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Selina doesn't ask. She tried once; she asked Nightwing where Bruce had disappeared to. She knew what he was like when he came back from a League mission or a stint undercover, and she could read in the news when he was doing business abroad, but once in a while the Batplane would leave Gotham for parts unknown and when she saw him again the...the feeling was different. He was calm and even affectionate, but there was something about it that twitched her instincts.
So she asked Nightwing, and he told her in no uncertain terms that it was none of her business, and besides, he didn't know.
“Don't care, or don't want to know?” she'd taunted, but he just looked at her impassively.
“If I knew, I couldn't tell you anyway.” Such compassion in the young man's voice, she thought. For her? For him? She couldn't say.
So Selina doesn't ask, because she suspects she'd rather not know.
* * * * *
Steve doesn't ask. He thought about it, the second or third time that Diana called him after some League business to say sorry, she was going to be away unexpectedly for a day or two. She is always honest with him, and he's sure if he asks she'll say where she goes.
It isn't as though she doesn't spend plenty of other time away, visiting with her mother on Themyscira or working with other heroes, but sometimes there's a doubt in her voice when she leaves. Just the barest sense that if he asked, she might consider staying, might put off this filial duty or ask another Leaguer to cover that minor mission.
But what marks these occasions is that when she tells him she'll be gone, there's no doubt. Her voice is firm, her eyes steady.
So Steve doesn't ask, because he knows the answer wouldn't change anything.
* * * * *
Lois doesn't ask. Clark always tells her where he's going without her asking. He's usually excited to share his news, letting her know what he's investigating or just reassuring her which planets he'll be visiting. Except once in a while he just says that he's going to be away for a little bit, don't worry, love you. Lois reflexively looks for patterns, she always had to for work and by now it's second nature, and she notices that this usually happens after the worst battles, when the planet escapes destruction by the slimmest margin or the League stumbles home battered and exhausted from some incomprehensible fight. Clark will come home for a day or less, long enough to check in, but not much more, and then he'll vanish.
She doesn't worry about their relationship, not really, because whatever it is that he needs out there, he always comes back to her. She does wonder what it is that she can't share, but she worries about upsetting Clark's hard-won balance by making him address the question.
So Lois doesn't ask, because she knows the answer couldn't be unspoken.
* * * * *
They don't talk beforehand, don't arrange logistics or make plans. Just every so often, when their spirits have been badly damaged or one of them had an especially close call, a look will pass, and they'll meet soon afterward.
Clark sets the computer to only let emergency calls through from key people, and sets up the more livable areas of the Fortress, warming the air and setting the light to a cozy level.
Bruce brings food, a different cuisine most every time, sometimes carry-out from posh restaurants, sometimes sandwiches snatched from the Manor kitchens. Sometimes there is alcohol: wine, ouzo, or Aldebaran whiskey, depending on recent events.
Diana chooses her contribution with care. Often it is a movie, or a new book, or a board game. Sometimes fresh flowers, or scented bath salts, or meditation candles from Nanda Parbat. Once she managed to arrive with a ping-pong table and everything that went with it.
So they come together, and eat, and talk of small things. After the debriefing with the League, after the villains are defeated and the world safe for another day, they sit and breathe and share the space. Here they don't talk about close calls or what-ifs, although sometimes they salute absent friends.
As the evening wears on, the conversation lags, and they begin to heal. Sometimes Clark gently rubs Bruce's sore muscles until he actually falls asleep. Sometimes Diana just holds Clark while he weeps for the people he was unable to save. Sometimes Bruce reads poetry or philosophy aloud to Diana until she can finally stop replaying the battle in her mind.
At last they will all sleep, curled on the large couches or tumbled together on Clark's bed. Each takes quiet solace in the others' presence, in their continued breathing, in their trust.
Later, they will leave, to rejoin their separate lives. Later, they will be ready to support those who depend on them, ready to face the next crisis, whatever it is.
Maybe sometimes they reach out to touch one another with more passion than comfort, with the intent to cause pleasure strong enough to drive away the darkness. Maybe sometimes reconnecting to light and life might be a matter of more than just words and food and friendship.
Maybe.
Or maybe not.
It doesn't much matter, muses Dick. They find whatever answers they need.
He finishes logging his patrol: nothing out of the ordinary, and he wouldn't use the secure line to the Fortress unless there was a serious emergency. He makes a note to tell Bruce when he returns about his run-in with Selina, although not about the content of their conversation. Dick doesn't feel like he lied to her; just knowing where Bruce is wasn't really the question on her mind. If Batman ever returned from one of these journeys less able to take up his burden rather than restored, Dick tells himself that he would speak up.
Unless that happens, however, he'll stick by his decision: it isn't his place to ask.