Work Text:
For the sixth time that evening, Batman stopped working on one of a seemingly endless string of tasks — from analyzing chemicals, to mapping alternate paths through Gotham's grungy, winding, artery-like streets — to look up at Superman with what could only be described as a curious expression. Most of his face was covered, true, but his mouth could be uniquely expressive if you had practice. Superman had gotten considerable practice at interpreting that mouth over the years.
He was perched on the edge of a workbench beneath one of the brighter suspended lights in the Batcave, and had been for the better part of an hour, turning a symbol-covered puzzle box over and over and occasionally adjusting one of the many moving parts. The thing glowed white and blue at intervals and emitted pleasing, bell-like chimes and gentle clicks as Superman worked with it.
"Ah-ha," Superman said and another satisfying click came from the puzzle box. He noticed Batman's attention and raised an eyebrow. "It's noisy. Sorry if I'm bothering you."
"You aren't," Batman said. His lips went thin and the corners turned down in what was almost a pensive expression.
"Oh, good," Superman said. "So…did you need something?"
Batman opened his mouth—a small 'O' shape emerging slowly. He shut his mouth again. No sound had been formed. Superman blinked at him and continued to wait, patience in every line of his blue and red figure. After a long pause where the only sounds were a distant screech of a bat and a drip, drip of moisture from the high, craggy ceiling, Batman drew himself up and spoke.
"If there is somewhere else you need to be — something else you need to be doing — don't feel obligated to stay and work on that." Batman pointed at the puzzle box with one gauntleted hand. "It doesn't appear sinister. Myxlplitz didn't even seem bothered that he dropped it. We can figure it out some other time."
Superman nodded and said, "You said it has some interesting properties, right?"
"It does."
"Well, frankly, this thing is intriguing. I enjoy a puzzle. Figuring out something complex. Something mysterious. Who doesn't love a mystery?"
Superman finished this with a winning smile and even held the object up with a flourish.
"A mystery. Mm," Batman said. He hadn't moved back to his gadgets and machines, but regarded Superman with a steady, assessing stare. His stillness was as potent as the darkness of his cape, ink and shadows forming the lines of his figure. Even the flat lenses where his eyes were hidden didn't flutter, proof that he wasn't even blinking.
Superman gave a shrug. "And Supergirl and Steele are on patrol tonight, so the city is in a safe pair of hands. Er. Two safe pairs of hands." A self-effacing smirk was a punctuation to that sentence.
Batman was obviously thinking about something as he continued to neglect his work and stare at Superman. He shifted ever so slightly, an almost imperceptible movement. "Then. Feel free to take it with you if you want to go. Find Lois Lane. Jimmy Olsen, perhaps?"
Superman laughed and even slapped his knee. Once the boisterous sound faded, he wiped at one eye and shook his head in mirth. "Am I being thrown out?"
"No," Batman said. He moved his cape aside in a quick flash of a broadly gesturing hand, then went still again, the cape settling back over his shoulders like water. "Only. I'm not good company. Jimmy is friendly."
Superman tilted his head to the side and sort of squinted at Batman as if seeing him for the first time. It was the same sort of look he had given the puzzle box when Batman first tossed it to him with a flippant, "You're smart. Have a look at this." A serious, probing sort of look that might as well have been laser vision even though the color was purely blue.
Now, Superman placed that puzzle box down and even leaned forward, a new mystery to solve stealing his attention. "Wait. Wait. Are you asking," he began with a slow, thoughtful tone, "why I'm hanging out with you?"
Batman did that thing with his mouth again where he opened it and no sound came out. Then he drummed his fingers on the workbench making a thump, thump, thump, thump echo through the space. He did it again: thump, thump, thump, thump.
"Possibly," he said at last. His mouth was once again that stern, grim, downturned thing, but his posture was more rigid, almost defensive.
"Ah," said Superman. He dropped his eyes to the workbench beside Batman. Instead of responding to Batman's reply, he said, "What are you working on?"
Batman's mouth turned down even more. His flat lenses blinked once, then twice. "Armor. Gauntlets."
"Can I see?"
A long delay preceded Batman's eventual, "Sure."
Superman dropped off the table with a flare of his cape, stopped with his toes three inches off the ground, and then drifted over in a friendly sort of way. He caught his impressive chin in his hands and considered the black material on the table, circling the table and the gauntlets like a hummingbird, all quick and brightly colored.
Batman continued to watch him in the way a mailman might watch a big dog growling at him behind a very short fence. But Superman's posture was relaxed and unthreatening.
"May I?" he asked and Batman nodded his consent.
Superman picked up the first glove. He shook it once to get it in the right shape, and then wiggled his fingers into the opening. The glove stopped not even half-way up his large, squarish hand.
"Too small, isn't it? Must be for Nightwing." The glove had elaborate geometric patterns of several shades of blue, though the stitching was very discreet and the seams had a low profile.
"It is," Batman agreed.
"Had to be. All this extra design, too. Very flashy," Superman said and returned the glove to the workbench. He picked up a different glove and turned it this way and that. It was much, much smaller than any of the others. "For Robin?"
"Yes. It's thinner. More flexible. He says too much armor keeps him from working."
This elicited a thoughtful noise from Superman. "Yeah, I can see that. This one is really too small for me. I'm not even going to bother!" He gently placed it next to its bigger brother.
"Now this one," he said and lifted the right glove of the last pair on the bench, "this one looks about right."
He shook this one out as well, and then easily worked his fingers into the glove before tugging it down so it was snugly situated. The gauntlet gave a pleasing kind of creaking sound as it slid into place. He turned his hand a few times before his face, scrutinizing the shape and design.
"Not bad, not bad," Superman said. "You know, in winter at the farm, we would live in our gloves some days. It was bitter cold and the work was hard. If you weren't careful, you'd end up with hands like sandpaper."
At Batman's Look Superman waved a finger at him, "Yes, even me. Promise. So the gloves you picked mattered. Had to be ones you could rely on. Ones you trusted. This glove here fits the bill for me; checks all the boxes."
Batman swallowed, a sound easy enough for Superman to pick up, even if he hadn't been listening quite so intently. "That one is…" Batman said.
"Must be for you, huh?" Superman said, not really interrupting since Batman had rather trailed off, letting the rest of the sentence die before ever living.
"Yes. New alloy," Batman said with another vague gesture.
"Mm-hm. Well it fits me, you know? Fits me pretty well, actually." He wiggled his fingers to show how comfortable it was for him to move and work. "It's not flashy like Nightwing's glove or as flexible and soft as Robin's, but it's the glove I'd pick for me. It's the one I like."
Batman nodded his understanding, but his mouth was slightly open in what looked a lot like shock.
"Sometimes things just work, you know?" Superman said. "There may be other options, but you pick the one thing that fits you. No need to look elsewhere. Like my Pa says, find out what tickles your fancy, and then keep on letting it tickle ya." That last sentence had a bit of a lazy, midwestern twang to it, and Superman even added a farm boy smile for good measure.
Batman watched him for a minute before finally letting his mouth close. He looked away, looked at the far wall of the Cave, then finally back at Superman.
"Well. Yes." He cleared his throat. "Thank you for your assessment of the…new equipment."
Superman bowed his head graciously. "Any time."
"I," Batman tried, stopped, then started again with, "I won't be making any further adjustments. They — the pair of them — work just fine as they are."
Superman beamed a bright, expansive smile at him. "You know, I think so, too," he said.
Batman drummed his fingers again. Then once more. Superman waited patiently. He was good at waiting patiently. Finally, Batman met his gaze.
"Dinner? Alfred said lasagna. Do you like lasagna?"
"I like lasagna. Be glad to join you. We eating up there? Down here?" He pointed above his head and then down at his feet to illustrate his question.
"Up there. Cleaner. Got a change of clothes? Alfred doesn't allow capes upstairs."
"I'll get a change of clothes," Superman said. He peeled the glove off slowly, placed it neatly on the workbench and even patted it like it was a good dog.
Batman took a deep breath. "Okay. Dinner then. Use the front door if you want. Like a guest."
"I get to be a guest?"
"Sooner gone, sooner back," Batman said with a small growl, a touch of his usual menace creeping into his voice. Within a few minutes — ten in a worst-case scenario like a broken fastener or dented latch — that menacing Batman would be stowed away and Bruce Wayne, Billionaire, would emerge in expensive clothing with charm school manners and a crisp, east coast accent. His hair would shine and his teeth would sparkle and Batman would be the furthest thing from anyone's mind should they be lucky enough to dine with him. Clark Kent would be one such lucky man.
"Right you are. I'm starving. Back in a jiff," Superman said and then flew off so fast that Batman's cape rippled in the breeze.
Batman watched after him long after he was gone, then turned to the workbench. He lifted the glove, still warm from Superman's hand, and studied it. "Find what tickles your fancy, huh?" he said, turning the sturdy fabric in his hand.
He let the glove drop, then headed for the shower, trailing pieces of armor as he went. Before he could even get the water temperature right, the Cave's systems alerted him to a presence at the front door and the sound of the mansion's doorbell echoing through the richly decorated, timeless place. Here already, he thought. It certainly hadn't taken Superman long at all to change into what Batman guessed was comfortable plaid and denim.
"'Back in a jiff,' indeed," he griped, then turned the tap again until the water was hot enough to wash away Batman; let Bruce Wayne have a chance to hear a few farmboy anecdotes from his guest.
And though he would never admit it, he showered a little faster than usual.