Chapter Text
1.
Clark Kent had taken up the title of Superman nearly three years ago. Perhaps too quickly, the people of Metropolis had adopted the Kryptonian as a symbol of hope, for them and for the world. Every day, Clark marveled at his life. He was finally able to help people in the way he had longed to since his powers realized as a pre-teen in Kansas.
In the past two years, he had heard stray, hushed whispers of a vigilante—Batman, he reminded himself—emerging across the bay in Gotham City. Although the brief accounts were mainly rumor, Clark was inclined to believe them. As Superman, he sought the man out. Of course he did. Anyone dressing up as a nocturnal mammal and tackling Gotham's crime in lieu of the law would be of interest to Superman. This one, especially, because of his ability to fade into the shadows. Even with superhuman powers, tracking the man down was like chasing after the wind.
As Clark Kent, he wasn't doing much better. He had tried to come up with a reasonable cause to pitch a story on The Batman, but the startling lack of concrete evidence that he even existed quickly halted his hopes of that. The few reports of interactions with the man all sounded like urban legends: each some form of "he only comes out after midnight, and never when it's clear." What irked Clark the most was his inability to pinpoint Batman's intentions. Was he vengeful, seeking retribution for a municipal failure? Or was he simply trying to improve the city, something the GCPD had always failed to do? The crime rate in Gotham did seem to be going down, although only slightly. It seemed to be all Clark could think of, these days. He just wished he could meet the man, talk with him—
"Smallville!" Lois snapped, jolting Clark out of his thoughts.
"Hey," Clark looked up, smiling somewhat sheepishly. He hastily clicked his mouse to turn his black-screened computer back on. "What's up?"
She narrowed her eyes. "I think I should be asking you that question."
"Well, I still need to call the Metropolis DOE to set up that interview I was talking to you about—the one for my story on increasing teacher salaries and staff development initiatives—but I already got my questions and additional contacts figured out."
"I know you know that's not what I meant, Clark," Lois said, softer than before. "What's going on? I haven't seen you this out of it in... ever. Is something bothering you?"
Clark let out a breathy laugh, looking down. "No," he cleared his throat. "No. It's silly. Just too in my head lately."
"Well, I hope you won't let it impact this assignment. It's one hell of a story, Smallville, and I know you of all people can recognize the good it will do."
"Yeah, yeah no. Of course not. What are you working on, again?"
They fell back into their usual easy conversation, but Batman did not stay in the back of Clark's mind for long. He walked home thinking about the Bat. He opened the door to his apartment wondering what Batman was doing at the same time. Had he just gotten off work? Did he even have a real job? He had to, to support his nighttime activities. Right? Clark cooked himself dinner, ate, and cleaned up thinking about him.
He sat on the couch, closing his eyes and intentionally listened out, a practice he found himself doing in every spare moment of silence. No looming threats of extraterrestrial invasion, no natural disasters currently happening, and no rumblings of monster attacks, either. He listened closer, focusing on Smallville. His Ma and Pa were both sound asleep. Clark smiled to himself, making a mental note to call them in the morning. He listened to their cattle, ensuring none were in distress before he expanded his hearing back to the entirety of North America, and was immediately met with the sound of a fight and a yell of true, unadulterated fear. His eyebrows furrowed, fingers twitching to change his clothes as he realized it came from Gotham. He heard the grueling crunch of a fist against bone. The one who was punched spit at the ground.
"W- Wha- Who-" the man spluttered.
A gravelly voice answered, "I'm Batman."
Clark's ears perked up. Now, he did speedily change into the Superman suit, flying out his window to observe from a distance. He would talk to Gotham's bat, and he would do it tonight. He listened and, now, watched as Batman apprehended the criminal. It seemed as though he was attempting to break into the first floor of a law firm. Once the culprit was sent on his way—not without a harsh, downright menacing talking-to—Superman used his opening. He floated down from the building he was perched atop, landing a few feet in front of the vigilante.
"I'm Superman," he reached his hand out and smiled at the man in front of him. "I... guess I don't know if you know who I am, but I've been hearing about you—"
"I know who you are. Put your hand down." Clark lowered his outstretched hand. He had to be using a voice modulator. There was no way anyone's voice was that deep, even if he was a nocturnal crime-fighter.
He smiled. "Oh, great! I've been looking for you for a while, I wanted to have a conversation."
"I don't talk to metas. Get out of my city."
Superman was visually taken aback by the statement.
"I just want to talk about why you're doing what you are, why you're fighting Gotham criminals. It's admirable, I just don't know your intentions,"
"I know what Gotham needs. And I don't intend to take advice on that subject from an outsider," Batman's face seemed to be in a perpetual frown.
"No, I," Superman inhaled, schooling his expression. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. I wanted to ask if you would be interested in working with me. Not all the time, of course, but on the big stuff. If there's a monster attack on Gotham, I thought you might want some help."
"You thought wrong," Batman scowled. "Leave."
"I see. My offer still stands, if you ever change your mind." Superman nodded his head, taking one last look at The Batman, who was definitely real. He smiled, lifting his hand in a departing gesture, before fully raising his arm to ascend into the sky back toward Metropolis.
On the quick journey, the Kryptonian thought about the parts of the vigilante he was able to see. He had an impressive array of tactical gear and a kevlar-ridden suit, indicating that he had not risen off the streets to fight crime. He had money at his disposal. The Gothamite also wore a cowl covering and protecting the upper half of his face, with pointy ears on top. For someone so serious, Superman thought the identifying attribute a bit laughable. What he really focused on, though, were Batman's eyes. Or, he should say, their lack of visibility.
The man had white lenses in the cowl where his eyes would've shown. Why did he cover them? Was it a defense against possible damage to the sensitive area? That seemed probable. He could've also used them to install some sort of night-vision technology, allowing him to lurk in the shadows but still see around him. Based on their short interaction, Superman assumed the covering could be related to paranoia about a secret identity.
Or, maybe, it was to remove all personality from his persona, solidifying himself as more of a symbol than a real person. If that was Batman's intent, it wasn't working well on Superman. As he entered his bedroom window and changed out of his primary-colored suit, Clark's thoughts wandered to what Batman's eyes looked like beneath those lenses.
Were they warm and brown, softening the angular shape of his face? It seemed unlikely. He didn't think his eyes would be cold, necessarily, but maybe more of a striking color. Blue, like ice? Perhaps green, a rarer shade to fit his mystery? For all Clark knew, they could be something else entirely. No one knew if The Batman was human. Could he have some strange, alien iris shade? Based on that logic, Clark guessed his own eyes would have to be considered alien. He scrapped that idea.
As Clark Kent brushed his teeth, he decided Batman's eyes were probably some shade of blue. He drifted off to sleep wondering if he would ever find out.