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Batman quickly takes on the role of the person in charge of the League’s finances, and it seems so natural, so evident, that none of them investigate it further until a few months later.
Because Oliver Queen is on the team. Oliver ‘Of course I’m on the Vogue’s cover, who else can they ask, Lex Luthor?’ Queen. The man who talks about buying a plane like most people talk about buying a new pair of shoes. The guy with so many zeroes on his bank account it takes multiple lines to write them all. The guy whose name is written in bright neon letters on buildings all over the country – and farther, even.
That guy.
Why is that guy not even vaguely aware of what’s going on with the League’s finances? He could fund them – probably without blinking – and he surely knows quite a lot about handling big sums of money.
So why is Batman – the guy who looks like he doesn’t even own a bed to sleep on, who has never been seen with a bill in hands, who never knows the price of anything – the one in charge of the money. It’s not that they don’t trust him – homeless or not, Batman wouldn’t steal from them – and he seems to be doing a good job: no one has come to break down their door asking for money, and the IRS isn’t asking for their head.
But. Maybe someone else should get involved. Look at what’s happening. Just in case.
**
The thing Clark is most curious about is why the hell did they not wonder about this for so long. For months, they had had full, absolute trust in Batman to take care of the Justice League’s money, and Clark just wants to know why.
They’re not naïve, they don’t trust people just because of a ‘trust me I got this’ is said – actually, Batman hadn’t even said anything, they’d simply… let him take charge of the money.
Why.
He tries to think back on it, and only remembers a distinct but quickly forgotten ‘he looks like he knows what he’s doing’ rising from the depth of his mind, and Clark has a lot of questions for said depths. Sure, Batman is trustable, but where is that confidence coming from, huh? Does it apply to anything else – is Clark overlooking other things because some part of his brain’s decided the people in charge knew what they were doing?
Actually, Batman looks like he lives in a constantly burning trashcan, most of the time, so where is he even getting the money?
Clark freezes. Where is the money coming from? He doesn’t know exactly how much they need, but he assumes it’s quite a lot and where the fuck is it coming from. He can’t remember anyone saying they’d fund the team, and Batman clearly doesn’t make that much money so.
Where is the money coming from?
**
It’s a hard subject to bring up not because they’re uncomfortable but because Batman is quite literally never there.
Which makes Clark’s brain think up wild theories. Maybe he’s so busy because he’s working so, so, so many jobs to fund the League – that’s absurd because there are labor laws against that, and Batman doesn’t look like he’d break those. Maybe that’s why he’s always tired. Maybe he has a horrible boss who overworks him and that’s why he doesn’t seem to know about ‘work hours’ and ‘not overworking yourself.’ Maybe that’s why he’s always running everywhere in a hurry.
It's actually what Batman’s about to do. What he always does after meetings, too. He’s like those teachers who have their stuffs packed and are ready to go as soon as the bell rings. Those who look like they’ll die if they spend one second more into the room – except more terrifying, and also not running away as much as managing to disappear right in front of Superman’s eyes in an impressive display of stealth.
Someone asks if there’s anything else they need to talk about, and Clark watches Batman’s muscles flex to make him stand when everyone stays silent.
Then Clark opens his mouth and Batman instantly settles down because even if he doesn’t want to be in this meeting – God no – he’s probably the most serious about those out of everyone here.
“Finances.”
Clark says a single word and every single head swivels towards Batman. Not aggressively, Clark notes, but with a certain apprehension. As if everyone but Batman speaking such a word meant disaster.
So they all feel the same ‘he knows what he’s doing’ energy coming from the man. Interesting.
He observes everyone, waiting to see who among them will wonder about that feeling – and some do – and then turns his gaze towards Batman. The vigilante looks at him with a slightly tilted head, silently asking him to develop, and Clark doesn’t make him wait too long. It almost feels like he’s working his normal job.
“I’m curious about our current financial situation, more specifically, I’m curious about the source of our funding?”
That raises a few bells, and Clark sees a glint appear in the eyes of many around the table. He’s almost satisfied with just that; at least he was right about there being something shifty there.
Batman doesn’t look even slightly uncomfortable, and that reassures Clark. At least they’re not about to learn he’s laundering money or something. That’d be terribly awkward. Batman, dark vigilante, protector of the planet and international hero – and money launderer.
Awkward.
Batman’s voice is his usual deep rumble when he answers, calm as ever.
“The necessary documents should be accessible from most computers connected to our network, but to give a succinct answer to your question: about ninety-five percent of the money used is given to us by Wayne Enterprises, the rest comes from donations. Oh,” he angles his head towards Green Arrow, “Queen Industries gives us a notable amount, as well.”
Clark is so far from caring about Queen Industries it’s not even funny anymore.
Bruce Wayne is the guy funding them? Brucie Wayne? That Wayne?
Oliver is the one to say what all of the Earth citizens currently sitting at the table are thinking, remembering at the last second who he’s speaking to.
“Bruce Wayne? Brucie? From that cursed city?”
Batman doesn’t blink at the insult to his city and simply nods, with very little interest. Like he doesn’t understand why half a dozen people are losing their minds in front of him.
Clark reminds himself that he’s a journalist. His job is finding questions to ask and getting information. His job is to inform the people – including the heroes who save the planet.
“How did this happen?” He fights a nervous throat clearing, “I don’t recall him… announcing anything of the kind before.”
Batman’s head slowly turns towards him, like he’s giving himself time to formulate an answer – or maybe giving them time to brace for it – but it’s not enough. A hundred years wouldn’t have been enough.
“I have a particularly… close bond with him. And, as news of the funding were heavily discussed in Gotham, I was unaware of the lack of attention it received elsewhere.”
Fuck the funding, Batman has a boyfriend. Husband?
Clark’s mind is running as fast as possible – so fast that, were he human, it would fry. Bruce Wayne doesn’t have any living relatives, so unless he’s succeeded in hiding an entire goddamn human being from the world for twenty or so years, Batman can’t be a secret twin or something – he’s too young to be Wayne’s publicly dead father and Clark hopes for everyone he’s not his hidden son. They can’t be business partner because Batman doesn’t have a business and that doesn’t leave many options.
Batman isn’t reacting. He looks vaguely displeased, like he didn’t want to reveal such personal information – which is fair, actually – but mostly disinterested. Like he simply wants to go home. His gaze roams over the table and settles on Clark again.
“I’ll add a note to the files if necessary. Now, is there anything else?”
Clark shakes his head numbly. His kryptonian brain is several times faster than a human and he doesn’t think he will ever recover from this so he can’t imagine what’s going on in Green Arrow’s brain – who has been staring at the table like it holds the answer to life for quite a while now – just two seats over. And Batman is just asking if he can go home.
Has already left the room, actually, and Clark waits for the sound of the teleporter.
**
Learning such things about Batman puts things into perspective. No he’s not killing himself working – he has someone in his life!
Still, a boyfriend – potentially a husband – should tell him to take better care of himself. He shouldn’t be so exhausted. Really, when your boyfriend’s eyebags are so dark they start looking like bruises you drag him to bed and you don’t let him go.
Clark frowns at the wall and thinks. He’s waiting for Batman, in fact, and for the first time in possibly ever, the man is late. Not much, really, and he’ll probably round the corner in a second, but it’s disturbing and now Clark can’t help but wonder.
Is he out on patrol? In the house with Wayne?
From his job, he’s vaguely aware that the billionaire is holding a gala tonight and if Batman can’t appear on the guest list – and neither can his civilian’s identity, if he’s as broke as they think – but maybe he could get in unofficially if his boyfriend’s the one hosting the thing.
A sudden stink of alcohol fills his nose, and Clark turns towards its source.
Batman’s here in all of his glory, only covered with the pungent smell of alcohol. Not like he’s drunk the thing, but more like he’s been dropped into the stuffs. Some of it is covered by the smell of the suit – sweat and blood and smoke – but the singular wick of hair Clark can see is dripping, hair sticking together. It’s a sign of how rushed Batman was, and Clark respectfully turns his head away when the man goes to push it back in, still a little breathless.
Something falls and clicks onto the ground, and it looks suspiciously like glass. If it is glass, Clark doesn’t like the situation one bit.
“Were you at the gala?”
He can’t stop his mouth from moving and braces himself for a sharp reply. Batman’s not known to be nice about indiscrete inquiries about his private life.
Maybe he has drunk some alcohol, because he answers with a hum, tone unbothered.
“My presence was required, yes.”
Required? The only people whose presence would be required at such an event are the host, important guests and the staff… unless Wayne had his boyfriend working while he was enjoying a party – kind of a dick move – there was no reason for Batman to be there.
Plus, there’s no way in hell someone as cautious and paranoid about his civilian identity as Batman would tell him that if there were any proof of his presence. Considering how heavily scrutinized Wayne’s galas are, not being seen there means… no being on the guest list, no interacting with anyone there and no actually existing in any of the bajillion rooms open to the guests during those times because cameras are everywhere.
Which means the guy just spent a few hours locked up in a random room, alone, because his boyfriend wanted him in the vicinity for no actual reason – especially since Batman was always going to leave at some point, for patrol or something.
And there’s even less reason for him to have been thrown a glass at. Because that’s what it looks – and smells – like.
He decides to push a little further – Batman looks particularly communicative tonight. They walk towards the briefing room, and Clark starts talking.
“By Wayne?” There’s a nod of confirmation from Batman, an almost instant reply, and Clark hesitates a little. If he’s drunk, maybe they should cancel the mission – and he should stop taking advantage of Batman’s lack of awareness – but it doesn’t look like the vigilante is affected in any way. He’s coherent and behaving mostly normally, and he can move with stability – still as quiet as ever, even. He decides to continue.
“How did you meet him, then?”
Batman hums again, a deep sound that rises up low in his chest – so deep Clark thinks he could feel the vibration, if he focused a little – and continues to surprise Clark by answering.
“He helped me, and I had to reciprocate, I suppose.”
It’s so obvious. ‘I had to reciprocate’ – that sounds suspiciously like rich guy used his money and influence to put me into an awkward situation and I had no choice. Clark expected better from Bruce ‘my nickname is philanthropist billionaire and I’ve donated to every charity of the country’ Wayne but apparently you can’t trust anyone.
Plus, if no one has written anything on the topic so far it means Wayne is either really good at hiding his traces – dubious – or really good at picking his victims – Clark thinks of the Batman who went through the training and the spars and never told anyone he had a bunch of broken bones until Clark heard something crack and he thinks, Bruce motherfucking Wayne – and Clark turns his head to glare in the direction he knows Gotham is.
Then he notices a small, round hole in the Batsuit – it looks suspiciously like a bullet hole but Clark’s really hoping it isn’t because it’s really, really close to some vitals organs – and something else comes to his mind.
Where is the money going? (He knows where.)
Batman’s not spending the money on himself, obviously, or he wouldn’t look like he lives in a burning trashcan, but… he’s not doing all that for the League, is he?
The ground drops from under Clark’s feet, and his mouth opens without his accord.
“You don’t owe him so much, I’m sure. Helping people should be done without expectations, anyway.”
Batman’s expression pinches a little, and his mouth turns into a very thin line. Clark can’t tell if his eyes are open or closed, with the mask, but something on his face shakes before his reply. His terrible terrible reply that has Clark closing his eyes.
“Oh, it’s a mutually beneficial relationship. Not as equal as I’d like, but still.”
What mutually beneficial relationship? Bruce Wayne is giving away a tiny, tiny amount of money to Batman, who uses it to save the world and in exchange he gets, what, a boyfriend? That’s not mutually beneficial that’s taking advantage of Batman’s kindness.
Clark glares at Gotham city just a little harder, even if most people in it don’t deserve it. Fuck billionaires, really.
**
He’s in a call, listening to Diana’s outline of their next mission but mostly paying way too much attention to Batman’s surroundings.
They know so little about the man that Clark is getting excited about seeing a lamp behind him. He looks like he’s in a cave somewhere, and it’s so dark Clark can barely see the outline of some of the stuffs behind him – he’s been trying to guess whether the… thing on his right is the edge of a kettle or some sort of plant pot, perhaps? for half an hour now.
There’s a sudden slam that has everyone on the call flinching, and Batman’s eyes move to the right of his screen. Diana’s still speaking about exfiltration locations and last pieces of intel to gather and then-
“B, I’m going to kill you if you-”
Batman hangs up as soon as… whoever’s yelling at him starts yelling, and Clark hangs on the edge of his seat for the full two minutes it takes for the man to come back online.
He looks calm and his eyes aren’t darting around to look at someone behind the screen, but Batman’s just a little out of breath and there’s a redness on his chin that wasn’t here when he hung up.
“…Apologies, something urgent came up. Let’s finish quickly.”
There are sounds of agreement from everyone, taken aback looks exchanged between most of them, and Batman sits back into his chair. His head turns very slightly to the left, and Clark would pay to see who exactly the man is looking at – though he has his guess.
**
Clark doesn’t pace because he’s Superman but mostly because the rest of the league is here. Everyone is waiting Batman, who’s supposed to finally be coming back after a few weeks of rest to recover from the wounds that had let him half-dead the last time they saw him.
He’s competent and qualified and strong, but… Clark can chew bullets, maybe Batman should have let him hold up the collapsing building instead of stubbornly insisting on doing it. He’s so… squishy, and that can’t be fixed simply by covering himself in kevlar.
The elevator’s doors open, and Clark quickly turns his head towards it – yes, he’s pacing and was looking in the absolute wrong direction, but Batman doesn’t need to know that.
Batman comes out – not smiling, never smiling because guys who say ‘I’m Batman’ in deep, rocky voices don’t smile – but there’s a certain gleam to him, one that comes from resting for a few weeks.
Or supposedly resting for a few weeks, as Clark notices the bruise peeking from under his cowl, and the well-hidden limp and the not-yet-healed fracture of one of his wrist.
His smile freezes for a blink of a second, but Clark forces himself to move. He lets his eyes linger on Batman’s leg for just a tad too long, hoping it’ll spark something in the man – hopefully the thought of talking to them.
“How do you feel?”
“Bored.”
His voice is as flat as ever, but it’s one of Batman’s rare jokes and Clark will take what he can get. He can’t imagine the guy was bored. He could imagine it if Batman had really spent two weeks resting but that’s… clearly not the case.
He’s thankful for Green’s intervention, though he’d prefer it if the man’s sounded just a little less mocking. But since it’s exactly what he wanted to know…
“So? What does the big bad Bat do when on break?”
Batman turns his head, tries to hide a wince and its accompanying grimace, and coldly considers Green Arrow before speaking what Clark acknowledges as a sign of trust.
“I spent some time with my… Bruce at the manor.”
Oh so it’s Bruce now.
This might be the most personal information they’ve ever got on the Batman, and it leaves a bitter taste in Clark’s mouth.
“The Manor? Like… Wayne manor? That Manor?”
Green’s eyes are wide and only widen further at Batman’s hum of confirmation while Clark barely keeps his contempt in check.
What, he spent two weeks with Bruce Wayne, with his partner, and said partner couldn’t even keep him unhurt for that long? Couldn’t be bothered to treat him properly? Couldn’t manage to take care of him a little?
And that’s the nicest theory he’s got; Bruce Wayne being a neglectful, uncaring bastard of a partner. Worst case scenario is Batman spending two weeks locked in with a man who’d hurt him.
Actually, Clark even doubts Batman has been in Wayne Manor. Considering how many people go in and out of the place all the time – and the fact no one’s suspecting Wayne and him of having an affair so far – he’s probably never been anywhere outside of the basement or something.
Batman doesn’t stay talking too long – probably uncomfortable with all the attention and regretting sharing anything personal – and quickly fades to a corner of the room, but the rest of them continue talking. It’s not often they have the time to chat like this.
“You don’t like Wayne either?”
Clark thought he’d done a better job at hiding his dislike, but there’s something like a smirk on Green Arrow’s face when he turns towards the archer.
“His personality’s a bit much, but I thought you’d like the whole,” he makes a gesture that doesn’t mean anything in Clark’s direction, “donating to charities everywhere thing. And the fighting against corruption, and Lex Luthor, thing.”
The thing is, Clark loves that. Clark loves people who give to charity and who try their best to make the world a better place. He’s grateful when people make an effort, and no one can look at Bruce Wayne and think he’s not trying. But knowing that guy is hurting one of his friends is…
It tinges everything Wayne has done with something terribly bitter. Bruce Wayne funding yet another hospital loses most of its worth when all Clark can think is maybe he should stop sending his boyfriend there.
It’s mean and he doesn’t have any proof which is sending the reporter part of his brain into a fit, but he doesn’t really care. Batman didn’t even get a proper cast for his wrist.
He forces a smile on his lips and gives a meaningless, “Oh, I don’t know… I just think… He could do more is all. He hasn’t even made a dent in his parents’ wealth, so it all feels a little… too little.”
Is it mean to say that about a guy who watched his parents get killed when he was ten? Probably. But is trauma an excuse to mistreat your partner? No.
There’s no stopping him now that he’s started.
“It’s like everyone forgives him everything because he’s trying his best, and in a city like Gotham too…”
Batman is really the one people should admire. He’s doing so much for his city and maybe he doesn’t fund hospitals, but he’s made an impact on the city big enough to show on the data. Fatalities from rogue activity have gone down almost eighty percent since he started, human trafficking in Gotham has been reduced to basically nothing, and some areas of the city are finally inhabited again because he managed to get rid of the gangs there.
(Yes, Clark has done research. The USCB has a whole subcategory of data just for Gotham, and a new sub-subcategory just for Batman and you expect him to not spend hours reading it?)
Batman leaves the room, possibly to go back to working – technically he’s back from two weeks of rest, so that’s expected but… he could rest a little more, it wouldn’t hurt anyone, and certainly not him – and Clark’s tongue loosens a little.
He tells himself he’s just testing the water, though with people as smart as the people in the League…
“I just think there’s something… fishy about him.”
Green Arrow raises an eyebrow at him, and Clark takes a sip of his drink. Maybe that’s a little obvious.
“No… you know there’s something ‘fishy’ about him, or you wouldn’t say anything…” his vo²ice trails off while he thinks for a second, “Are you thinking drugs? That’d be expected from someone like him, but you wouldn’t care as much… Is he funding something? Rogues, gangs or…”
Clark eyes lift just a little and hover somewhere near the door Batman just left through, and Green is just a little too quick with his next guess – Clark’s sure he suspected something. There’s genuine surprise in his voice, and Clark braces himself for the ‘oh I know him he would never do something like that.’
“You think he’s doing something to Bats.”
Clark makes a non-committal hum in answer – not too far from Batman’s usual answers, actually – and waits for Green Arrow’s reaction.
Unlike what the man thinks, he doesn’t have proof or anything more than a feeling and some vague observations he can’t exactly use. There’s a pensive hmmm from the archer, and he mumbles something under his breath.
“Do you want Ollie Green to catch up with his old friend again?” Read: do you want me to look into it discretely?
Clark is most grateful for his friends. The immediate attempt at getting more information might be a side-effect of being a superhero for too long, but so is the not-dismissing him outright, so who can complain?
He considers it for a bit, but he’s too involved to ask somebody else to step in now.
“I think the Daily Planet has found a new celebrity to interview.”
And who knows whether the interview will end up in the peoples or the investigation section.
**
His phone reads Unknown so there’s no way for Clark to know who is calling him, except for the fact that very few people call him past 3 A.M. Plus, when he actually picks up the connection is faster, stabler and clearer than it usually is, which doesn’t leave many options.
There aren’t that many people out there who can make use of private satellites for phone calls.
“Good morning, Batman.”
It’s actually evening for him, as in ‘wow I’m going to bed for at least another five hours now’ but he’s pretty sure Batman thinks the day has only just begun and who is Clark to tell him otherwise.
The vigilante grunts in reply, and Clark hears him swallow something – probably caffeine, making Clark sigh and feel like a mother – before mumbling something.
“I heard about the collapse; would you like us to send lawyers with the reparations money?”
The collapse is the most recent incident in Metropolis. It has made no fatalities, barely any wounded and no one would be talking about it if one of the collapsed buildings wasn’t owned by Lex Luthor. The man is making such a big fuss about the whole thing that Clark has to remind himself Luthor is at least partially responsible for it – you throw a man through a building under construction, consequences are sure to follow.
Unfortunately for Clark, LexCorp doesn’t seem like it’ll give up on the lawsuit just yet, and he gratefully accepts. He knows good lawyers, but lawyers from Gotham are an entire other species – so are the people Luthor employs, unfortunately.
“Please.” Wait. “How did you hear about it?”
Not only is it three in the morning, way past the time for Batman to be looking at news from anywhere other than Gotham – it’s almost scary seeing the number of rogues’ plans revealed by the press – and he doesn’t usually care about incidents without fatalities. A bunch of office buildings collapsing in Metropolis with no one inside shouldn’t have bothered him.
It’s only thanks to his enhanced senses that Clark can hear the gravel shifting on Batman’s side of the call, followed by a soft thump and Clark guesses that the man just sat down to continue their conversation.
“I’m surprised you didn’t notice the giant, illuminated letters spelling Wayne on one of the collapsing buildings.”
Clark’s mouth falls open. That explains thing. He hopes people from the company were safe – Wayne Enterprises wouldn’t file a lawsuit against him too, would they? – but even if they weren’t he knows how good the compensation is. They’re made with people and incidents from Gotham in mind, which means they’re way too good for anyone outside the cursed city.
Still.
“I didn’t think you’d care.”
He can almost hear the eyebrow rise on the other side of the phone, and Clark holds back a smile even if there’s no one here to see him. His lips twitch a little at Batman’s answer, before settling down.
“I don’t. Wayne made a statement – I’m surprised you haven’t seen it already.”
Clark frowns. He might have read something about that, before deciding the day had been too long and going to sleep. That explains things, however. Of course, Bruce ‘I only drink alcohol if it costs more than the average salary’ Wayne would care about an empty building collapsing if it’s wearing his name.
His statement is probably all about tragedies and being thankful no one was hurt and making sure it doesn’t happen again – and yes, Clark hears himself. Wayne probably responded with ten times more compassion than Luthor and yet it’s pissing him off ten times more.
At least people know Luthor sucks. Everyone laughs awkwardly at Wayne’s antics because he’s such a nice guy – but Clark knows. He couldn’t find anything when interviewing the man, but that was to be expected. He’s managed to hide the truth for years, one measly interview won’t reveal anything – but the investigation Clark has launched will, as long as Batman doesn’t learn about it and take offense, anyway.
“I’ll be coming to Metropolis in a few days to assess the damages, actually.”
Clark mechanically thanks him, because it’s very nice of Batman to warn him, and he knows the man wouldn’t have done so just a few years ago and because considering they don’t know his secret identity, he could just… sneak his way into the city without anyone knowing – freedom of travel and all that.
Mostly, he doesn’t get why Batman would be the one coming to do the assessment. He’s competent as hell, and he knows a lot of things but… doesn’t Wayne have experts for that? People whose job it actually is to assess collapsed buildings? Maybe Clark shouldn’t assume Batman’s job but…
Actually-
“Will Wayne be with you?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
Oh, sorry, Clark shouldn’t have assumed you’d know whether your boyfriend would be traveling with you in a few days. That’s crazy, why would anyone take the time to inform their partner of their location – it’s not like anyone cares, right?
That’s another list added to the ‘Bruce Wayne is a terrible partner to Batman’ column. Soon he’ll have to turn the page.
He hears a siren go off on the other side of the call and doesn’t let Batman the time to speak.
“You have to go, I know. See you in a few days, maybe?”
“Maybe.”
He likes to imagine it’s a smile in Batman’s voice, but it’s not like he has any proof.
**
Clark is extremely happy to his friend in a relaxed setting, with no incoming disasters on the clock, and in a place where breathing doesn’t constitute a health hazard. He’s checked, and not only does the WHO advises to keep children under the age of eight and elderly away from Gotham – which is good advice even without looking at the air quality, actually – the air in Gotham is almost as bad as the one from New Delhi, which is a fit considering the size, population and activity difference between the two cities.
Unfortunately, Batman looks… tense, for lack of a better word, and Clark can’t think of anything that would cause this. Maybe he’s so used to Gotham that the lack of fumes, the absence of night crimes and the existence of streetlights is bothering him? They’d caught a group of kids trying to steal a bike, who’d ran away as soon as they had noticed Clark and it almost looked as if Batman would snap from all that tension.
Batman wets his lips for the whatever-th time tonight and Clark does his utmost to look encouraging – he’s pretty sure the vigilante has pepped himself up for a Talk, and he wouldn’t want to break the guy’s spirit.
“I believe… it’s time we talk.”
It’s not time for anything, but sure. Clark would enjoy a relaxed conversation while eating churros just as much – probably more, actually – but if Batma wants to talk, the krypton won’t stop him.
“I noticed you,” Batman cuts himself off, possibly because he’s trying to think of a verb that sounds less accusing than ‘snooping’, ‘spying’ or ‘prying’ and seems to settle on something, “watching Bruce Wayne.”
Damn he’s good. Clark has X-ray vision and super-hearing, Batman shouldn’t notice him, especially not without Clark noticing him back – and Clark didn’t notice anything.
“I thought I’d help you make your decision.”
And then, with a last look around to check for cameras, his hands go to take off his cowl and whatever decision Batman wants him to make, Clark is not ready.
He does the very very bold move of grabbing Batman’s hand away and is more than thankful when the vigilante only stare at him in puzzlement – and doesn’t try to punch him or something.
“What are you talking about?” He sounds frantic but who cares, “We should talk, calmly, before anyone does anything.” It’s pretty hypocritical of him because he’s the only one who’s not calm here, but he really wants to understand and to do that he needs a minute to think. Which he can’t do if Batman reveals his secret identity to him without a warning what the actual hell.
Batman tilts his head a little, like he’s the one confused by this.
“I thought I’d confirm your theory. It’s been long enough, hasn’t it?”
“What theory.”
Clark is confused, Batman is confused, everyone on this rooftop is confused, so why is Batman looking at him like he’s the one not making any sense. Clark doesn’t have any theory about anything. He’s extremely curious about Batman, but he’s given up on theorizing about the man’s civilian identity a long time ago. He trusts Batman, he likes Batman, and he doesn’t need to know what’s written on the vigilante ID card to keep on doing that.
He much prefers it when the man volunteers piece of information about himself – which is what Batman is apparently doing right now, sharing massive pieces of information about himself without preamble.
Batman takes a step back, and Clark almost follows him before realising he’s still holding onto the vigilante’s arm and swiftly letting go.
“Your theory about my identity. Which you need to confirm to decide if you want to continue working with me.”
Clark blinks. Batman blinks back unflinchingly, but Clark notices the tension in his jaw and almost sighs – holding back only because he fears it would be misunderstood.
“I don’t have a theory. And even if I did it wouldn’t change anything.” It doesn’t look like Batman believes him, but Clark perseveres, “Really, we’ve worked together for decades now, I don’t… care who you are outside of the suit. I trust you with my life, what does it matter to me whether you’re a pop idol, a corporate lackey or a homeless man – Batman we’ve saved the world together.” He tries to catch the other man’s eyes but it’s not easy with the lenses of the cowl, “Nothing would change even if I knew your identity, alright? It’d just mean I’d have more ways of helping you… with things we can’t talk about now but…” Clark sighs, “What I know about you is that you’re someone willing to risk your lives to protect people, okay? That’s all I need to know that you, Batman, are a good person. You couldn’t change that no matter what you told me.”
Now that he’s started, he’s determined to convince Batman of his thoughts – because he refuses for his friend to think so lowly of himself when he’s such a good man – but he’s interrupted by exactly what he’s trying to stop.
The vigilante has stepped just out of reach and is fast enough to take off his cowl without Clark being able to stop him. He tries to look away, he doesn’t want a revelation of this importance to be made when the man is convinced Clark already knows, but his eyes meet a pair of blue eyes he’s most familiar with, and Clark freezes.
His brain does the expected, gasping, spluttering and oh my fucking god is that Bruce Wayne? Which means he’s not controlling his mouth anymore and nothing he says can be held against him, because he wasn’t prepared for a shock of this scope when he left to hang out with a friend.
“So he’s not your boyfriend? Thank God.”