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The first time it happened, it was inconsequential enough to write off as a trivial mistake — a small, unnoticed oversight that didn’t need further attention.
Well, it would’ve been unnoticeable, that is, to anyone else besides Bruce. He prided himself on being exceptionally aware of his surroundings. That’s how he picked up on this phenomenon in the first place.
It occurred during the second official Justice League meeting in the newly-built Watchtower. Before the spaceship was even fully furnished. Before every safety measure Bruce planned to put into place was installed. Before he and Clark started dating. Before he had even revealed his identity to any member of the League.
Bruce had just finished going over the new emergency protocol for any invasions the ship may face, and, after confirming that no one else had any further information to share or details to go over, had adjourned the meeting.
As usual, most of the League members whisked off with polite goodbyes to handle other matters they had to attend to, while a few stayed around to chat and check in with their colleagues.
Bruce gathered up his files and notes. He had to reorganize them; Victor had asked for the schematics on the full security monitors that had yet to be installed, which led to more questions about the surveillance system, then about the security codes, then about the door mechanisms, and eventually Bruce had pulled out and passed around more papers then he had planned to. If you give a mouse a cookie, then they ask for the designs for future airlocks apparently.
Bruce hopes that all the files were returned to him. He believes they were, but Hal would not stop talking and he had to put more focus on restraining himself from reaching out and throttling the man than on who was in possession of which papers.
He can feel the impending headache, the pressure building behind his eyes, the cowl starting to feel more claustrophobic than it should. He focuses on just separating his hand-written notes on the information the other members shared, from the typed up files he’d brought to discuss.
He watches out of the corner of his eye (consciously or unconsciously, it’s hard to say) as Clark chats with Diana. They are the only other people still in the room, everyone else has already left the Watchtower or moved on to a different part of the ship. Diana says something, too far away to hear, and Clark laughs and shines that thousand-watt smile.
Bruce wonders if Clark knows how much that smile affects the people around him (because it can’t just be Bruce who’s heart constricts and feels like he has to look away because it’s too bright, right?). Is he doing it on purpose? Is it part of his ever growing laundry list of powers? A subtle form of mind manipulation?
How can one person be that happy all the time? How can he be such an unrepentant beam of hopefulness? How has nothing broken him yet? (How can Bruce be like that?)
He suppresses the unfamiliar feelings trying to take hold of him and sets a sorted manila folder off to the side, continuing to subtly observe their conversation.
After less than another minute, Clark says something (a goodbye of some sort, Bruce presumes) and begins to walk away from Diana, who pulls out a communicator and busies herself with contacting someone.
Clark strides towards the door, his cape flowing out behind him, and proceeds to… walk straight into a window.
The wall between the hallway and the meeting room is entirely made up of floor-to-ceiling glass panels, as well as the already currently opened door, which Clark completely missed.
He knows it’s something that Dick would definitely be rolling on the floor laughing at by now – Superman walking into a wall – but Bruce only feels concern, because, well, he is Superman; he should have seen the window in front of him. He wasn’t distracted, at least not from what Bruce could see. His vision shouldn’t be impaired. He has been acting perfectly fine all meeting. So, why didn’t he see it?
Clark just backs up, blinks at the wall for a moment, and moves three feet to his left to walk out the actual door, disappearing down the hallway. He doesn’t look back to see if Bruce or Diana noticed (which she didn’t, she’s still tapping away).
Bruce knows he’s probably overthinking it. Clark could just be tired, could just be pondering too hard about something, lost in his thoughts, that he didn’t see where he was going.
Bruce finishes packing up his things and forces himself to stop thinking about it (which he should be doing. It’s the polite thing to do when something embarrassing occurs to someone).
He tells himself to forget about it.
And he does, until 5 months later.
———
The second time it happens is also during League business.
This time, it’s when they’re on a mission. Well, it’s not really a mission, more just a too-big threat that needed additional attention. Bruce is very displeased with the fact that the aforementioned too-big threat just happens to take place in Gotham.
He was really debating on not calling in for back up. And to be fair, he already had every Gotham vigilante on the scene. That, alone, would be more than enough of a force to defeat any enemy the city could ever face. But, unfortunately, he begrudgingly had to admit that they could use some help. Not because they couldn’t apprehend the villains, but because too many civilians were getting caught in the crossfire.
They were facing a team up between Poison Ivy, Killer Croc, and Mr. Freeze. Sometime during the fight, the dam separating the city from Gotham River had cracked, the foundation split down the middle, and freezing water was soon rushing down the streets. Their attention had to be divided, half of them working to hunt down the villains, and the other half helping to get people to safety. It eventually got too much to handle for their team and Bruce had to send out the distress signal to any League member that was not facing a bigger threat than theirs.
And, as usual, Superman was the first to arrive.
This would be the first time that Bruce had, since donning the cowl, allowed other heroes to enter his city and aid him in a fight. It definitely would not be a reoccurring thing. He needed to not get used to having super-powered people be his backup. That could do more harm than good in the long run.
It was Superman’s first time not only being in Gotham, but also fighting to protect the city.
Clark Kent had been to Gotham before, Bruce knew. it was definitely a new experience, having to pretend that the fumbling reporter he spotted at the annual Wayne Enterprises New Year’s Gala was, in fact, not his colleague. He also had to pretend to trip over his own feet and accidentally spill champagne down the front of a man’s suit in order to avoid a conversation with said colleague when he saw him approaching.
But, it was Superman’s first time in Gotham. Meaning it was Clark’s first time flying in Gotham. And for that reason is why Bruce chooses to ignore it when it happens.
Bruce is on the ground, a little boy clinging onto his front with his small arms wrapped around his neck. Bruce saw him wading through the freezing water, trembling and crying and that’s when Bruce picked him up, swallowed his pride, and sent out the distress signal to the League.
The bottom of his cape is still soaked, but he uses the rest to wrap it around the shivering boy and trudges through the couple feet of water coating the streets towards a fire escape.
He’s using a batarang to hack through a few vines that have tangled themselves around the rungs of the ladder when he sees a blur of red above the apartment building. He silently prays that he doesn’t actually have to tell Clark what to do — that he’ll see the stranded civilians and will immediately get to work. The blur slows down to show Clark surveying the streets for a second, just looking and listening, before his head snaps in a direction. He turns and starts to fly off the same way.
That’s when he promptly slams face first into a building.
By some miracle, he wasn’t flying fast enough, or the window was resistant enough, that he doesn’t end up shattering straight through it.
And, just like last time, he has a momentary second of surprise, before he resolves himself, changes direction, and flies around the building instead.
Bruce chalks it up to him being in unfamiliar territory. Clark probably knows the glass Metropolis skyscrapers like the back of his hand. He could fly from one end of the city to the other with his eyes closed, weaving through the buildings like it’s second nature.
He’s not used to Gotham and its skyline, is what Bruce settles on, and finishes sawing through the vine, climbing up and setting the boy down on the fire escape.
He leaves to get back to rescuing the others. Not without giving the kid a lollipop, of course (The kid chooses blue raspberry ).
———
There’s the saying, ‘Once is an accident, twice is a coincidence, three times is a pattern’. After eight occurrences, and two months into them dating, Bruce is starting to see the pattern.
It’s late into the night. Well, late into the night for someone like Batman. It’s technically early morning now, and Bruce just got back from patrol with Dick. It was pretty uneventful except for having to escape one of Riddler’s traps (It was fairly easy to solve, but having to deal with Nygma will always leave him exhausted).
After showering, changing, and sending Dick off to bed, he types up the report for the night and powers off the Batcomputer, before making his way up the stairs. He grabs a drink of water, says goodnight to Alfred, checks to make sure Dick is asleep, and goes to bed.
He’s woken up by the sound of glass loudly shattering.
Bruce jolts, already grabbing for the switchblade underneath his pillow, and opens his eyes.
He’s met with the sight of bright sunlight streaming into the room through the glass door leading out to the balcony — the glass door that is no longer there, and is instead broken into pieces that are scattered on the ground.
Clark is laying, face down, in the pile of broken glass. His glasses have been knocked off to the side.
Bruce takes his hand out from under the pillow and fully sits up in bed, squinting at the onslaught of light. “Clark?” he says, his voice still rough from sleep.
Clark groans. It’s really more of a whine than anything. “It’s really bad, isn’t it?” he asks, stiltedly. His voice is lightly muffled since he has yet to pick his face up off the floor.
“If you’re referring to the sudden lack of door, then yes,” he responds mildly.
Clark lets out another soft whine and finally moves. He gets to his feet, brushing off the glass on his clothes and the pieces stuck to his body. He runs a hand through his hair, but he misses a few shards.
The rays from the rising sun backlight him, making the man look like he’s glowing. Bruce often wonders if Clark sometimes actually is glowing, or just has a knack for standing in spots where the sunlight perfectly illuminates him.
The light reflects off the shards, making them shimmer, and, from this distance, it looks like he has stray snowflakes caught in his hair. Bruce comes to the startling realization that he’s never seen Clark in the snow. He’s seen him in the arctic, yes, but not during actual snowfall. He needs to fix that.
He also realizes that Clark has avoided looking in Bruce’s direction this entire time. He’s turned to stare at the mess on the floor and the now-empty doorframe with a grimace on his face. He looks more embarrassed than Bruce has ever seen before. Which is saying a lot for a man who has tried to center his civilian personality around being clumsy.
“Oh lord, I’m sorry,” Clark says, rubbing the side of his face. “I… Yeah, I’ll pay for it. That… It’s- okay,” he stumbles over his words like he’s confessing to a crime.
Bruce feels like he could have definitely somehow responded kinder.
“Gosh dang it,” Clark says and, before he knows it, Clark is bending down and pushing the glass into a pile.
“Clark.” Bruce has no idea what to say, but he has to say something. He hates that he feels like he’s the one making Clark suffer. He probably is, he just doesn’t know how. “What was that?” He asks, because this might as well be the best time to start to get to the bottom of this mystery.
“I… broke the door.” He’s still not looking towards Bruce, still pushing around the glass.
“I can see that,” Bruce says, trying to keep his tone light but probably failing. “I meant, why did you break the door, exactly.”
“Well, I was- I was coming here to show you something. I woke up early and I thought you would be awake by now. I didn’t hear a lot happening last night so I figured you ended patrol early and so- so you would already be awake. I wasn’t really looking where I was going. I was just following your heartbeat. I know that using x-ray vision in your home would be an invasion of privacy, so I didn’t check to see if you were-“
“Clark,” Bruce cuts him off. He’s pretty sure Clark had started talking in super-speed by the end of that. He’s still just on his hands and knees, cleaning. “Can you come over here? I would come to you, but I know from experience that stepping on broken glass isn’t the most pleasant.”
Clark should have laughed at the joke, should have at least smiled. Instead, he just gets up and walks over to the side of the bed, that same expression still on his face, like a child about to be scolded by his parents. He’s picks up his glasses on the way over, wiping them off before slipping them on.
“I swear, I’ll pay for it. And, I know- you’re going to say that you don’t want me to, and that you’re more than capable of doing it yourself. But it was my fault, my mistake. I was being careless. I deserve to be the one to pay for it.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about here. I suppose, yes, you’re right that I would rather be the one paying, but I know that’s a pointless argument to make with you.” He was already thinking about who he’d have to call in order to get the door replaced, and whether or not only a new pane of glass was needed. Ironically enough, the balcony doors were reinforced — his paranoia getting the better of him, causing him to draft up the design for the doors to include bulletproof glass and an extra set of locks. Unfortunately, he didn’t factor an invulnerable Kryptonian into his plans.
Clark’s face is of naked surprise as his eyes finally meet Bruce’s — and god, he will never get over those mesmerizing blue eyes. Bruce has always been told that his own eyes were a frigid, cutting blue that could flip on a dime, from being intense and calculating to alluring and seductive. But Clark? His eyes were comforting, inviting, but shockingly vivid. A blue as warm as the sky on a hot, clear summer day.
“Oh, alright.” Clark looks down towards Bruce, studying him, trying to find something. “Then what are you worried about?”
Bruce thought he would understand. How could he not be worried about him?
He breathes out a small sigh and reaches his hands out towards Clark. He hears the man’s breath hitch as Bruce slides his hands under his shirt (he can still see shards on his clothes and would rather not be cutting his hands up right now). He winds them around his waist and tugs him closer towards to the bed. Clark allows him.
Bruce looks up into Clark’s eyes. “This isn’t the first time this has happened, right? Walking into a window and shattering it?” While Bruce has seen him walk or fly into windows on nine separate occasions by now, this is the first time he’s seen anything be actually damaged by this habit.
“Well…” Clark looks like he just got caught, like he just let slip a big secret no one was supposed to know. Bruce hates it. Thats not how he wants him to feel. “Maybe…?” He says hesitantly, like he’s expecting Bruce to either make fun of him or start yelling at him.
“Clark,” he starts and waits until a pair of impossibly bright blue eyes meet his. “I’ve seen a lot of things in my lifetime. And although I am still human and have yet to completely rid myself of the feeling of fear, it takes a lot to make me shy away from things. I’ve seen you pick up cruise liners and stop meteors with your bare hands. Why do you think you walking into a few windows is going to be the final straw?”
“I think there’s certain… expectations people have when it comes to my biology.” Clark looks over Bruce’s shoulder for a moment, but he seems like he has more to say so Bruce stays quiet.
“I look human, I sound human, I can act completely human, but, at the end of the day, I’m…” Clark trails off, looking down at his own hands, seemingly lost in thought.
“An alien?” Bruce guesses.
Clark huffs out a laugh. “Well, I was going to say ‘not human’, but yeah I guess that works.” He wraps his hands around Bruce’s forearms. Bruce thinks at first that he’s going to pull his hands off of him, but he keeps the hold loose, just running his thumb along his inner arm, so Bruce stays.
“Bruce, I’ve… I think it’s just… I’ve spent so long training myself to perfectly replicate human behavior, that way I can have a civilian life and grow up and make friends. That’s what my parents wanted — for me to experience life and childhood like any other person on Earth. And my powers, any ability that can be used to help people, those were given to Superman. Superman is an alien. Clark Kent is not. But there are things that are too… alien for Superman, and not human enough for Clark Kent… Does that make sense?”
“You’re saying that your being alien provides abilities that can become a hinder, when you are accustomed to your powers usually being beneficial.”
“Yeah,” Clark confirms, but his eyes are still trained on Bruce’s right forearm that his fingers are trailing. Even though his gaze is intent, he seems anything but focused. “There’re certain habits I have that don’t exactly make sense to most people.”
“Clark,” Bruce says, trying to gain his attention. “Do you think I see you as human?”
Clark looks back up at him. “Superman exists so that I don’t have to constantly exist as human,” he says, which doesn’t answer the question. But Bruce can tell what he’s actually saying: ‘I have an identity that allows me to enact on my inhuman behaviors while not making people uncomfortable because I am already expected to not be human’.
“I am aware,” Bruce says. “But do you think I see you as human?”
“You already know that I’m not human.”
“Precisely,” Bruce intones. He would slap him if A) he wouldn’t shatter his hand in doing so, B) Clark wasn’t currently being overtly vulnerable, and C) he had ever had an actual desire to inflict harm on Clark. “Therefore, do you think I see you as human?”
“No, because that would be a wrong assumption. And Batman doesn’t make wrong assumptions,” Clark says with a growing smirk.
Bruce is suddenly rethinking point C.
“Well,” he breaths out a sigh, “in this instance, that is true. I don’t see you as human. I haven’t, since I pieced together who Superman was.”
“Which you kept a secret until a few years after the fact,” Clark points out.
“I did not ‘keep it a secret’,” Bruce protests.
“Alright. You conveniently forgot to mention it until a few years after the fact. Is that more accurate?”
Bruce rolls his eyes and would pinch the bridge of his nose if his hands didn’t feel so comfortable nestled under Clark’s shirt. “I’m trying to make a point here.”
“Sorry, go on.”
Bruce scowls, a stark contrast from Clark’s gleaming expression, but continues nonetheless. “What i was trying to say,” he expresses pointedly, “was that I don’t see you as human, and I never have. It would be nothing but disrespectful and disingenuous to treat you completely as a human. Doing so would erase your heritage and an entire culture that would otherwise be lost to history. That is not me saying that I see you as an ‘other’, or as something that is too abstractedly alien that I cannot connect with you on a personal level. I am saying that I don’t have any preconceived expectations for how you should act, because I am aware that you possess behaviors that humans don’t. I am saying that I only see you as how you choose to present yourself to me. I am saying that I only see you as you, not Clark Kent, not Kal-El, not Superman, but you.”
Bruce is unsure whether or not that was too convoluted, or if he perhaps should’ve been even more elaborate, because Clark’s face is telling him nothing. His movements along Bruce’s forearms have stopped and he has a look on his face that Bruce can’t recall if he’s seen before.
It takes a while, them just making unusually long eye contact, before Clark speaks. “You should be a poet.”
Well. That’s not what he was expecting after that impromptu speech, but Bruce’s response is immediate and unthinking, “I don’t have the time for that. I am currently raising a child.”
“Yeah.” Clark’s laugh eases something in Bruce’s chest that he was unaware was tightening. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he says mirthfully, bringing a palm up to wipe at his eyes. “Thank you, Bruce. I… Just, thank you. I think that means more than you could know.” And Bruce knows that it most definitely does.
He didn’t expect a ‘thank you’, and he’s unprepared for how to respond to that. So he moves on. “Can you explain it to me?” he asks.
“Explain what?”
“That,” Bruce says, gesturing towards the shattered door behind him. “You said that you have habits that don’t make sense to people. So, I’d like you to make it make sense to me.”
“Well,” Clark starts, looking back at the shattered glass, “the x-ray vision sometimes makes it hard to know what’s really in front of me.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“It’s-…” Clark lets out a small, frustrated noise, apparently trying to sort his thoughts into something comprehensible for Bruce. “I’m always, to some degree, using my x-ray vision. It’s- when I’m not focusing on it, what’s in front of me just sort of vanishes-“ he cuts himself off with a humorless laugh. “God, this is hard to explain.”
Bruce squeezes his sides reassuringly, content to be patient and wait for Clark to get his thoughts in order.
“Okay, so, everywhere i look there’s layers. I can pick through the layers and focus on one, or turn them all off to see what’s just in front of me. But when I’m not focusing, things that aren’t very noticeable, I’ll just… look through them.”
“Like windows,” Bruce surmises.
“Yeah,” Clark lets out a breathy laugh. “Like windows. Ordinarily, you would be able to tell that there is a window in front of you based off of small discrepancies, like smudges or reflections. But, since I also have microscopic vision, the smaller details are overlooked so I am not as… overwhelmed, I guess. Or else, I’d be able to see every piece of dust floating through the air.”
Bruce nods and looks down in thought. “I guess I was under the impression that it was a voluntary thing, the x-ray. I suppose, if you’re constantly seeing through things, then see-through things would probably become pretty trivial.”
“They are. That’s why my apartment faces a brick wall; I don’t really need a view out the windows when I can look out the wall instead.”
“I thought you were just being cheap,” Bruce says with a sly smirk.
“I was being resourceful!” Clark shoots back and pushes Bruce’s shoulder lightly, but he’s laughing and his stance isn’t so tense anymore. That ever-present smile is back. Bruce feels like he can finally relax.
“You said you were here to show me something?” Bruce remembers aloud.
“Oh. Oh, yeah! Wait here,” he says, and before Bruce knows it, his hands are slipping from Clark’s waist as the man turns to walk back through the glass. It crunches under his feet as he leaves out the door, and onto the balcony, disappearing behind the curtains.
He bites back the retort that he couldn’t follow Clark even if he wanted to. Well, that’s not necessarily true — he would probably walk through fire if Clark asked him to.
Not even a second later, he’s back at the side of the bed, clutching something behind his back. He laughs, but it seems more self-conscious now. “This feels kind of… silly now, after everything.”
“So the broken door wasn’t meant to build suspense? I can’t believe I thought so highly of you, Kent.”
“Oh, shut it,” Clark frees a hand to push at his shoulder again. “I was just-… You remember that Japanese tech company that I told you was moving into Metropolis?”
“Yes.”
“Well, it turns out I was right; they were bad news, to say the least. But, on my unexpected trip to Osaka, I saw something in the window that made me think of you.”
Oh. Bruce tries to ignore the weird effect that has on his heart. This man is way too good for this planet.
“Now,” Clark says, “I need you to humor me.”
“You just came smashing through my door like a bull, and now you’re asking for my sympathy.”
Clark grins, the same distractible smile as always. “I think it’s the least you could do for a hand-delivered gift from the other side of the world.”
“I make no promises,” Bruce says, but they both know it’s in vain. He knows Clark well enough by now to have no doubts that whatever gift the man could give him would be perfect. Maybe not because of the actual gift, but because it was given to him by Clark. It’s an unintentional reminder that he was thinking about Bruce, and that he trusts that he knows Bruce enough to know that he’ll like the gift, so much so that it’s worth buying.
Bruce leans back to get a clearer view of the object suddenly thrusted in front of his face, clutched in Clark’s hands.
It’s… a bat. A brown, stuffed bat, with floppy wings and ears that remind him a little too much of Bat-Mite.
“A bat,” Bruce says, because apparently all of his eloquence decides that this is the best time to abandon him.
“Exactly!” Clark is practically thrumming with excitement. “And look at this! The wings can fold in on themselves,” he says while demonstrating exactly that — the wings wrapping their way fully around the torso of the stuffed animal.
“Hm.” He takes the bat out of Clark’s hands, because this is his gift after all.
It’s a lot softer than he was expecting. The body is fuzzy and the wings and ears feel like a smooth velvet. While it may just be a cheap plush, the anatomy isn’t that bad.
“It’s nice,” he states after twisting the thing fully around.
Clark laughs, and shrugs. “I’ll take that,” he acquiesces. “But you have to name him.”
Bruce looks back up at him. “You want me to name it.”
“Of course! He deserves a name if he’s going to be staying here. It is a he, right? Or is it a girl?”
“The difference between sexes are almost indistinguishable for bats without looking at their reproductive organs. I’m guessing this thing isn’t that anatomically correct.”
“And thank god for that.”
“Hm. Joe.”
Clark frowns. “Joe?”
“His name. It’s Joe. After your middle name.”
Clark just stares at him, so Bruce goes back to studying Joe. His eyes are a little too beady for his liking.
“Why not just Joseph then?” Clark asks eventually.
“Too long.” Bruce reaches over to place Joe on his nightstand, his long wings draping along the wood as his back is propped up against the porcelain body of a lamp.
Clark blows out a long breath. “I am very glad that you don’t have any biological kids.”
Bruce smiles. “You sure that’s the only reason?”
“Right about now, it’s the only reason that counts.”
“You’d be a good father.”
Clark blinks at the slight non-sequitur, and Bruce uses the time to seize the fact that his hands are free to reach up and pick out the few pieces of glass still in Clark’s hair.
“I’ve.. never really thought about kids,” Clark says.
“I don’t believe that.” Bruce pushes his head down to reach more of his hair. Clark follows, bowing his head and leaning down more.
“Well… I guess if I did want to have kids, it would be something that I wouldn’t force onto my partner.”
“I already have a kid.”
“You do,” Clark says simply.
“A kid that I hope isn’t thinking of abandoning me any time soon to find a ‘better home’.” He isn’t focusing on Clark’s face right now, but he can see him smiling in his peripherals. “So,” Bruce continues, “if our relationship is going to continue, then, whether you like it or not, you’re going to become a pretty big part of his life. Which, I want you to be.”
It’s another minute, where Bruce allows him time to think, before Clark responds. “Okay.”
Bruce tosses the last piece of glass that he can find off to the side, and places a hand on Clark’s jaw to tilt his face back up. “Okay?” Bruce repeats.
“Yeah,” Clark exhales a breath, “okay.”
Bruce sits there, staring into shining, bright blue eyes. “Okay,” he says, and pulls Clark’s face down into a kiss.