Chapter Text
Clark stretches as he walks back into the bullpen. It’s mostly empty, given that people usually go home early on Friday– generally at this point the important news has been reported, and everyone’s ready to get going for their weekend.
Unless they’re one of the unlucky sods who gets assigned weekend events, but thankfully that’s not Clark’s beat. Cat does seem to like it, but Cat also doesn’t have kids.
Kids that Clark would like to get back to, he thinks as he walks toward his computer. He’s bringing Conner over to Gotham for the weekend, and he’d like to be there as soon as possible so that he can spend time with Bruce and the boys before he conks out for the night.
He sits down, quickly typing up his notes and only pausing to say goodbye to Lois when she leaves. He’s almost done when Perry stops in front of his desk.
“Ah, there you are, Kent.”
Clark looks up, forcing a smile.
“Evening, Mr. White. What can I do for you?”
“You can take Grant’s place at the charity event in Gotham tomorrow night,” Perry says, sliding a press pass onto Clark’s desk. “She double-booked herself, and I want her on an event in Metropolis.”
Clark blinks, mouth opening and closing in shock as Perry walks away.
“I– sir, I don’t–”
“Kent, I’ve spent most of the day talking to Bratten about market share, I do not have the energy to argue with you right now. Besides, you owe me after you missed that interview last week.”
“It was an emergency,” Clark argues weakly.
“Be that as it may, you still owe me a piece. You’re going, end of story.” Perry waves without looking at him. “Enjoy the time off you’ve still got.”
Clark opens his mouth to argue, but Perry’s out of the bullpen before he can. He grimaces, looking down at his computer.
“Great,” he mutters to himself before turning back to his computer. He lets out a long, tired sigh.
This isn’t going to be a fun conversation with Bruce, he thinks.
About an hour later, Clark and Conner arrive at the Batcave. Bruce isn’t in there for once– he said something about a meeting that was likely going to run late, so they should just head up without him.
Clark doesn’t fully mind, though he’d obviously prefer that Bruce were around. Still, he takes Conner up to the main floor, heading right for the living room.
“Hey guys!” Clark calls cheerfully.
“Clark!” Dick says, hopping off the couch and running over. He gives Clark a quick sidehug, then reaches over to let Conner grab his finger, which he does happily. “How was the flight over?”
“Perfectly fine, as usual,” Clark says as Jason walks up to them. “Hey, kiddo.”
“Hey, Clark,” Jason responds breezily before smiling up at Conner. “Hi, Conner.”
Conner giggles, waving around the hand that isn’t holding onto Dick’s finger.
“B should be home soon,” Dick says. He tries to pull his hand away, which Conner grunts. “Conner, buddy, I need that back.”
Conner grunts, looking displeased with the idea of letting him go.
“Please?”
Conner whines. Clark chuckles, then lifts him up to buzz his lips against his cheek, which makes him giggle and distracts him into letting go.
“Thanks, Clark!”
“Of course. Now, what were you two up to before we got here?”
Dick starts talking about the game that he and Jason were playing, explaining it while they walk to the couch. They manage to get him to play a round (that he loses horribly) by the time that Bruce comes up.
“I see I haven’t been missed.”
Clark, despite having just been crushed into dust by an eight-year-old, grins as he looks over the back of the couch.
“Nah, I always miss you,” Clark says, tilting his chin up a bit. Bruce meets him in a quick kiss, and they both ignore Jason and Dick making disgusted noises. “How was work?”
“Fine. Long.” He reaches down, stroking Conner’s cheek gently. “I missed you guys too.”
“Aw,” Clark says just as he hears Bruce’s phone vibrate. He frowns. “Don’t tell me they’re making you work more.”
Bruce snorts.
“They can try,” Bruce says before pulling his phone out of his pocket. After a moment, he frowns.
“Everything okay?”
Bruce looks up, then slips his phone into his pocket with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Just an email I got. I’ll tell you later.”
Clark’s frown deepens a little, but he nods and gets up.
“Okay. Well, I’m sure Alfred’s made dinner if you’re hungry.”
“I am, actually,” Bruce says before taking Conner. He shifts him to one arm, then takes Clark’s hand.
Clark smiles at him, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek.
“Stop being mushy and let’s eat!”
Clark laughs as Bruce rolls his eyes.
“Okay, okay.”
Later, when all the kids have eaten and Conner has been put to bed, Clark and Bruce head up to the bedroom. Clark’s stomach turns just a little with nerves– he knows it’s not the end of the world or anything, but he is a little nervous about talking with Bruce about this.
Mostly because of what he’ll have to admit to.
Still, no time like the present.
“I need to tell you something,” Clark says at the exact same time as Bruce. They blink at each other. “Oh, uh, you can– you can go first.”
“No, it’s fine, you go ahead.”
“Okay, well, uh,” Clark clears his throat, “I got assigned to cover the charity event for the new shelter in Gotham tomorrow. The one that you’re going to, I mean.”
Bruce’s eyebrows rise.
“Is Miss Grant alright?”
“Oh, yeah, she’s fine, there’s an event in Metropolis at the same time and Perry thought it was more important for her to cover that, since we’re a Metropolis newspaper and all.” Clark shrugs. “And, well, I missed an interview and had to make it up to him, so…”
“Hm. And he’s letting you go, even though I’ll be there?”
Clark presses his lips together, looking away.
“... Clark.”
“Er… well-”
“Clark. You didn’t tell your boss we’re dating?”
“It didn’t seem like the right time!” Clark argues.
“It’s been nearly two months,” Bruce says. “You couldn’t have told him before now?”
“It hasn’t come up until now! I don’t cover a lot of news directly related to you or Wayne Enterprises, it wasn’t super relevant.”
“You still should have told him by now,” Bruce insists. “And you especially should have told him when he gave you this assignment.”
“He didn’t really give me the chance to argue,” Clark says. “He literally told me I was assigned the piece on his way out the door.”
Bruce looks at him for a moment, then sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Are you going to tell him after the gala, at least?”
“Yes, I will,” Clark promises. “I think I can use this to my advantage, actually. I’ll tell him we were seeing each other casually until the gala.”
Bruce’s head jerks up, eyes wide.
“Not that this is casual!” He says quickly. “Just– that’s probably the best cover I’ve got. Perry usually doesn’t care unless it’s a serious relationship.”
Bruce exhales, running a hand over his face.
“Alright,” he says after a minute, “you can hold off. But once the piece is out– how long should that take?”
“Should run on Tuesday, if there aren’t any hold-ups.”
“Tell him on the following Monday, then. And minimize my part in the piece.”
“I can probably get away with not getting a quote from you if I say you were busy all night,” Clark agrees. He takes a step closer. “Though I will miss talking to you all night.”
Bruce huffs out a small laugh.
“No delays, alright? The longer you wait, the worse it looks.”
“I know,” Clark says with a sigh. He then smiles. “At least we’ll get to see each other, though, right? Not talking, but being in the same room is nice.”
To his surprise, Bruce hesitates.
Clark frowns.
“What?”
Bruce swallows.
“I, um… found out the guest list for the gala.”
“Oh. Kind of late for that, isn’t it?”
“The organizers for this one tend to leave it until the last minute,” Bruce says.
“Ah, I see. Well, is anyone interesting going?”
Bruce winces.
“That’s… actually why I need to talk to you.”
Clark blinks.
“Why?”
Bruce takes a breath.
“I would like to make it clear that, even if you weren’t also going, I was going to talk to you about this anyway.”
Clark blinks.
“Okay? What is it?”
“There will likely be several people at the gala whom I have been… involved with.”
Clark blinks, a sudden cold seeping into his fingers.
“Oh.” He clears his throat. “And, uh, by involved you mean…”
“I’ve had sex with them, yes.” Bruce sighs. “It was… a bit of a bad habit, previously.”
Despite the churning of his gut, Clark frowns at that.
“What do you mean?”
Bruce shrugs.
“I desperately wanted you. I thought I couldn’t have you. I occasionally coped with it– or attempted to get over it– by having meaningless sex. I wasn’t nearly selective enough when I started, meaning that I now have to navigate interacting with important people I’ve slept with at most charity events.”
Clark swallows.
“Who was it?” He blurts before he can stop himself. He regrets it immediately, especially when Bruce raises an eyebrow.
“Do you actually want to know?” He asks in a carefully neutral voice.
“No,” Clark says quickly. “No, I– I don’t. Sorry.”
Bruce’s expression softens, and he takes a step towards him, reaching down to take his hand.
“I know this is putting you in an uncomfortable position,” Bruce says, “and if I didn’t have to do this for the sake of a program I'm working on, I wouldn’t. But this is important to me, Clark. And unfortunately, this is how we forge the connections we need to get things like this off the ground. Money and good intentions only go so far.”
“Bruce…” Clark takes a breath. “I don’t suppose that you’ll be able to avoid interacting with any of the people you’ve been with?”
Bruce smiles ruefully.
“Unfortunately, one of them is going to be a vital contact for the project I’m working on with the Wayne Foundation. It’s still early days, but I’ll need their support. I can’t just ignore them.”
Clark’s stomach squeezes.
“Oh.”
“But,” Bruce says, bringing up Clark’s hand to his chest. “I can promise that I will keep it entirely professional. No flirting, no innuendo, none of the normal ‘Bruce Wayne’ things that I know you hate–”
“I don’t hate it–”
“Clark.”
“... okay, maybe I hate it a little,” he admits. “It’s just– it’s so not you!”
Bruce’s lips curl up in the tiniest little smile. He pulls Clark’s hand up to his face, kissing his knuckles.
“And that’s why I would always choose you over any of them,” he says. “You actually care about me.”
He smirks, stepping into Clark’s space.
“And if I’m honest, none of them compare to you anyway. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted any of them.”
Clark blinks, then grins.
“Yeah?” He asks, putting his hands on Bruce’s hips. “You mean that?”
“I would think I’ve been very clear about that,” Bruce says as he wraps his arms around Clark’s neck. “Unmistakably so, in fact.”
“Mm, but it never hurts to have a reminder, does it?” Clark murmurs as his hands trail down Bruce’s back. “I could stand to hear it a couple… hundred more times.”
Bruce huffs out a small laugh, then kisses Clark, reaching up to thread his fingers through the hair on the back of his head.
“How does a demonstration sound?” He asks in a low voice.
Clark shivers a little, then grins, looping his hands under Bruce’s behind and hoisting him up.
“Sounds quite alright to me,” he replies as he carries him towards the bed.
Sometime later– much later– they’re relaxing in bed, legs tangled up together. Like always, it’s wonderful.
And yet, Clark still feels the need to apologize burning in the back of his throat. He sighs, then opens his mouth.
“M’sorry,” he says quietly.
“About what?”
“Just– feeling like this, I guess. It’s not fair to you. I mean, I work with my ex and you haven’t complained.”
Bruce snorts.
“I think I had enough of being horribly jealous of Lois Lane when you were actually together. Besides, I know that’s not the kind of person you are, or the kind of person she is.”
Clark winces.
“I don’t think you’re that kind of person either, for the record,” he says. “I just… I hate the idea of anyone looking at you like that. Like you’re… like they could have you.”
Like you’re not mine, he doesn’t say.
Bruce turns over, taking Clark’s hand and pulling it to his chest.
“It’s unlikely that any of them will do anything,” he says. “Most of them were explicitly uninterested in more than one night.”
He runs his thumb over Clark’s hand.
“But if it really bothers you, then how about this: you can listen in.”
Clark’s eyebrows rise.
“Wh– honey, no, I trust you–”
“I know you trust me,” Bruce says. “But I think having it reinforced that I’m not interested, and most of them won’t be either, would be good for you. Besides, you know I don’t mind you listening in on me.”
Clark flushes a little.
“I-I know, I just… are you sure?”
“If it’s the difference between you being able to do your job and not, then yes.” Bruce shrugs. “It’s only one night, anyway.”
Clark hesitates, then nods.
“But if you decide you want me to stop, then tell me and I will, no questions asked.”
“I’m not going to, but alright,” Bruce says before snuggling into Clark’s chest. “Now, go to sleep, we have a big day tomorrow.”
Clark snorts.
“How are you the one telling me that,” he murmurs, closing his eyes.
Even with the nerves still in his gut, he manages to fall asleep.
The next day, Clark turns down the usual accommodations the Planet puts him in whenever they send him to Gotham. He tells them he and Conner will be staying with a friend, and they accept that.
It’s not a lie, technically. Bruce is still his friend, and always will be.
So, them staying at Wayne Tower is staying with a friend.
Even if that friend is also Clark’s undisclosed romantic partner.
Anyway. Clark spends the afternoon prepping for the gala.
Which does not involve trying to figure out who on the guest list might be the important person that Bruce has to talk to. He is a professional, with a job to do that doesn’t involve glaring at his boyfriend’s previous hook-ups, or discerning who those hook-ups were.
No. He’s good. He doesn’t need to know.
(He wants to know so bad)
He gets dressed for the gala at the Tower, slipping into one of his nicer suits.
That doesn’t stop Dick and Jason from making fun of him, however.
“Your jacket looks like a tent,” Dick says. “But like, not a cool one. One of those old ones that are all pyramid-shaped.”
“I didn’t think they made tux jackets big enough for a guy like you to look tiny,” Jason says. “Don’t you know how sizes work?”
“I’m very well aware, actually,” Clark says as he adjusts his bow-tie in front of the mirror. “It’s part of the disguise.”
“It is?”
“Mmhm. It makes me look smaller, which makes it less likely that people will connect me with Superman.”
“Don’t you have the magic glasses for that?”
Clark huffs in amusement.
“It’s not magic, it’s advanced Kryptonian technology. And the fewer similarities Clark Kent has with Superman, the better.”
“Yeah, it’s like how B will be all suave and stuff when he’s being all ‘Bruce Wayne,’ but then he’s a total recluse when he’s being himself,” Dick says. “All part of the disguise.”
“I’m not a total recluse,” Clark hears Bruce argue. He turns to see him walking down the stairs, still wearing his usual grey hoodie and black sweatpants. Conner is in his arms, playing with the hoodie strings.
At his handsomest, in Clark’s opinion. He smiles at him.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he says. “Not dressed yet?”
“Bruce Wayne is never on time for these things, remember? I probably won’t get there until we’re at least an hour in.”
“Ahhh, makes sense.” He holds out his arms and turning around. “Well, what do you think?”
“That I like you better in clothes that actually fit you,” Bruce deadpans.
Clark laughs.
“Unfortunately I can’t quite accommodate that request,” he says.
“Mm, well, maybe someday.”
Clark blinks, but before he can ask Bruce what he means by that he speaks again.
“You should probably get going,” he says. “After all, this is work for you.”
Clark sighs, pulling Bruce close.
“You think I could get away with a few more minutes?”
“Not unless you want to deal with Gotham traffic and being much later than you want to be,” Bruce tells him.
“Fair,” Clark says. He kisses Bruce quickly, ignoring Dick and Jason’s comical gagging, then leans down to kiss the top of Conner’s head. “I’ll see you later, alright?”
“See you there,” Bruce says with a small smile.
Clark grins, then turns towards the boys.
“You guys don’t give Alfred too much trouble, okay?”
“When do we ever give Alfred trouble?”
“Is that a rhetorical question?”
Both boys roll their eyes.
“We’ll be good,” Dick promises.
“Mostly,” Jason adds.
Clark rolls his eyes, but decides he doesn’t have time to argue.
“Be back later!” He says before hurrying out toward the elevator.
His stomach still feels… kinda funky, even as he heads down.
He sees quite a few of his fellow reporters around. They’re almost exclusively from Gotham papers, of course– he sees Vicki Vale talking with Ferris Boyle and looking about as annoyed as her stalwart professionalism will allow, for example. He also sees a few people from close cities, though not many. He’s not surprised, given that this is a Gotham event. Most of the press is going to be from Gotham.
He has to admit, that makes him feel a little out of place. The Gotham press tends to run the gamut from perfectly polished like Vicki to folks who are only barely above tabloids by the grace of actual credentials. There aren’t a lot of people in the city like him, as Bruce has pointed out many times.
And that’s a good thing, he thinks. He has a different perspective than these people, can critique from an outsider’s point of view rather than someone who’s been mired in Gotham’s… uniqueness for too long.
Still, part of him is glad that, once he tells Perry about the conflict of interest, he’ll likely never get assigned a Gotham story again. Bruce– or rather, Wayne Industries– is simply too entrenched in every aspect of the city for it not to come up.
But for tonight, he’s stuck here, taking quotes for a piece well outside his usual beat.
He takes note of the people coming in, eying them not-at-all suspiciously.
There’s no reason to. Bruce isn’t even here yet, and anyway, it can’t possibly be all of them, right? He knows Bruce wouldn’t go for anyone married or in a relationship, despite what the tabloids have claimed, and he has to have had some standards, right?
Clark clenches his jaw, then shakes his head.
He’s being ridiculous. It doesn’t matter. The past is the past.
And he’s got a job to do anyway. He’s got to get some quotes– Perry emailed him a list of people he wants him to ask questions, including Bella and–
“It’s so good to see you again–”
Clark’s upper lip curls. He glances over his shoulder, trying not to let the annoyance he feels show on his face too much.
After all, Harvey Dent (with his perfect suit and perfect hair and perfect smile) hasn’t actually done anything to earn that. He’s a good DA: compassionate towards those who deserve it, stern towards those who don’t, and his and Gordon’s efforts toward cleaning out corruption within Gotham’s justice system are absolutely worthy of praise.
And it’s not like he’s rude, or a jerk, or anything– at least, not in public. He’s a perfectly nice, perfectly polite man.
Clark has no real reason to dislike him.
Except that he can’t shake the feeling that he’s… kind of arrogant. And that there’s something lurking there, below the surface, something that Clark just doesn’t like.
Jimmy said that Dent’s his “b-word eating crackers,” whatever that means. Clark can’t really dispute that, especially since he has no proof that Dent has done anything wrong– the opposite, really.
He’s fine. Harvey Dent is fine.
But that doesn’t mean Clark has to rush to get a quote from him. He can leave it for later, when he’s nearly done and can leave right after.
He’ll be glad to be done with all of this as soon as he possibly can.
Bruce arrives, as expected, about an hour in. He’s dressed to the nines in a nice tux, with his hair styled and a little bit of eyeliner on.
Clark will admit, he looks handsome, even if he prefers seeing him in clothes he actually finds comfortable. He’ll be happy to see him freshly showered and in pajamas later.
He keeps working. Gets quotes from various people around the gala, avoiding both Bruce and Dent. He keeps an ear on Bruce’s conversations, but as Bruce said, they’re not very interesting. Mostly it’s rich people stuff: stocks, trips abroad, yachts, all things Bruce is either disgusted by or mind-numblingly bored by.
He does, admittedly, glance over at Bruce a few times. Just to check on him.
(And to make sure that no one is)
He does it surreptitiously, subtly enough that no one could notice.
At least, that’s what he thinks until he overhears Bruce talking to Bella.
“That reporter from Metropolis keeps looking over at you,” Clark hears Bella murmur. “The tall one, with the glasses.”
Clark’s shoulders stiffen, a flush making its way up his neck. Was he really that obvious about it?
“Does he?” He hears Bruce ask. “Is he staring?”
“Mm, not right now. But I’ve seen him do it a couple times. Think he wants a quote?”
“Hm, maybe.” Clark can practically hear the smirk in Bruce’s voice. “Or perhaps he has less… professional things in mind.”
Oh, heck, Bruce definitely knows he’s listening. That’s the voice he uses to tease him before… certain activities.
Clark only barely resists the urge to tug at the knot of his tie.
“I didn’t think he was your type,” he hears Bella remark. “Not usually what you’re into.”
“My tastes are more varied than you might think, Ms. Mayor,” Bruce replies. “Besides, he’s cute.”
Clark’s lips quirk up into a tiny smile.
“And here I thought you’d learned your lesson after the Vicki thing.”
Clark’s smile drops. He glances over at Vicki, who is talking to the Drakes, his stomach turning.
There’s no way, right? Vicki is ten times the professional he is, she wouldn’t sleep with someone she regularly interviews, right?
Right?
“But what if she did,” that tiny voice from before asks. “What if she’s one of the people Bruce has been with, how many of them could there be, you have to–”
“You know that the date was just an excuse for an interview,” he hears Bruce say. “Everything was completely above board.”
Clark’s shoulders drop in pure relief.
“Still. Didn’t take you for the kind of guy to risk a reporter spilling your secrets.”
“Mm… he seems trustworthy to me.”
Clark bites back a small smile, then tunes out Bruce and Bella to go find some more people to talk to.
He doesn’t listen in for a little while, accepting that Bruce was probably right about how boring this would be. Actually, he kinda feels a little silly about the whole thing; sure, part of Bruce’s persona is that he’s a bit of a flirt, but he knows how and when to turn it down, or off in this case. And it’s not like he’s never rebuffed advances before.
(Even if no one should be making those advances now because)
It’s all good. They’ll go home, they’ll shower, they’ll get in bed and watch an episode of the Grey Ghost that Bruce will give him all the trivia for–
“... been a while since we’ve seen each other, Bruce.”
Clark freezes, his stomach turning. He clenches his fist around his pencil, then lets go.
“Well, I’ve been busy.”
“Right, with the new kid. How is he doing, by the way?”
“He’s doing well. Had some hiccups, but things are mostly smoothed out.” Clark can hear the smile in Bruce’s voice, and that makes him smile too. “He’s a good kid.”
“Glad to hear it,” Dent responds, which makes Clark’s smile drop. “But I hope you’re still making time for yourself.”
“A few less parties is hardly a big sacrifice, Harvey.”
“For you it is. Actually, I heard a rumor.”
“Mm? About me? How unusual.”
Dent laughs. Clark grips his notepad.
“Well, it’s an unusual kind of rumor to get attached to you.”
“Oh?”
“Mmhm. Word is that you haven’t been seen with a date in quite some time. You haven’t even been seen flirting much, or taking anyone home.”
Clark freezes, heart skipping a beat in his chest.
“Like I said, I’ve been busy. My love life hasn’t been a priority,” Bruce lies, casually as anything.
“Mm, well, rumor has it that you’ve had your heart stolen.”
Clark swallows hard.
“What rumors? Because you and I both know the tabloids will make up that they have a source.”
Dent laughs. Clark grits his teeth.
“So, is it not true then?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because if it’s not true, then I’d like to ask you to dinner.”
Clark’s heart stops.
“That’s rather bold.”
“Is it? It’s not like we don’t have proven chemistry. Or have you forgotten that night we had?”
Now Clark’s heart is pounding in his ears. He turns towards the two of them, snapping his pencil in half when he sees just how close Dent is standing to Bruce, who is at least leaning away but he shouldn’t be in that position to begin with, Dent should back off, Dent shouldn’t be anywhere near Bruce, and Clark–
Clark needs to–
Clark should march over there and grab him by the throat–
Clark turns away just as he hears Bruce turn him down. His heart races in his ears, his stomach churning, and he needs– he can’t–
He needs to get away from everyone right now.
Clark tries to keep his breathing steady as he hurries through the ballroom. His vision swims– to his horror, it’s tinted red, red, red at the edges.
“Sorry– sorry, excuse me,” he mutters as he pushes past people, one foot in front of the other.
Eventually, and he’s not totally sure how, he finds himself on a balcony. He grips at the railing, taking deep breaths to try and calm himself.
Eventually, the red– the burning– fades away. All that’s left is Clark, shaking like a leaf.
“Why… why did I…?”
He’d wanted to– he thought about—
He’d never–
But he wanted to–
“Clark?”
Clark freezes. Slowly, his gut churning with guilt, he looks over his shoulder at Bruce.
“Clark, are you alright? You pretty much ran out of there.”
“I…” Clark swallows. “I heard– I heard you and Dent talking.”
Bruce’s eyebrows rise, then fall.
“Ah. You heard him ask me out.”
“Mm.”
“Did you hear me turn him down?”
“I did, Bruce, that’s– that’s really not the problem.”
“Then what is?”
Clark grimaces.
“I… I can’t. I can’t tell you.”
“What? Clark, you know that you can tell me anything.”
“Not this,” Clark all but pleads. “You’d hate me if you knew.”
Bruce’s expression softens. He gets in Clark’s space, taking his hands.
“Clark, there is nothing– nothing– that could ever make me hate you,” he says. “You’re my best friend, the best friend I’ve ever had. And… Clark, I know the timing’s bad, but you have to know that I–”
“I wanted to hurt him.”
Bruce blinks, lips parting. After a second, his eyebrows come together.
“You– what? Clark…”
Clark feels himself crumple.
“I’m sorry,” he rasps, “I don’t– I don’t know what came over me, I just– I heard him ask you that, and I looked at him, and I-I wanted– shit.”
“Clark,” Bruce says, squeezing his hands, “Clark, breathe.”
Clark does, albeit shakily.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, “I’m so sorry, I… that wasn’t…”
“I know,” Bruce says. “Do you think it could have been red kryptonite?”
Clark shakes his head.
“This felt different,” he tells him. “Red kryptonite, it’s– it’s a loss of control too, but it’s a lot different. It’s a mild annoyance that gets bigger and bigger, and I stop being able to keep myself from snapping at everyone. I was able to keep myself from doing anything, so it couldn’t have been red kryptonite.”
Bruce nods, folding his arms across his chest.
“Is it possible you were dosed with something? Not red kryptonite specifically, but something that could mimic the effects. We could go back to the cave and test–”
“Bruce,” Clark says, trying not to sound as miserable as he feels. “I wasn’t dosed. There’s no red kryptonite, or some aerosol, or– or anything that would make me feel like this.”
He swallows.
“I think… I think there’s something wrong with me.”
“Clark, there’s nothing–”
“There is,” he insists, “I don’t… Bruce, I’ve never been jealous like this before. Not with Lois, not with anyone I’ve ever dated. I’m not… possessive. Not like I have been.”
He runs a hand through his hair.
“I don’t– I don’t know why this is happening to me. Why I’m acting like this– why I feel like this.”
“Clark…” Bruce swallows, then squeezes his hands. “What are you going to do?”
Clark takes a breath, then exhales slowly.
“I… I think the only thing that I can do is try to figure out what’s going on,” Clark says. “Maybe the Fortress Computer will have something.”
Bruce grimaces, but nods.
“Okay. Head for the Fortress, look into it. If you run into any encryption problems let me know.”
Despite himself, Clark smiles.
“You really think you can stand up to Kryptonian tech?”
“I know I can,” Bruce says matter-of-factly. Clark laughs, then leans in, pressing his forehead against Bruce’s. Bruce’s hand comes up to cradle his neck.
After a moment, Clark sighs.
“Bruce, I– you have to know that I would never–”
“I know, Clark,” Bruce says. “You’d never do anything to hurt me, or the kids. And I know that you wouldn’t have done anything to hurt Dent, because you didn’t hurt him now.”
Clark’s eyes sting.
“But I wanted to,” he murmurs. “I wanted to hurt him so much.”
“Wanting isn’t the same as doing, Clark. You stopped yourself and got out of there before you lost it.” Bruce looks at him. “You had the control you needed. You’re okay.”
“But I don’t feel okay,” Clark says, his vision blurring. “I’m– Bruce, I’m scared.”
Bruce’s eyebrows pinch together, sorrow and care in his eyes.
“I know,” he says, “but I know you can figure this out.”
He tilts Clark’s head down, kissing his forehead.
“I believe in you.”
Clark sniffs, then leans in to kiss him on the lips this time before taking a step back.
“I’ll be back as soon as I figure this out,” he promises before lifting up into the air.
“We’ll be here,” Bruce replies.
Clark nods, then, after one last glance, takes off into the sky, his gut churning all the while.