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Batman was having a perfectly normal evening.
By Gotham standards, this meant he was ankle-deep in sentient vines, surrounded by glowing spores, dodging carnivorous orchids the size of motorcycles, and trying to have a reasonable conversation with Poison Ivy while she attempted to murder a chemical company executive by wrapping him in a flower bulb.
“Ivy,” Batman said, throwing a batarang that sliced cleanly through a vine before it could crush his ribs, “release him.”
Poison Ivy stood on a platform of woven roots in the middle of the abandoned greenhouse, looking entirely too calm for someone whose plants were currently trying to digest a man.
“He poisoned half a river,” she said sweetly. “I’m just letting nature return the favor.”
“You don’t get to execute him.”
“No,” Ivy said, smiling. “Apparently only corporations do.”
Batman exhaled through his nose.
It was a fair point, which made it annoying.
After running around for who knows how long, his heartbeat was elevated.
Not dangerously. Not even unusually. Fighting Poison Ivy tended to do that. So did dodging venomous flower darts, rescuing terrified hostages, avoiding pollen clouds, tracking wind direction, calculating structural weaknesses in the greenhouse roof, and trying not to inhale anything that would make him hallucinate his parents again.
Unfortunately, in Metropolis, someone was listening.
Not intentionally.
Not exactly.
Clark Kent had developed the habit years ago, though he would never admit it in a way that sounded as sentimental as it actually was. He did not spy on Bruce. He did not hover. He did not monitor Batman like a fussy solar-powered guardian angel.
He simply checked in.
Occasionally.
Every few hours.
Or minutes.
Depending on whether Bruce had recently said something like, “I’m fine,” in a tone that meant, “I am one concussion away from seeing through time.”
Clark was in his apartment, halfway through folding laundry, when he heard it.
Bruce’s heartbeat.
Fast.
Too fast.
Sharp with adrenaline.
Clark froze with one red sock in his hand.
Then came the sound of impact. A grunt. Glass breaking. Ivy’s voice, distant but recognizable, saying, “You really should learn to relax.”
Clark dropped the sock.
The sonic boom rattled every window in three city blocks.
Batman had just finished disabling the greenhouse’s misting system when the roof exploded.
He looked up.
A red and blue blur crashed through the reinforced glass ceiling with all the subtlety of a divine bowling ball.
“Batman!”
Superman landed in the center of the greenhouse, cape billowing, eyes wide with concern, shoulders squared like he was prepared to lift the entire building off the ground.
Batman stared at him.
Poison Ivy stared at him.
The hostage, still half-wrapped in vines, stared at him.
A very large fern made a confused rustling noise.
Batman said, flatly, “What are you doing here?”
Superman blinked. “Your heartbeat spiked.”
“I’m fighting Poison Ivy.”
“Yes,” Clark said, glancing around at the giant plants. “I see that now.”
“You heard my heartbeat spike and decided to enter an active biohazard zone without scanning it first?”
Clark opened his mouth.
Batman waited.
Clark closed his mouth.
Poison Ivy put a hand over her heart. “Oh, this is adorable.”
“It’s not adorable,” Batman said.
“It’s a little adorable,” Superman admitted.
“It’s tactically unsound.”
“That too.”
Ivy’s smile widened.
Batman’s eyes narrowed behind the cowl.
“Ivy,” he said, “don’t.”
“Oh, I wasn’t going to.” She lifted both hands, all innocence. “But he did land directly in my new experimental pollen bed.”
Superman looked down.
The impact crater around his boots was full of crushed purple blossoms.
A soft lavender cloud puffed upward.
Now Batman's heart rate was not even close to normal. “Clark, don’t breathe.”
Superman inhaled.
Because of course he did.
There was a pause.
A very small, very doomed pause.
Then Superman sneezed.
The sound blew every loose leaf in the greenhouse against the walls.
Poison Ivy clutched a vine for balance, delighted. “Oh, that is fascinating.”
Batman was already pulling a sealed vial from his belt. “What is it?”
Ivy gave him the smug look of a scientist whose work had just found a hilarious test subject. “Not lethal. Not dangerous. Not even painful.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“It’s a behavioral pollen.”
Batman went still. His mind was racing, what type of behavioral problem this time.
Superman blinked slowly.
His pupils were slightly dilated.
Batman took one cautious step back. “Behavioral how?”
Ivy’s eyes glittered. “It encourages mammals to seek warmth, comfort, safety, and sustained affectionate physical contact.”
Batman stared.
Superman stared.
The hostage whispered, “Cuddle pollen?”
Ivy beamed. “I was calling it Symbiotic Mammalian Pacification Compound, but honestly, yours is better.”
Batman turned toward Superman. “Clark.” (Later he would never admit to breaking codenames first)
Superman looked at him.
His face softened.
“No,” Batman growled.
Superman’s bottom lip wobbled.
“Oh no,” Batman repeated, with slightly more feeling.
Clark’s voice came out quiet and deeply sincere. “Bruce.”
Poison Ivy gasped. “Bruce?”
Batman’s head snapped toward her.
Superman’s hands flew to his mouth.
The hostage, still in the plant bulb, looked like he had just been given front-row seats to the greatest scandal in Justice League history.
Ivy slowly turned her head back to Batman, eyes bright with delighted malice.
Batman said, “No.”
Ivy said, “I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was about to say, ‘That explains so much.’”
“It explains nothing.”
Superman took one step toward him.
Batman took one step back.
Clark looked wounded.
Actually wounded.
As if Batman had just kicked a puppy.
“Bruce,” he said again, and this time his voice had the devastating softness of a man who regularly saved kittens out of trees and was currently on the verge of emotional collapse because his best friend had moved three feet away. “Why are you backing up?”
Batman pinched the bridge of his nose through the cowl. “Because you’ve been exposed to a biochemical agent.”
“I know,” Clark said miserably.
“It is affecting your judgment.”
“I know.”
“You need to stay where you are.”
Clark nodded.
Then he blurred forward and wrapped Batman in a hug.
The greenhouse went silent.
Batman’s arms were pinned to his sides. His cape was crushed between them. His cowl was pressed against the bright red emblem on Clark’s chest.
Superman, Last Son of Krypton, protector of Earth, possibly the strongest being alive, held him like an oversized golden retriever who had survived a thunderstorm.
Batman’s voice was muffled. “Kent.”
Clark tightened his grip. “Your heartbeat was fast.”
“I was fighting.”
“It sounded scary.”
“It was controlled.”
“It sounded lonely.”
Batman stopped struggling.
Poison Ivy’s expression shifted from gleeful to something unexpectedly fond.
The hostage sniffled.
Batman said, very quietly, “Clark.”
Superman rested his chin very carefully on top of Batman’s cowl. “I know this is the pollen talking.”
“Yes.”
“But also I think I’m always a little like this.”
“Yes.”
Clark sighed. “That’s embarrassing.”
“Yes.”
“You could pretend it’s not.”
“No.”
Superman gave him a wounded squeeze.
Batman let out the smallest possible grunt of protest, which Ivy would later describe as “emotionally constipated affection escaping under pressure.”
“Too tight,” Batman said.
Clark immediately loosened his hold. “Sorry.”
Batman carefully freed one arm, reached into his belt, and pulled out a compact respirator. He sealed it over Clark’s nose and mouth.
Clark’s eyes went big.
Batman said, “Breathe through this.”
Clark nodded, then mumbled through the filter, “You’re taking care of me.”
“I’m neutralizing a field hazard.”
“You’re taking care of me.”
Batman ignored him and turned toward Ivy. “Antidote.”
Ivy tilted her head. “For what? I told you, it’s not dangerous.”
“Ivy.”
“It wears off.”
“How long?”
“Human subjects? Thirty minutes. Maybe forty-five if emotionally repressed.”
Batman’s jaw tightened.
Ivy’s grin returned. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. With you it would probably last a week.”
“I’m not exposed.”
“Lucky for Gotham.”
Batman pointed toward Superman, who still had one arm around his shoulders. “Kryptonian.”
Ivy paused.
Her smile faded slightly.
“Oh,” she said.
Batman’s voice lowered. “How long?”
Ivy glanced at Clark, who was now rubbing his cheek gently against Batman’s cape like the texture was personally comforting. “I… don’t know.”
Batman’s mouth became a grim line.
Clark froze. “Am I going to be like this forever?”
“No,” Batman said immediately.
“But what if I am?”
“You won’t be.”
“What if I can never go to a Justice League meeting again because I keep hugging everyone?”
Batman looked him dead in the eye. “That would be a security improvement.”
Clark made a sad noise through the respirator.
Batman turned away, but not fast enough to hide the way his mouth twitched.
Ivy crossed her arms. “For the record, I did not plan this.”
“You weaponized emotional dependency.”
“I weaponized oxytocin-adjacent plant chemistry.”
“Ivy.”
“Fine, I weaponized cuddling.”
Clark raised one hand slightly. “I don’t feel weaponized.”
“You destroyed my roof,” Ivy said.
Clark lowered his hand. “Sorry.”
“And my pollen bed.”
“I’m also sorry about that.”
“And you revealed Batman’s name in front of me.”
Clark went completely still.
Batman’s head turned slowly.
Clark looked horrified. “I did.”
“Yes.”
“I said Bruce.”
“Yes.”
“Oh no.”
“Yes.”
Poison Ivy waved a hand. “Please. Half of Gotham’s rogues have theories.”
Batman stared at her.
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry. I’m not telling anyone.”
“Why not?”
“Because watching you panic every time someone gets close to figuring it out is one of my few remaining joys.”
“That is not reassuring.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
The hostage raised his hand from inside the vines. “I also heard it.”
Batman looked at him.
The man immediately said, “Heard what? I heard nothing. I have never heard anything in my life.”
“Good.”
Superman leaned down slightly. “I can hear his heartbeat too. He’s lying.”
“Clark.”
“But in a helpful way.”
Batman sighed.
Ivy flicked her fingers, and the vines around the hostage loosened just enough for him to breathe more comfortably. “Since the rescue portion of tonight’s entertainment appears to have become a couples therapy session—”
“We’re not a couple,” Batman said.
Superman made another soft, devastated noise.
Batman closed his eyes.
Ivy pointed at him. “You see? You hurt his feelings.”
“He is under the influence.”
“I still have feelings,” Clark said.
Batman looked up at him.
Clark looked back with the saddest, bluest eyes in the world.
Batman lasted four seconds.
Then, with the air of a man dismantling a bomb, he lifted his hand and patted Clark twice on the upper arm.
“There,” Batman said.
Clark brightened instantly.
Poison Ivy pressed both hands to her face. “Oh my god.”
The hostage whispered, “That was beautiful.”
Batman pointed at him. “Do not.”
The man nodded vigorously.
Superman, apparently encouraged by the two stiff pats, leaned closer. “Can I hug you again?”
“No.”
Clark nodded, accepting this.
Then he asked, “Can I stand near you?”
Batman considered that.
“Yes.”
Clark stood near him.
Very near.
So near that his cape draped over Batman’s cape, creating an accidental red-and-black curtain.
Batman decided not to address it because he had bigger problems, such as extracting an executive, containing Ivy, analyzing unknown pollen, and ignoring the fact that Superman looked profoundly comforted just by being allowed inside his personal space.
“Stay here,” Batman said.
Clark nodded.
Batman took two steps toward the hostage.
Clark followed.
Batman stopped.
Clark stopped.
Batman turned.
Clark tried to look innocent.
It was deeply ineffective.
“Stay,” Batman repeated.
“I am staying,” Clark said.
“You moved.”
“I stayed near you.”
“That is not what stay means.”
“It’s what Krypto thinks stay means.”
“You are not Krypto.”
Clark’s expression became unbearably tender. “You know Krypto’s commands?”
Batman turned away too fast. “Focus.”
Ivy laughed.
The plants lunged again, because apparently even affectionate biochemical warfare did not mean Ivy was done with the original crime.
Batman ducked under a thorned vine, cut through another, and tossed a freezing capsule at the root network. The greenhouse temperature dropped sharply. Several plants recoiled.
Clark gasped.
Batman looked back, alarmed.
Superman was staring at him with open admiration.
“You’re so cool,” Clark said.
Batman froze.
Ivy cackled.
The hostage wheezed.
Batman said, “That is the pollen.”
Clark nodded solemnly. “The pollen has excellent taste.”
Batman threw three batarangs with more force than strictly necessary.
“Your ears are red,” Clark added helpfully.
“They are not.”
“I can see through the cowl.”
“You cannot see through lead-lined polymer.”
“I can see the tips.”
“Stop looking at my ears.”
“You have nice ears.”
Poison Ivy nearly fell off her root platform laughing.
Batman made a mental note to update the Justice League’s emergency response protocols: under no circumstances was Superman allowed to respond to Batman’s elevated heart rate unless specifically requested, the planet was on fire, or Bruce had been dead for at least two minutes.
And even then, he was to scan for pollen first.
A vine snapped around Batman’s ankle.
Before Bruce could cut it, Superman’s eyes flashed red.
Batman barked, “No heat vision in a volatile greenhouse.”
Clark immediately shut his eyes. “Right. Sorry.”
The vine yanked Batman sideways.
Superman caught him by the back of the cape.
Which would have been helpful if Batman had not already planned to use the momentum to swing toward Ivy’s control node.
Instead, he ended up dangling three feet off the ground like an angry bat-shaped kitten.
“Put me down.”
Clark looked worried. “But the plant had you.”
“I had a plan.”
“It was pulling you.”
“I know.”
“It felt rude.”
“Clark.”
Superman gently lowered him.
Batman landed, adjusted his cape, and said, “Do not interfere unless I ask.”
Clark nodded.
A vine shot toward Batman’s head.
Clark grabbed it.
Batman glared.
Clark whispered, “You didn’t ask, but it was going to touch your face.”
Batman stared at him for one long second.
Then he said, “Acceptable.”
Clark beamed.
Ivy made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a squeal. “This is the best thing that has ever happened to me.”
“It will not be happening again,” Batman said.
“Of course not,” Ivy said. “Lightning never strikes twice. Unless Superman gets worried and flies into it.”
Clark winced. “That was fair.”
Batman finally reached the control node, a thick pulsing bulb at the base of Ivy’s root platform. He sprayed it with a chemical neutralizer. The vines spasmed, then sagged. The hostage tumbled out of the plant bulb onto a pile of moss with a shriek.
Superman zipped over, caught him before he rolled into a patch of teeth-bearing tulips, and set him gently on the ground.
“Are you hurt?” Clark asked.
The man stared at him.
Then at Batman.
Then back at Superman.
“No,” he said faintly. “But I think I learned a lot about friendship.”
Batman said, “Leave.”
The man ran.
Ivy’s vines withdrew around her, defensive but no longer attacking. She watched Batman with a small smile.
“You know,” she said, “for someone allegedly immune to softness, you’re doing a lot of caretaking tonight.”
Batman was scanning the pollen sample. “You mistake competence for affection.”
“No,” Ivy said. “I mistake affection for affection.”
Clark, still wearing the respirator, nodded very seriously.
Batman did not look at him. “Don’t encourage her.”
“I think she has a point,” Clark said.
“You are compromised.”
“I think that too.”
Batman loaded the pollen data into his gauntlet. “We need to get you to the Cave.”
Clark’s eyes widened hopefully. “Can I ride in the Batmobile?”
“You can fly.”
“But I want to ride in the Batmobile.”
“No.”
“I have never asked before.”
“You have asked six times.”
“Not while poisoned.”
“That is not a stronger argument.”
Clark looked down.
Batman lasted three seconds this time.
“Fine.”
Clark’s head snapped up.
“One ride,” Batman said. “No touching buttons. No commenting on the lack of cup holders. No asking if you can drive.”
“I would never.”
“You asked last time.”
“I was joking.”
“You were not.”
“I was hopeful.”
Poison Ivy sighed dreamily. “This is unbearable. I hate both of you.”
“No, you don’t,” Clark said warmly.
Batman secured Ivy with specialized restraints that would hold for exactly long enough for GCPD transport to arrive, assuming no one watered her. He left a note on the door that said DO NOT WATER THE PRISONER, because Gotham police officers had made worse mistakes.
Then he guided Superman outside.
Clark walked very carefully beside him, hands clasped behind his back as though physically preventing himself from hugging anything.
The Batmobile waited in the alley, black and low and predatory.
Clark gasped.
Batman looked at him. “You have seen it before.”
“Not while feeling this appreciative.”
“Get in.”
Clark got in.
For ten full seconds, he was silent.
Batman started the engine.
Clark whispered, “It’s so cool in here.”
Batman said nothing.
“It smells like leather and justice.”
“Do not call it that.”
“And emotional repression.”
Batman pulled onto the street. “I will turn this car around.”
Clark settled deeper into the passenger seat, smiling softly beneath the respirator. “You came back for me.”
“You were standing beside me.”
“You brought me with you.”
“You are contaminated.”
“You care.”
Batman stared at the road.
Gotham streaked past them in wet neon strips. The rain had started lightly, tapping against the windshield. Clark watched the city with enormous, softened eyes, as if every gargoyle and broken streetlamp had become precious.
After a few minutes, he said, quieter, “I really was scared.”
Batman’s hands tightened slightly on the wheel.
Clark continued, “I know you can handle Ivy. I know you can handle almost anything. But your heartbeat sounded so fast, and then I heard glass break, and I thought…” He swallowed. “I thought maybe I’d be too late.”
Batman did not answer immediately.
The Batmobile hummed through the rain.
Finally, Bruce said, “You weren’t too late.”
Clark turned toward him.
Bruce kept his eyes forward. “But next time, scan first.”
Clark’s smile was small but real. “Okay.”
“And use the comms.”
“Okay.”
“And don’t inhale unknown pollen.”
“I feel like that one was implied.”
“It apparently wasn’t.”
Clark laughed.
The sound filled the car, warm and gentle and too big for the small armored space.
Batman’s shoulders loosened by exactly two millimeters.
By the time they reached the Cave, Clark had progressed from “emotionally affectionate” to “openly sentimental about everything in Bruce’s immediate vicinity.”
He complimented the dinosaur.
He complimented the giant penny.
He told the Batcomputer it was doing a good job.
He saw Alfred waiting near the med bay and immediately clasped both hands over his heart.
“Alfred,” Clark said with reverence.
Alfred Pennyworth looked from Superman’s respirator to Batman’s exhausted posture.
Then he looked back at Clark.
“Master Kent,” he said mildly, “have you been inhaling strange plants again?”
Clark removed the respirator long enough to say, “Not on purpose.”
Batman put it back on his face.
Alfred’s eyebrow rose.
Batman said, “Cuddle pollen.”
Alfred’s expression did not change.
That was the terrifying thing about Alfred. He could hear the words cuddle pollen and respond as though Bruce had said light rain expected after midnight.
“I see,” Alfred said. “Shall I prepare the isolation room?”
Clark’s face fell.
Batman said, “No.”
Alfred’s eyebrow rose higher.
Batman avoided looking at either of them. “Kryptonian metabolism is processing the compound unpredictably. Isolation may cause distress and worsen symptoms.”
Clark looked deeply touched.
Alfred said, “Indeed, sir.”
Batman pointed toward the med cot. “Sit.”
Clark sat.
Batman began taking readings, drawing blood with a kryptonite-tipped micro-needle, adjusting scanners, and pretending not to notice when Clark’s gaze followed him around the med bay like a sunflower tracking the sun.
Alfred observed for exactly forty seconds before saying, “Master Bruce.”
“What?”
“Perhaps a blanket.”
Batman paused.
Clark perked up.
Batman said, “He doesn’t need a blanket.”
Alfred looked at Superman, who was sitting on the cot with the posture of a man trying very hard to be brave while also clearly wishing someone would hand him a blanket.
Batman exhaled.
Then he retrieved a heavy thermal blanket from the cabinet and tossed it to Clark.
Clark caught it.
His eyes went shiny.
“Oh my god,” Batman said. “Don’t cry.”
“I’m not crying.”
“Your eyes are wet.”
“I’m emotionally hydrated.”
Alfred turned away with suspicious speed.
Batman rubbed a hand over his face.
Clark wrapped himself in the blanket. Then, very cautiously, he asked, “Can you sit nearby?”
Batman looked at the scanner.
The readings were stabilizing.
The pollen was breaking down, slowly but steadily. Clark was in no danger. His serotonin and oxytocin analogues were elevated, but not critically. The safest course was apparently reassurance, proximity, hydration, and waiting.
Bruce hated when feelings were medically indicated.
He dragged a chair over and sat beside the cot.
Clark relaxed instantly.
Alfred brought tea.
Not coffee. Tea.
Bruce took it anyway.
For a while, the Cave was quiet except for the distant drip of water, the hum of the computer, and the occasional rustle of Clark’s blanket.
Then Clark said, “You have a nice heartbeat.”
Bruce stared at him.
Clark flushed. “Sorry. That sounded less weird in my head.”
“It sounded weird there too.”
“Probably.”
Bruce sipped his tea.
Clark smiled down at his blanket. “It’s steady now.”
Bruce did not say anything.
Clark’s voice softened. “That’s good.”
Bruce looked at him then.
The pollen made Clark honest, but it did not create affection from nothing. That was the problem. Ivy’s compound had not invented Clark’s worry, his warmth, his instinct to come when Bruce’s heart beat too fast in the dark.
It had only removed the little layer of restraint Clark usually wore for Bruce’s comfort.
Bruce understood restraint.
He understood it too well.
So he sat beside Clark in the med bay, close enough that their shoulders almost touched, and said, “Yours is slowing too.”
Clark’s smile turned sleepy. “You listen?”
Bruce looked away. “Sometimes.”
Clark’s whole face lit up with such simple joy that Bruce immediately regretted admitting anything.
But not enough to take it back.
Two hours later, Clark was mostly himself again.
Mostly.
He no longer looked like he might burst into tears because Alfred had given him a scone. He had stopped complimenting the Batcomputer. He had apologized to the dinosaur.
The last trace of pollen lingered only in his willingness to say things he would normally leave unsaid.
“I really am sorry,” Clark said, sitting on the edge of the cot. “For rushing in. For making it harder.”
Bruce removed his gloves and set them on the tray. “You helped.”
“I compromised the mission.”
“You also saved me from a vine.”
“You said not to interfere.”
“I said it was acceptable.”
Clark smiled a little. “High praise.”
Bruce gave him a look.
Clark’s smile widened.
Then Bruce said, “You were worried.”
Clark’s expression quieted.
“Next time,” Bruce continued, “call first.”
Clark nodded. “I will.”
“And if I don’t answer, scan first.”
“Right.”
“And if there’s pollen—”
“I will not inhale it.”
“Good.”
Clark hesitated. “And if your heartbeat sounds lonely?”
Bruce froze.
The Cave seemed to still around them.
Clark looked embarrassed but did not look away. “Sorry. That was probably the last of the pollen.”
Bruce studied him.
Then he said, very dryly, “Probably.”
Clark laughed under his breath.
Bruce stood, walked to the med bay cabinet, and busied himself putting supplies away. “If you hear something concerning, you can check in.”
Clark’s head lifted.
“On comms,” Bruce said sharply.
“On comms.”
“And you don’t need to crash through a roof.”
“No roofs.”
“And you don’t need to panic.”
Clark’s smile was gentle. “I’ll try.”
Bruce closed the cabinet.
Then, with visible effort, he added, “But I’d rather you check than not.”
Clark went still.
Bruce turned back.
For one moment, neither of them said anything.
Then Clark stood.
Slowly. Carefully. Not rushing. Not assuming.
“Can I hug you now?” he asked.
Bruce looked pained.
Clark waited.
Bruce sighed like a man making an enormous sacrifice for the greater good.
“Briefly.”
Clark hugged him.
Gently this time.
No pollen. No panic. No biochemical excuse.
Just Clark’s arms around him, warm and careful, and Bruce standing stiffly for all of three seconds before, barely, almost imperceptibly, his hand came up and rested against Clark’s back.
Clark did not comment.
Because Clark was kind.
And because he wanted to live.
From the stairs, Alfred said, “I shall inform Master Dick that the cuddle pollen incident resolved peacefully.”
Batman’s head snapped up. “Alfred.”
Clark started laughing.
“Do not tell him.”
“I would not dream of it, sir.”
Bruce narrowed his eyes.
Alfred was already walking away. “I shall merely ensure the family group chat receives the appropriate medical update.”
“Alfred.”
Clark laughed harder.
By morning, the Justice League incident report contained only the following:
**Mission Summary:** Poison Ivy apprehended. Hostage recovered. Unknown pollen compound neutralized. Superman exposed and treated. No lasting effects.
Unfortunately, Dick Grayson somehow obtained the unofficial version.
By noon, the Batfamily group chat had been renamed **CUDDLE POLLEN RESPONSE TEAM**.
By one, Tim had designed a logo.
By two, Jason had sent a message that read, **so does supes get a punch card? ten emotional support hugs and the eleventh is free?**
By three, Damian had declared the entire incident “undignified,” then privately asked whether Superman had recovered fully.
By four, Clark received a package at the Daily Planet.
Inside was a black emergency respirator, a small laminated card reading SCAN FIRST, HUG SECOND, and a note in Bruce’s handwriting.
**For future field hazards.**
Clark smiled at the note for a very long time.
Then he folded it carefully and tucked it into his wallet.
Across the city, in the Cave, Bruce heard his phone buzz.
A message from Clark.
**Thank you. Also, for the record, your heartbeat does sound nice.**
Bruce stared at it.
Then he typed back:
**Scan first.**
A second later, Clark replied:
**Hug second?**
Bruce did not answer.
But his heartbeat, steady and warm in the dark, gave him away.
Later Bruce would wonder how this "Cuddle Pollen" would affect a normal human, but that was a problem for a later time...