. Luthor already seems to hesitate in his attacks. He can’t go anywhere near Clark with those two in the way. “You know his rules.”

“Oh, I am sure he would love to see you,” Diana disagrees.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Clark points out. This isn’t the first time she’s tried setting up her little playdates between Clark and Batman. It seems she’d rather keen on getting them to be better friends. Or friends at all. Clark doesn’t get her fascination or stubbornness on the subject – he’s friendly, it’s Batman who doesn’t like working with others, Clark in particular – but he assumes it’s because she’s rather close with the both of them. Like a child wanting her best friends to also be best friends. It’s a sweet sentiment but ultimately her tactics haven’t worked yet.

“What thing?” Diana asks innocently. Clark knows her better than that now though. She’s not nearly as clueless as she sometimes claims. She knows The World of Men better than she lets on.

“The meddling,” he clarifies just as innocently.

“Amazonians do not meddle,” Diana denies and then shrugs. “We fix things.”

“Stop trying to fix this then,” Clark laughs. Batman will come around eventually, when he’s ready. Clark has patience enough to wait – it’s not like he’s losing anything by not being close with the vigilante. They probably don’t have much in common anyway. Clark likes to make friends, Batman… well. Batman likes bat-things.

“Never,” she says. “Now go. We can handle this.” When Clark hesitates, Diana shoves at him. “Go. He has something for you.”

The something Batman has for him is a communicator. Why Diana knows this before Clark does is probably because she’s the closest to Batman. At least of the other members of their little superhero squad.

It says something about Batman that Clark knows exactly where to find him; he’s lurking on a rooftop in Gotham, standing completely still like he knows Clark will show up. Of course, he does, Diana asked him to. And she is right about Clark – he does need to thank Batman for his help, even if he wasn’t physically there.

“Hi,” Clark says when he lands on the roof. There’s a slight jerk to Batman’s shoulder. Maybe he actually surprised him? That can’t be right. “Diana said you wanted to see me.”

Batman, true to his form, grunts wordlessly and offers up a small earpiece.

“What’s this?” Clark asks, because he’s curious and because he wants Batman to actually talk to him.

“A communicator.”

“Thank you?” he tries. He’s not sure why Batman wants him to have it but he doesn’t usually do anything without proper reason, so Clark immediately tries it on. It fits comfortably in his ear, and he wouldn’t be surprised if Batman somehow got a mold of his entire ear just to make it fit him perfectly. The thought is a little disturbing though.

Batman grunts – no, it’s more of a hum which Clark has come to realize means he’s… not pleased exactly but not angry either. It’s a weird way to acknowledge that someone has spoken when in reality he could just use his words, but Clark is trying not to judge.

“Um,” Clark says awkwardly. “Thank you.”

Batman looks blankly at him. Clark imagines he’s raising his eyebrows behind that lead-lined mask of his. If he even has eyebrows. He must have – sometimes he’s got a five o’clock shadow going on and that looks rather dark and thick. His eyebrows probably match. Clark’s hands twitch at his sides with the sudden need to pull that mask off and see if they match. He crosses his arms over his chest instead.

“For sending the others to help me out,” Clark clarifies when Batman keeps staring at him. Would an ‘excuse me?’ or ‘what do you mean?’ kill this guy? “I was in over my head for a while there.”

“You’ve been in over your head a lot these past few months,” Batman says.

Clark nearly flinches. He doesn’t sound judgmental, but he knows how Batman can get. How he’s been at this longer than most and how he sees every single mistake anybody makes. He isn’t afraid to point it out either and Clark really does not need to know where he went wrong, how he went wrong. He already knows – he has to stop underestimating Luthor, he has to get stronger and faster and better. He has to do better.

“I, uh,” he says instead of asking Batman to please not start this conversation. He’s had a lot on his mind, even before he got his feet knocked out from under him. Figuratively, he’s not talking about Lex’s attacks. Meeting Bruce gave him something to focus on, made his heart beat faster. He hasn’t been in love like this for a long time and maybe he’s been off his game, but he does not need to hear Batman tell him that. Especially since he’s apparently noticed how Clark has struggles for far longer than he’s even known Bruce. There goes that excuse. Not that he’d ever dare try to appeal to Batman’s emotional side.

He doesn’t know what to say. It’s not a problem he has very often, even with the Dark Knight himself. Batman may not be the ideal conversationalist, but Clark usually does just fine anyway in their limited interactions.

How can he explain to someone who has done this for God knows how many years that he’s tired? That he doesn’t sleep because all he can focus on is the screams of people who need his help? How would he even start to describe the agony he feels when he can’t save everyone, when someone gets hurt on his watch? He’s been in Metropolis for two years and he’s lost so many already. Being Superman is draining and yet he would never stop doing what he’s doing. He knows Batman would understand that part, but the part where the responsibilities are too much? The part of Clark that just wants to be like everybody else? The selfish part?

He doesn’t entertain these thoughts a lot but ever since meeting other heroes, ever since moving to Metropolis and being in the public eye, he’s had nightmares, living and sleeping. He wants to be enough for everybody and that’s just not always possible. So he’s not as confident, not nearly as bursting with energy as he was when he first started out. He misses anonymity, he misses having more than one night off to do whatever he wants to do. And he hates himself for that, for those thoughts. He hates that he’s selfish like that, no matter what his mother says. He doesn’t owe the world anything and yet here he is. Tired and lonely and wanting someone with who he can share everything, despite knowing that it’s too risky.

How can he explain that he met a man who made all those thoughts go away just by walking into a crummy bar? There’s no way Batman would understand.

He doesn’t know what to say, so he says nothing. And for the first time since meeting him, Batman surprises Clark in a way he’s never seen coming. He reaches out a gloved hand and rests it softly on Clark’s shoulder.

“I know a little something about wanting to do everything by yourself,” he says and somehow his voice sounds gentler than usual. It shouldn’t be possible with all that technology distorting his voice, but Clark feels instantly comforted by both his touch and his words. “I’m letting you know you don’t have to. Let the team help.”

“The team? We’re a team now?” Clark huffs out a laugh. The League has been a team from day one, a great one at that, but Batman has never been keen on the idea of working with them. Any of them, but Clark in particular. At least that’s what he thought.

“We could be,” Batman says.

“We? As in you as well?” Clark can’t help but ask. He’d assumed that Batman would be their leader after that first mission but somehow, he’s the one who never asks for help from the League. He’s the one who stays away as much as possible.

“Yes.”

Huh. Maybe Diana’s meddling works, after all.

Something tugs at Clark’s chest when Batman pats his arm one last time before turning away. He can’t explain it, but he doesn’t want Batman to leave, he doesn’t want the conversation to end, not just yet. So, he scrambles for something to say, anything.

“How does it work?” is all he can think of. “Do I just call your name? Is it an AI kind of thing or?” He’s certain there’s a hint of Batman rolling his eyes at him, although he can’t actually be sure of it. His simple question does make Batman stay though, if only for another ten minutes.

***

Life gets a little easier, a little less hectic. There’s still hero work to be done and Clark still thinks about Bruce. How can he not, after the billboard was replaced with yet another sensual picture of Bruce after Superman crashed through the other one? He tries though, to think about other things. He doesn’t go back to the bar despite wanting desperately to see Bruce again. He flies over Gotham a few times but doesn’t listen for Bruce’s heartbeat; it wouldn’t be fair. Life goes on and for a week or two it actually seems like Clark is going to be fine.

Then Lois does what she does best.

Clark doesn’t mean to volunteer for the job. He doesn’t do gossip, everyone knows that, but this is Lois, and she is extremely convincing. She also happens to know that Clark cannot in any way, shape or form resist someone in need of help. So she lays it on thick.

“It’s this guy, Clark,” she starts and there are honest to God tears in her eyes, which is all she needs to convince Clark to do just about anything.

‘This guy’ turns out to be a handsome guy she met at a coffeeshop. She’s double booked herself and Clark is her best friend, after all, why wouldn’t he offer to cover the gala for her? So what if it’s in Gotham, what’s the chance of running into Bruce anyway? Not that Clark thinks about that. At least not until he’s already promised Lois, he’ll cover for her.

He has a habit of saying yes before thinking of the consequences to his own life.

Which is how he finds himself in Gotham on a Friday night, dressed in his finest suit – and that isn’t saying much. He can’t really afford Italian designers or whatever else is fashionable these days. He also needs to blend in, and you do not blend in as a reporter if you’re wearing a thousand-dollar suit.

Clark knows immediately that he’s been lied to. There probably never was a handsome coffeeshop guy, because there’s no way it’s a coincidence that he’s here tonight. Lois is too clever for her own good and she can see straight through Clark, no matter how hard he tries to hide. He never confirmed her teasing suspicions and yet she knows. Of course, she knows.

Clark spots him right away.

Bruce Wayne, in all his glory. He looks amazing in a dark blue suit. The velvet jacket looks soft to the touch and fits snugly around Bruce’s shoulders and waist. The black lapels are smooth and matches the material of his tie and Clark’s fingers itches with the need to tug on that perfectly straight tie. Bruce looks gorgeous but it’s more façade than when he last saw him. His hair is styled, his shoes are polished and he’s smiling softly at everybody. Complete opposite of the Bruce Clark met in the bar three weeks prior.

He laughs loudly and sloshes his drink around sloppily. It’s an odd sight but Clark still can’t look away. His entire body burns just from looking at Bruce. He may be acting differently, but by God, if he isn’t still the most beautiful thing Clark has ever seen.

The way his fingers wrap around the champagne glass has images of those same hands running over Clark’s back, nails digging in as Bruce throws his head back in ecstasy. Clark can’t look away when Bruce opens his mouth to take a sip of his drink; he’s licking his lips to catch the last drops absentmindedly and Clark wants to march up to him and chase the taste, the same way he chased the taste of himself on Bruce’s tongue during round three. And four if he remembers correctly.

He hasn’t forgotten a single second of that night and seeing Bruce now isn’t erasing any of the memories. He’s so elegant and refined, despite the loose movements and large gestures.

Bruce is laughing at something an older gentleman said when he finally looks Clark’s way. Their eyes lock for a short moment and then… then Bruce looks away like he doesn’t recognize Clark at all.

It shouldn’t hurt. Bruce told Clark from the start what he could expect. It’s been a few weeks, who knows how many others Bruce has been with since then? That thought makes it hurt even more. Clark knows he’s a romantic, he knows he shouldn’t hold out hope but watching Bruce blatantly ignore him while he laughs with other people is… it’s painful.  

Clark swallows back the bitter feelings and does what he’s here for: his job. Or well, Lois’ but either way he doesn’t want to disappoint her by leaving without getting a few quotes and nice photos. He’ll leave as soon as he gets the chance.

Something stops him though, when he’s done talking to the handful of celebrities, he can get quotes from. He’s got enough photos for a nice article, more than enough for Lois to work with. He’s on his way out, he wants to leave, he has better things to do than to stay here all night, watching Bruce out of the corner of his eye, but then… then Bruce is finally standing by himself. He’s at the bar, his shoulders slumped forward a bit and Clark can’t help but take the opportunity that’s granted to him. He wants Bruce to look at him.

Clark catches up to Bruce before he gets caught up in another group wanting to talk to the Bruce Wayne. It seems to be a never-ending hoard of people seeking Bruce out. He walks up to him determined to at the very least have Bruce acknowledge his existence. He doesn’t know why it matters that much to him.

He’s lying to himself. He’s been thinking about Bruce constantly and the thought of him not even remembering who Clark is, is too much to take.

“Bruce,” he greets as Bruce turns around from the bar.

“Clark.” There’s a hint of panic behind Bruce’s brilliant blue eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“My job,” Clark says honestly. He holds up the camera as if he has something to prove. He’s not some stalker.

“I thought you said you were an investigative reporter,” Bruce says with a frown. He’s holding onto his glass awfully tight. Huh. Perhaps he does remember Clark, after all.

“Oh, so you do remember,” is out of Clark’s mouth before he can think better of it.

“Never said I didn’t.”

“So, you’re just avoiding me for the fun of it.” Clark is well aware of how bitter and childish he sounds. Bruce doesn’t owe him anything, and yet he can’t help being hurt.

“I try not to make a habit of making a big scene at these types of events,” Bruce tells him with a tight smile. He’s clearly uncomfortable.

“I’m not here to make a scene, Bruce.”

“You look like you’re about ready to kill me. Or cry,” Bruce tells him. “And I don’t know which one is worse. Why did you come here?”

“I told you, I’m here to do my job,” Clark repeats, annoyance seeping into his voice. He wanted Bruce to see him, to acknowledge him, not to be looked at like he’s here just because Bruce is. He didn’t even know Bruce would be here.

“Did you think you could land an interview just by-” Bruce’s eyes widen, and he takes a small step back before he looks directly into Clark’s eyes, fire and fury behind his own. “Did you hit on me to get me to agree to an interview?”

“What? No, of course not,” Clark says.

“Why else would you hit on someone ten years older than you?”

“Because I find you attractive,” he hisses. Now he really is making a scene but Bruce is stepping over the line. “I didn’t even know you were that Bruce.”

“Which Bruce?” Bruce challenges, like he wants Clark to admit to something.

“Bruce Wayne,” Clark says with a roll of his eyes. He’s not easily scared off; Bruce being famous doesn’t change anything for him, but of course Bruce won’t believe that. “I didn’t know that’s who you are. I only found out recently.”

“You-”

There’s a loud crash and Bruce’s eyes instantly turn towards the ceiling, Clark’s following suit. The glass panels have been smashed and there’s a maniacal laughter spilling from the sky above. Something hard settles around Bruce’s mouth but Clark has no time to try to figure out what that’s about before several explosions go off. People all around them scatter and when a light fixture falls to the floor, Bruce jumps back and out of the way.

There are cracks all over the ceiling, glass and tiles falling everywhere as the ceiling crumbles above them. Clark doesn’t move away because he doesn’t have to; even if the ceiling falls down, he’ll be perfectly fine, but the people around him won’t. He ushers people away, tries to help the ones who’ve fallen to the floor. He’s surprised to find Bruce yelling, yanking people away from the falling debris as well. Their eyes lock and for a moment Clark can’t breathe; the way Bruce moves, the way he’s using his entire body to shield the other guests, how he speaks to them, calms them down even as he’s saving the next person… He looks just like- just like-

Bruce moves before Clark has mind enough to do so himself. He’s not worried about himself; he’s worried about the guests, and he’s worried about Bruce. He doesn’t notice the ceiling finally caving in above him, his senses are focused on anything and everyone else. Bruce notices. There’s a quick glance up and then Bruce is sprinting towards him, grabbing his waist and knocking him to the ground. The spot he was standing is crushed beneath a giant piece of debris.

Bruce is on top of him, breathing heavily and Clark is speechless. Until he sees the large metal beam hurtling towards them from the hole in the ceiling. He moves before he can think; he rolls Bruce over, shielding him with his body, even as he hears Bruce scream in his ear.

“No!”

The metal beam slams into Clark’s back, tearing his jacket and most likely his shirt too. He doesn’t move an inch, doesn’t so much as flinch as the metal curls into itself against his back. It falls to the ground with a loud clang and Clark breathes a sigh of relief. It doesn’t hit anyone else. Then and only then does he turn his eyes to Bruce.

Bruce, who is staring at him with his mouth slightly open. Clark wants to say something but then Bruce’s face changes. His mouth snaps shut so fast Clark can hear his teeth grit against each other. His shocked eyes turn cold with betrayal as he looks at Clark. Repulsion clear on his face. Not the surprise or worry Clark would expect to see. There is no awe, no admiration to be found, like Clark is used to seeing when he saves people, only pure and unfiltered rage.

“Get off me,” Bruce says as he pushes at Clark’s chest. His hand is shaking and so is his voice.

“Bruce-” Clark tries.

“Don’t touch me,” Bruce spits as he stands. His voice breaks and his eyes are shining. “Don’t- don’t come near me, ever again.”

Clark stares at Bruce’s back as he walks through the debris, helping people up, asking if they’re okay. Not once does he look back at Clark, not once does his heart rate slow down. It’s in a state of full-on panic. Except Clark has never heard Bruce’s heartbeat this erratic. He’s never heard Batman’s heartbeat this erratic. And that’s who he is, isn’t he? Bruce is Batman.

Just before he disappears from sight Bruce finally turns around to look back. Clark wants to say something, but he’s too far away.

His heart aches painfully in his chest when Bruce leaves, whispering harshly: “Superman stays out of Gotham.” It’s a warning and a threat and so much more. It’s Bruce’s way of telling him not to suit up, not to help.

It feels like a knife to the chest.

Usually, Clark would ignore such a request. Nobody – not even Bruce or Batman – dictates when Superman is needed. But that look in his eyes, the disgust, the betrayal. Clark can’t that out of his head and when he’s ushered outside with the rest of the guests and staff, he stays put. He answers the police’s questions and despite his chaotic head, he remembers to take pictures too. Lois will have a field day that she missed this, the least Clark can do is take pictures enough for a decent article.

His heart isn’t in it though. He’s pretty sure it’s out there in Gotham’s shadows, stuck to Bruce’s sleeve. Or cape, apparently.

Knowing Bruce is Batman is… a weird knowledge and yet as soon as he knows, he stops being surprised. Bruce’s cover is good, but this makes more sense to Clark than Bruce being both the smart and sarcastic guy at the bar and the wild playboy type, getting drunk every other day. This he can handle; this he immediately accepts. Of course, Bruce has to pretend to be something he’s not.

The anger though Clark didn’t expect. He knows he’s just outed himself, because even if Bruce was dumb enough to fall for any lame excuse, Batman isn’t. Bruce being Batman means that Clark’s secret is out, no matter what lie he comes up with.

Which isn’t an issue really, is it? Both their secrets are out. Now they should be able to communicate more openly. Be honest with each other. Clark understands Bruce not dating when he has this whole other life as Batman – but now? It should mean Clark has another chance, a chance to prove to Bruce that he’s worth taking a chance on.

But he can’t get over that look. Why would Bruce look at him like that? Because he hasn’t told him he’s Superman? It’s not like that’s something you share on a first date, no matter how beautiful Bruce is or how amazing the sex was. Clark isn’t a teenager anymore; he knows he can’t just share his secret with everyone he falls for.

Bruce is different though. Even before Clark knew he was Batman, there was something different about him. There’s no logical way to describe it, but it’s that feeling that tells him he has to seek Bruce out. Not tonight, it’s not his place to meddle in Batman’s affairs, but tomorrow. Tomorrow, he’ll find him, whatever it takes. He knows Bruce’s heartbeat well enough to find him; even if he didn’t, he knows Batman’s.

Waiting has never been Clark’s favorite thing to do, but he’ll manage. He’s finally met Bruce again, finally figured him out. At least as much as one can figure out a billionaire dressing as a bat to hunt down criminals. He’s not going to just let this go.

He tells himself it’s the best for the team, as well. They’ll work together much easier if there aren’t any awkward silences or unresolves issues between them. After all, Superman and Batman are pretty much the founders of the League in the first place.

If only that was enough to drown out the voice in his head telling him that Bruce has already made up his mind. He’s able to ignore it for now, but he can’t stop his chest from aching. Bruce knows who he is, both sides of him, and he still reacted so strongly, so defensively. What are the chances he’ll even listen to Clark?

***

Clark isn’t surprised to find Bruce at the space station. He’s been working on it for quite some time and Clark is impressed with how far he’s gotten. Because of course Batman hasn’t actually asked anybody for help with this - at least Clark didn’t think so. Then he sees the improvements, the adjustments, all the work that’s been done. Bruce has clearly had help, but Clark hasn’t been asked. He can fly, he’s strong. There is no logical reason Bruce wouldn’t have asked him. Perhaps the look of disgust is because Batman really doesn’t like him. The thought has him hesitate to come onto the ship.

He still does it though. He has to see Bruce, talk to him. He can’t let this go. There’s no way he can stop thinking about Bruce – it’s been three weeks and he still finds his thoughts drifting to his handsome face every time he has a moment for himself. Bruce can’t tell him to leave here, this is supposed to be a safe space for all the heroes.

Clark enters and looks around curiously as he walks the halls. A soft presence materializes near him, and he tries not to jerk away. He still has to get used to J’onn’s abilities. J’onn is the newest member of the League and yet he’s by far the easiest to talk to. Mainly because you don’t have to actually talk much when communicating with him. 

“Is he here?” Clark asks because it’s still the politest to voice such questions out loud, even if J’onn has already read his mind. Clark doesn’t have to clarify who he’s talking about, and he really doesn’t have to ask in the first place. He knows the answer already, has heard Bruce’s heartbeat from the moment he stepped into the Watchtower.

J’onn’s voice floats calmly through his head a second later: “In the monitor room.” 

While J’onn is a Martian, he has quickly figured out that it’s best not to comment on other people’s thoughts. Clark appreciates that because he has no good answer for why he’s asking J’onn when he can tell just by listening. Procrastination, perhaps. Trying to delay the inevitable. Superman doesn’t get scared, but Clark does. He really hopes Bruce is in a more forgiving mood today. Or that Batman is in a talkative mood. He’s not sure which side he’s going to be talking to.

“Thank you,” Clark says quietly before he moves to the monitor room.

Someday, Batman has told him, this room will be filled to the brim with the latest technology so that they can keep an eye on Earth and help where there’s need for them. They’ll work together as a team, use the Watchtower as their base. Clark is fairly sure the many rooms on the deck are supposed to be for them, but Bruce hasn’t exactly shared much of his planning with Superman.

He's standing by a monitor, tools spread around him. He looks elegant like this too. Clark has noticed before without actually taking it in, of course, because this is Batman. He’s not really someone you call beautiful what with his big boots and dark uniform. He aims for dangerous, not beautiful. It doesn’t change the fact that Batman moves like a dancer, works swiftly and without error. And from what little Clark has seen, he treats people kindly, even those who do everything in their power to oppose him.

Huh. Bruce being Batman makes more sense than he’d expected. The articles he’s been reading about Bruce Wayne have been filled to the brim with how handsome he is, how generous. There’s also been a lot said about his drinking, about his grief after losing his parents. Everybody knows the story, apparently. Clark’s heart was breaking as he read the countless articles, saw the pictures of a young Bruce, clutching his butler’s coat at the funeral.

There were a few articles though… mostly blog posts and smaller magazines talking about Bruce’s sharp mind, how he’s protective and kind. How he adopted a kid whose parents died and how he’s broken a reporter’s nose once for trying to harass said kid. How he’s since then taken in another boy, an orphan from the streets of Gotham. It’s easy to see that all different parts of Bruce come together to form one mysterious, strong and complicated man. A man Clark would like to get to know better.

Clark opens his mouth, but Bruce is faster.

“What do you want?” He doesn’t look at Clark at all, but of course, Batman would know when someone enters a room, no matter how quietly.

“To talk,” Clark says honestly.

“About what.” It’s barely even a question and Bruce still refuses to look at him. It’s making Clark’s hands itch again.

“About last night. And that night three weeks ago, what you told me.”

“I didn’t tell you anything,” Bruce says stubbornly.

“About not wanting to date anyone,” Clark offers. When Bruce doesn’t respond, he continues: “I thought after yesterday you might have… a change of heart.”

“And why is that?”

“Because…” Clark hesitates. He was going to tell Bruce that he’s been thinking constantly about him, but it’s like pulling teeth to get any sort of answer out of him, even now. He tries to gather his thoughts, but his mind is chaotic. “Because I know now. Because you know who I am too.”  

“It changes nothing,” Bruce says as he wipes his hands. Oh, he’s not wearing his gloves. There’s a slight uptick to his mechanical heartbeat and Clark wonders if it’s been this easy to see through the tech all along or if it’s just because he knows Bruce’s true heartbeat now. Either way Bruce is trying very hard not to give anything away. “And it won’t happen again so there’s nothing to talk about.”  

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” Clark says. Then, because he’s feeling braver than he’d expected, he asks: “Let me take you out again.”

“No,” is the immediate answer.

“Br-”

“Don’t,” Bruce whirls around and even through that unreadable mask Clark knows he’s glaring.

“Batman,” Clark amends. He knows J’onn is the only other person on board, and he probably knows who they all are, even if he wouldn’t say anything. It means a lot to Bruce to have his identity respected though, Clark should be more careful. “I just want to talk to you.”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Bruce counters.

“Please, just hear me out,” Clark tries. He knows they’d be a good fit; he knows what he feels is real and true. And he knows that Bruce feels at least somewhat the same, he just doesn’t know why he’s being so stubborn about it. Why finding out who Clark is, who Superman is, could change the way Bruce looks at him. They’ve both been lying or at the very least withholding the truth. It shouldn’t make Bruce hate him.

“Just leave, Superman.”

“I won’t, not until you talk to me,” Clark says. He can be stubborn too, and he’s not giving up. He knows what he felt, he knows what he saw in Bruce’s eyes. Underneath the air of ignorance, underneath the façade, there was a moment of relief, of excitement. He’s been wanting to see Clark too, he’s sure of it.

“Fine,” Bruce bites out. “But not here. Meet me on the roof of Wayne Enterprises tonight.”

“Wayne-”

“Yes,” he hisses. He turns back to whatever he’s working on and speaks to the monitor instead of Clark’s face. “You already know why. So go away.”

It’s nowhere near the talk he wants to have, but it’s better than an outright rejection. It gives him hope. Clark will be at Wayne Enterprises, no matter the cost. Bruce will have to hear him out. He’ll make sure of it.