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Superman had been leading Batman’s section of the League’s quarterly meeting for the past fifteen minutes, and Bruce had to admit, he was doing a stellar job of it.
Usually, he wouldn't be nearly as disgruntled at the fact that Clark had taken over his role. Usually, he'd be proud.
But today was slightly different.
They'd had ... words ... back at the Cave, and it may have ended up escalating slightly.
Sure, Clark conceded to letting Bruce up to the Watchtower, but he'd drawn the line at presenting.
They were currently discussing a new damage-reduction training program that required each member to complete modules tailored to their abilities. It was something Bruce had been forced to introduce due to the fact that Wayne Enterprises was the primary funder of the League, and he really wasn't looking forward to going bankrupt anytime soon.
In the face of more work, Hal Jordan let out a groan of dismay.
“ – and our quarterly spendings can then be redirected to more productive projects. So, really, it’s a win-win all around.” Clark finished with a smile, and moved on to the next slide.
* * *
It was around the fourth point that Bruce's mind began to wander back to last night.
He'd gone out for patrol by himself on Alfred's insistence, because you haven't left the manor in three days, Master Bruce, and if you don't see to it that you get some fresh air, I certainly shall.
He was driving the Batmobile when the radio flared to life. Bruce stilled. The presenter's gruff voice sounded out a sentence he'd never thought he'd hear.
‘Last week, Gotham had its first night with zero violent crimes in 54 years.’
He pushed down on the brake pedal, hard.
The car was silent, even the purr of its engine fading - the quiet before the storm.
It couldn't be.
His hands shook where they gripped the steering wheel, and he couldn't seem to hold onto a single cohesive thought except –
Zero violent crimes?
Something inside him broke. Bruce felt it splinter in his chest, weigh heavy on his lungs.
He tugged off the cowl, sealed his lips together so he wouldn't make a sound and - maybe for the first time, ever - let himself sob.
Once it started, he couldn't stop. It shocked him, how many tears came out for the friends he'd lost and the family he'd gained and the city he spent his whole life trying to protect and love and save – but most of all, he something inside cried for him, because he'd been so young and scared and he'd wanted nothing more than to go home. Bruce never stopped wanting to go home.
When he first started out his mission, he was fuelled by vengeance. Most of his nights were spent on Gotham's streets, beating the anger out of his fists because he had nowhere else to put it.
It took far longer than it should've for the loneliness to settle in, but by then he'd built his walls so high that no one even knew someone sat behind them anymore.
Except Alfred. Always Alfred.
He remembered him now, how his lip would quiver when thought Bruce wasn't looking, with the enormity of losing the Waynes, but with relief for still having their son. As young as he was, he saw his constant dedication to the rose garden, maintaining it with the same care Martha had; the firmness of his hand as he tried to piece Bruce back together again, knowing that if he didn't, then he'd lose him too. The man had fought so hard just to bring him back from the brink of destruction.
But Gotham was healing now, from the inside out. And so was he. Bruce Wayne and Batman both, made that possible.
The crime rate had dropped. Joker was in Arkham to stay.
And there were no more children who lost their parents to the crack of a gun, bloodied pearls dropping on the floor behind the opera house because he’d wanted to leave early, because someone needed to feed their family with money they simply didn’t have –
No.
Stop.
(It really shouldn’t hurt as much as it did.)
Now he had an entire network of support, more people in his life than he knew what to do with (even if he still liked to deny any connection to them whatsoever).
He'd made a family.
(Mother. Father. If you’re listening …
Do you see me? Are you proud?)
Bruce was so drawn into his own mind that he didn’t register his name being called. Multiple times. After the sixth “Batman”, his head snapped up, startled.
Oh. “J’onn.” He shifted back in his seat and rested his forearms on the table, fingers interlaced. Composed. “My apologies.”
“Is something wrong, my friend?” the Martian probed, likely having sensed some sort of discomfort from his mind – or perhaps it was his stiffer-than-usual countenance that gave him away.
“Just peachy,” he grumbled, an automatic response that fell out before his brain could fully process what he’d said. The murmur of confusion that passed through the room made him realise that letting his boys’ colloquial speech mannerisms slip from his mouth was something he avoided for a reason.
“B,” Clark interjected with a sigh, a defeated little thing that had all eyes swivelling back to him. Bruce braced himself for the argument they hadn't finished in the Cave. “You said you’d be fine – "
Damn Clark and his stupid care.
“I am fine," he seethed, adopting a defensive stance with his hands placed flat on the table in front of him.
“ – but clearly that’s not the case, so I’ve commed Agent A – “
“ – You did what? You don’t get to interfere – “
“ – Go down, B – “
“ – I’ve got it handled. I can – “
“ – or I’ll make you, I mean it – “
“ – Goddammit, Kal!” At this point, his chair was sent careening backwards as he leaned his entire weight on his palms. “It’s fine. I’m fine."
Was it surprising, that he'd lied?
Bruce gripped the edge of the table, scratching at the wooden grain. His eyes were trained on Clark's Superman emblem. He wasn’t weak.
Clark sighed again, a crease forming between his brows. “No, you’re not. I’m not going to budge here – I’ll get the boys to take you down themselves if you won’t.”
“Cla – Kal.“ Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, the only sign of consideration he was going to give. “I don’t need to – to leave. It’s not important.”
The Kryptonian crossed his arms over his chest and raised a brow, disbelief marring his features – it was an insult to their friendship that he thought Clark wouldn’t see right through him. “I'm not even going to bother giving that an answer.”
This was turning into a Batman-Superman standoff in front of the entire League.
Diana stood up and inserted herself between the two, clearly having had enough of their – fight? altercation? – whatever this was. Where was their composure? They were the Trinity for crying out loud!
“Boys. How about we take this outside, hm?”
She didn’t wait for a reply before curling her fingers over Bruce’s shoulder and tugging him away.
The second the doors closed behind them, Clark spoke.
“Bruce.” He waited until the man looked at him, before pushing out a gentle “Please?”.
The crackle of the radio played in his mind again –
Last week Gotham had its first night with zero violent crimes in 54 years.’
It shouldn’t – it really shouldn’t.
But it hurt. A lot.
In the silence that followed, he broke all over again. The only outward sign, however, was the slight tremble of his lip; but enough for a Kryptonian to notice. “Okay. Okay, I’ll go.”
The tension seemed to trickle out of Clark’s shoulders. His eyes softened; he reached out to grab the back of Bruce’s cowl, immediately folding him into a tight hug.
Diana stood off to the side and took in the exchange, a question she didn’t dare ask on the tip of her tongue.
“That’s great, B. Really great. Thank you. Take some time to relax - process," he said, with a pointed look. "I’ll be seeing you at the manor later?” It was telling of his condition that Bruce let him divulge personal details on the Watchtower without so much as a disapproving glare.
He grunted in acknowledgement, still tucked under Clark’s hold. “Don’t count on it.”
The pair stayed there for a drawn-out moment, unwilling to pull apart. Until Clark leaned down to the side of Bruce’s head and whispered, “I’m proud of you.”
Bruce jerked back as far as he could. He let out a cough to cover for his reaction, turning away as he did. There would be a red flush climbing up his neck under the suit, Clark knew.
“Right. I’ll be going then.” He paused, uncertainty flickering over the part of his face that was visible. “You won’t need me?”
This time it was Diana who answered, in a thoroughly amused tone, “No, Bruce. We will be fine. Go on now.” She shared a secret smile with Kal, and saw a fondness shining from his face as they watched the Kevlar-clad man reach the zeta tubes.
Interesting.