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The Justice League had an ever-expanding roster of highly capable superheroes, but only a few of its members regularly made media appearances on the organization’s behalf. There was a very good reason for this. Actually, there were multiple.
First, not every member of the Justice League wanted to make media appearances. Bruce and Arthur, in particular, were notable for their steadfast refusal to make nice and smile for a camera. And among those members who were willing to make media appearances, several were explicitly banned from doing so. Oliver, for example, had lost his privileges after going on a highly televised socialist rant in costume.
The task of representing the League most often fell to Clark or Diana, as two of the League’s founding members. Clark knew his way around an interview, having been on both sides of one more times than he could count, and Diana was an experienced public speaker with a natural, regal stage presence.
Today was no exception. Clark and Diana were backstage on the set of one of the nation’s premier nightly talk shows. Hair and makeup had already had their way with them, and they were chatting in the hallway outside their dressing rooms when Clark picked up on the sound of a familiar heartbeat. He turned, and sure enough, with his enhanced vision, he could make out the dark outline of Batman’s trademark cape and cowl in the shadows. He nudged Diana, who followed his gaze and smiled. Together, they approached their friend.
“Did you decide to join us after all?” Diana teased. The invitation had been for all three of them; Batman had, naturally, declined.
“Absolutely not,” Bruce answered gruffly, mouth drawn down in a scowl, though Clark knew he didn’t mean anything by it. “I don’t know why the two of you agree to these media requests.”
“The same reason you do, out of costume,” Clark told him. “It’s good publicity.”
Clark heard Bruce’s slight exhalation of breath, the one that meant Bruce disagreed and was about to say so. (Clark had memorized and assigned values to every sound Bruce made. He tried not to think too hard about what this said about him, given the fact that the only other people he’d ever done that for were his parents, his ex-wife, and his son.)
“The League gets plenty of publicity,” Bruce said. “And so do Superman and Wonder Woman. There’s no need for you to perform like a couple of dancing monkeys.”
“It’s fun, Batman,” Diana told him, placing a hand on the Bat’s shoulder. Clark and Diana were the only members of the League who could breach Bruce’s personal space bubble on the regular without consequence. “You must be familiar with the concept. You have six children.”
Bruce’s only response to this was another one of his little exhales, this one meaning that he knew he was being baited and he wasn’t going to fall for it. Clark got that exhale a lot. Teasing Bruce was one of his favorite hobbies.
Diana continued, “In any case, you can trust that we won’t do anything to damage the League’s reputation.”
“Of course. I know you wouldn’t,” Bruce replied without hesitation.
“Which is why you showed up in person to make sure we behave ourselves,” Clark pointed out, eyebrows slightly lifted and a smirk on his face. The truth was, he knew Bruce trusted them. That was never a question. But Bruce liked to be the first in the know, always, and if that meant sneaking backstage to a live taping of a nightly talk show to watch his best friends get interviewed, well, he’d gone to greater lengths for sillier reasons in the past.
“Relax, Batman,” Diana instructed. A useless entreaty, they all knew, but one she insisted on making nonetheless. “Let Kal and I have our fun.”
Clark saw the tension in Bruce’s spine and shoulders ease. Not fully, but enough for it to mean something. It meant everything to Clark, actually, that Bruce didn’t feel the need to be on high alert around him.
“Not too much,” Bruce instructed.
Clark shot him a brilliant smile, the one that made Bruce’s heartbeat accelerate, and yes, there it was, beating away in Bruce’s chest, underneath all that body armor and the cape he’d drawn around himself like a shroud. “Heaven forbid.”
A stagehand called their names – “Superman! Wonder Woman!” – and Bruce slunk back into the shadows, gone in an instant. Clark knew he could reach out with his senses and find exactly where he’d gone, but he didn’t bother. As long as he could still hear the sound of that heartbeat, he knew Bruce was near.
The stagehand took them backstage, where they waited for their cue and then went on, grinning and waving and then shaking hands with the host.
As it always did when Clark and Diana agreed to be interviewed together, the conversation steered toward the topic of their relationship. No matter how many times they denied it, there would always be those who believed Superman and Wonder Woman were, or had once been, romantically involved. There were even rumors that Superboy – either or both of them – was Superman and Wonder Woman’s secret love child, which Conner took as a compliment (when it was about him) and Lois said she’d “seen coming” (when it was about Jon).
After Clark and Diana once again reaffirmed the strictly platonic nature of their relationship, the host turned to the topic of other superheroes’ relationships, and asked why neither of them had ever publicly dated another hero. “Too complicated?” the host prompted.
“I speak from experience when I say that any relationship involving at least one superhero is bound to be complicated,” Clark said.
“Any relationship at all, I would say,” Diana added.
“I think you might be onto something,” the host agreed.
“I know plenty of other heroes who make it work, and I’m not opposed to the idea,” Clark explained. “It just hasn’t happened.” Because he was in a relationship with a civilian for the majority of his tenure as a hero, he didn’t say.
And because, even with everything he could do, everything he’d faced, everything he’d overcome, Clark was too much of a coward to make a move on the man whose heart raced when he was around, the man Clark had memorized like the lyrics to a favorite song. Because their relationship – their friendship, their partnership – felt too entrenched in what it already was, and reaching for anything more felt like flying too close to the sun. (Although perhaps that was an inaccurate analogy, considering who Clark was.)
“And I enjoy the single life,” Diana provided while Clark was having his small emotional crisis, the same one he had every time he thought about Bruce.
Speaking of which, Clark could still pick out the thread of Bruce’s heartbeat in the crowd of people surrounding him: the audience members in front of him, the talk show host and Diana beside him, the stagehands and producers behind him. Where was Bruce hiding?
“And who can blame you?” the host remarked brightly. “You may not be looking for love, but maybe you can weigh in on the question everyone seems to have an opinion on: Who’s the best-looking member of the Justice League?”
Clark didn’t register the diplomatic non-answer Diana gave. He was subtly scanning the room with his x-ray vision until he spotted Bruce, crouching up in the rafters. He peeked behind the white lenses of the cowl and saw that Bruce was staring back at him. When their gazes met, Bruce’s heartbeat picked up again.
It wasn’t that Clark was oblivious. He may not have been the World’s Greatest Detective, but he’d collected enough clues from Bruce’s behavior over the years, and he knew what they added up to. Bruce was attracted to him. He knew Bruce very possibly felt even more than that. But how long had they known each other now? Nearly two decades. And Bruce had never made a move. That meant something too. Bruce felt something, but had chosen not to act on it.
“Superman?” Diana said, grabbing Clark’s attention. He dimly registered that the host had asked him the same question as Diana, about who was the best-looking member of the Justice League.
Clark was distracted. All his experience and training, all the years he’d been a journalist and a part-time celebrity, went flying out the window and he answered without thinking, “Oh, Batman.”
The ensuing silence was a beat too long before the host recovered. Long enough for Clark to realize his mistake. Long enough for Bruce to disappear from the rafters, his heartbeat fading from Clark’s immediate range of hearing. Fuck.
“Batman?” the host echoed, intrigued. “Really? Have you seen under the infamous cowl, Superman?”
“I have,” Clark said measuredly, trying to figure out how he was going to dig himself out of this one. “Batman is a close friend of mine.”
“A close friend indeed.” A scattering of laughter through the studio audience. “Are you offended, Wonder Woman?” the host asked.
“Not in the slightest,” Diana answered. “A woman’s appearance is hardly the most valuable thing about her.” And bless Diana for turning this into a feminist conversation instead of one about Clark’s newly-revealed attraction to his teammate.
“If I were to list Wonder Woman’s most impressive attributes, I’d spend more time focusing on the strength of her character than the way she looks,” Clark said, taking the out Diana had graciously offered him.
“As you should,” Diana affirmed.
The host, however, would not be distracted so easily. (As easily as Clark had been by the mere sight of Bruce.) “But not when it comes to Batman?” he prompted.
Once again, Diana came to Clark’s rescue. “Batman has a very strong character.”
“Of course,” Clark agreed. “He’s one of the best of us.”
“And one of the best-looking, apparently. You heard it here first, folks. Underneath the cowl, the Caped Crusader of Gotham is secretly a real looker. Bruce Wayne had better watch out; he might have competition! We’ll be right back.”
Batman may have been the World’s Greatest Detective, but when it came to matters of the heart, he would readily admit that he could be, as Stephanie had once phrased it, “dumber than a sack of bricks.”
Dumb enough not to realize that his ill-conceived attraction to his best friend was entirely mutual and not the hopeless unrequited feeling he’d long assumed? Perhaps. If the nightly talk show Clark and Diana had appeared on (and Twitter, which had blown up after the show had aired later that evening) was to be believed.
The trouble was, now that the idea had been planted in Bruce’s brain, he couldn’t get rid of it. Two simple words – “Oh, Batman” – had forced Bruce to reevaluate everything he knew about his relationship to Clark. All the times Bruce had caught Clark staring at him. All the times Clark had stood too close, or his touch had lingered a second too long. All the times Bruce’s children had made jokes about the “tension” that existed between him and Clark. All the times Lois had referred to Bruce as Clark’s “work husband.”
Bruce had never allowed himself to entertain the possibility that Clark returned his feelings. His children thought he was being deliberately obtuse. Maybe he was. But it was better than the alternative: letting himself have hope that after all these years, he could possibly have what he wanted.
Bruce had a good life. He had a family, something he’d once thought he’d lost forever. He had friends, and more of them than he would have ever thought possible. He had a mission that he never lost sight of. He had enough money that he could give most of it away. It felt wrong to want more. It felt wrong to want Clark. Even after Clark had gotten divorced, it had felt wrong to want him.
It still felt like jumping the gun to assume Clark’s slip-up during the interview meant anything. Except when Bruce took into account the way Clark had looked at him when he’d said it. And the way he’d looked after, like he’d admitted to something he’d meant to keep to himself.
The live taping had been in New York; Bruce sped back to Gotham, arriving just in time for patrol. It would be too much to hope that his children had gone out without him. It would be too much to hope they hadn’t watched the talk show and weren’t all waiting for him.
He pulled into the Batcave and was unsurprised to see a multicolored lineup of teens and young adults, masks and helmets off, lounging on the minimal furniture or doing warmup stretches. They looked up in unison when Bruce stepped out of the Batmobile.
Bruce removed his cowl to meet them all face-to-face, even though part of him wanted to keep it on as an extra line of defense against his children’s combined deductive powers. The problem was, if he kept it on, they would all know he had something to hide.
“There he is,” Jason announced, leaning against the wall of the cave with his arms crossed over the red bat symbol on his chest. “The best-looking member of the Justice League, in the flesh.”
Bruce raised a single eyebrow and crossed his arms in a mirror of Jason’s pose. “Are you patrolling with us tonight,” he asked, all-business, “Or did you just come here to tell me something I already know?”
Duke’s jaw dropped; he was new enough that he was still sometimes caught off guard by Bruce’s quips. “Oh, shit!” he exclaimed, delighted by Bruce’s comeback.
“Language, Duke,” Bruce reprimanded, although he appreciated the support.
“What on earth are you all talking about?” Damian called out from where he was throwing birdarangs at a target that had once had his brothers’ faces on it, before Bruce had noticed and torn the pictures down.
“We’ve been talking about it this whole time,” Tim told him, cocking his head to the side and putting a hand on his hip in a manner that he must have known infuriated Damian. “You weren’t listening?”
“I never listen to you when you talk,” Damian retorted.
“Clark and Diana,” Cass provided, “Were on TV.”
“As Superman and Wonder Woman, obviously,” Jason added.
“The host asked them who the most attractive member of the Justice League is and Clark said it’s your dad,” Duke concluded.
Damian sniffed haughtily. “At least he acknowledges his own inferiority.”
Bruce’s four older kids exchanged a look. “I don’t think that’s how he meant it,” Tim said.
Damian looked confused. He had, unfortunately, inherited his father’s emotional aptitude. “How else would he possibly—”
“Clark wants to fuck our dad,” Jason stated plainly.
Everyone glared at him. “Gross, Jay,” Cass complained.
“You disgust me,” Damian declared.
“Language, Jason,” Bruce said.
“Yeah, why’d you have to phrase it like that?” Tim demanded.
Jason was utterly unfazed by his family’s objections. On the contrary, he looked self-satisfied and smug. Jason had died a youngest sibling and in some ways had never grown out of it.
“I’m sure that’s not what Clark was trying to imply,” Bruce contended, even though a not-small part of him hoped that was exactly what Clark had been trying to imply. His children didn’t need to know that, nor would they want to. Not even Jason, for all his teasing.
“Why don’t we phone in our resident Clark Kent expert?” Jason suggested, leaning over and pressing a button on the Batcomputer keyboard.
“Who—” Duke started to say, but he was cut off by the speakers in the Cave coming to life.
“Nightwing, you’re on speaker,” Jason said, even more smug.
Dick’s voice rang out, loud and clear. “Is the man of the hour there?”
“Would I have called you if he wasn’t?” Jason asked. “Listen, we need you to settle something for us—”
“No we don’t,” Bruce interrupted.
“Does Superman want to fuck our dad?”
“Jason. How many times—” Bruce scolded.
“I am begging you never to say those words again,” Tim reiterated.
“Perish,” Jason told his younger brother. “Wing?”
“He definitely, definitely does,” Dick answered.
“This line is supposed to be kept clear for mission-critical communications,” Bruce reminded them all.
Barbara’s voice came through: “I’ll make an exception for tonight.”
“You’re a real one, O,” said Jason.
They finally left on patrol, after Dick and Jason got a few more jabs in about Clark. Bruce couldn’t be too upset about it. His kids were all (mostly) together and getting along; if he had to be the butt of the joke for that to happen, it was a small price to pay.
Bruce was the last to leave, and Dick stayed on the line until he did. “Do you believe me about Clark?” he asked, tone more serious.
“Go back to making fun of me,” Bruce deadpanned.
Dick laughed. “Anything not to have to talk about your feelings. Alright. Think about it, though. If even we can see there’s something there, there must be.”
Bruce shook his head fondly and shut off their line of communication. He put on the cowl, got back into the Batmobile, and drove out into the night.
Not half an hour later, he was standing on a rooftop, surveying the city. He knew Clark was coming before he heard him approach. That was why he’d gone out alone tonight. It was why he was standing on a rooftop like this.
Bruce and Clark knew each other well. Bruce knew when Clark was likely to come find him during patrol to talk about something (in tonight’s case, the interview). And Clark recognized Bruce waiting for him on a rooftop as the unspoken invitation that it was.
Clark landed lightly behind him. Bruce kept his gaze on the streets below. He waited for Clark to speak first. In the seconds that passed, Bruce’s mind spun with the possibilities. Clark might explain that he hadn’t meant what he’d said about Bruce on the show, and they would put it behind them, or Bruce would pretend to. Or Clark might admit that he had meant what he’d said, and then…
And then what?
“I’m really sorry,” Clark began.
That wasn’t what Bruce had been expecting. He turned and looked at Clark, all clad in bright red and blue, and searched Clark’s face for some sign of how he was feeling. Clark looked apprehensive. His gaze was searching too.
“About what?” Bruce asked him.
“What I said in that interview.”
“Why are you sorry?” Did you not mean it?
Clark didn’t answer right away. It was embarrassing, the way Bruce waited with bated breath, the way Clark could keep him hanging like this, like a fish on a line. “I’m sorry because of the way the whole world has reacted. I’m sure you’ve seen what people are saying online. And I’m sure our teammates will be…” Clark trailed off, not wanting to be rude.
Bruce would be rude for him. “Intolerable?” he prompted.
Clark chuckled. “They won’t ever let us forget it.”
“Neither will my children,” Bruce agreed. “At least they find it amusing.”
“Your children are making fun of you, and that’s a good thing?”
“As long as they’re happy.” Bruce pointed a warning finger at Clark. “Don’t tell them I said that.”
“As always, your secret’s safe with me,” Clark assured him. “Especially considering this is all my fault to begin with.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Bruce replied, not wanting Clark to continue beating himself up about this. It was such a small thing: some teasing from Bruce’s kids, some teasing from their Justice League colleagues, some rumors on the internet.
Bruce allowed one of the corners of his lips to quirk up in a smile, because he knew it would set Clark at ease. “It was a dumb question anyway.”
“I should have answered the way Wonder Woman did,” Clark said. Diana had expertly evaded the question, a tactic Clark should have known, from all his years of journalism experience. “I always knew being too honest would come back to bite me one day.”
Being too honest. Clark did think Bruce was the best-looking member of the Justice League.
Oh.
“I’ll leave you to your work,” Clark continued. He offered Bruce one last friendly smile before he turned to go.
“I’ll see you around,” Bruce called out to him.
Clark took off into the sky, and Bruce watched until he disappeared from sight.
Barbara’s voice came over his earpiece. “If you’re done flirting, there’s a situation down by the docks.”
Bruce shifted modes instantly. He shot off his grapple into the night, and as he was swinging, told Barbara, “Fill me in.”
Barely twenty-four hours had passed since the talk show, and Clark’s apology. He’d heard from Bruce only once, a quick text asking about Jon’s upcoming birthday party. That was the topic of a significant portion of Bruce and Clark’s conversation these days: their kids.
After divorcing and moving back to the city into two separate apartments, Lois and Clark had found themselves faced with a dilemma. Jon was old enough, and had enough control over his powers, that he could be alone for a few hours in between school ending and Lois or Clark getting home from work, but both his parents agreed that they didn’t like leaving Jon by himself.
The solution to this problem had come in an unexpected place. When Jon had befriended Damian, the two boys had become inseparable, wanting to spend all their free time together. Jon begged his parents to let him go to Wayne Manor every day after school, and when Bruce and Alfred jointly assured Lois and Clark that really, it was no trouble, they had agreed.
And so the routine went: Lois or Clark (whoever was in charge of Jon that week) would take Jon to school. After school, Jon would fly – “Straight there, no detours,” according to his parents’ strict instructions – to Wayne Manor. At six P.M. sharp, he would fly home to his mother or father’s apartment.
It was a surprisingly elegant arrangement. Clark’s only issue came up a few months in, when a thought had struck and he’d called his ex-wife to ask, “Lois, is Bruce co-parenting our kid?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lois had told him. “Bruce gets home from work even later than we do. Alfred is co-parenting our kid. I just wish he’d let me pay him for it.”
“You’ve offered to pay him?” Clark felt guilty, now, that he hadn’t thought of that.
“He’s practically our nanny. Of course I offered to pay him.”
Alfred had stubbornly refused any payment Lois and Clark offered, and Clark hadn’t even tried to bring up the matter with Bruce. He knew what Bruce’s answer would be.
Today was the same as every other day; Jon got home at six, when Clark was just changing out of his work clothes and making himself comfortable for a cozy evening in.
“Dad!” Jon called out at the door. “I’m home!”
Clark smiled to himself. “You know I can hear you coming from miles away,” he said at a normal volume. Jon lowered his voice as well.
“Just in case you weren’t listening.”
“I was.” Clark was always listening. He could pick up the sound of his son’s voice at any distance. He emerged from his bedroom in a t-shirt, sweatpants, and socks and held out his arms. Jon wasn’t too old for hugs yet, thankfully. Clark didn’t know what he would do when that happened.
“Are you hungry?” Clark asked. “Did Alfred feed you?”
“Alfred always feeds me, Dad.”
“I have to make sure. That’s my responsibility as your father.” Clark tousled Jon’s hair, then released him. “How is everyone in Gotham?”
“Good,” Jon said vaguely. He couldn’t be expected to keep up with all of the Waynes, most of whom didn’t even live at the Manor. He was a kid. He only cared about how Damian was doing.
Jon rocked back and forth on his heels, looking up at his dad with his big blue eyes, wide and curious. “Dad, do you have a crush on Batman?”
Clark was taken aback by the question. Not because it was a total non sequitur; that was typical Jon. But because Jon had never asked Clark about his relationships with anyone other than Lois. “Who told you that?” he replied, knowing Jon wouldn’t have come up with the idea on his own.
“Damian said that his brothers said that you do.”
Clark wanted to ask which brothers, but he knew Jon wouldn’t have bothered to remember that detail, if Damian had even told him. Besides, Clark had a pretty good guess.
Instead he told Jon, “You don’t have to worry about who I do or don’t have a crush on.”
“But I wanna know!” Jon protested. He floated a few inches off the ground to make his point, a tactic he’d developed when Damian had gotten his first growth spurt and temporarily overtaken Jon in height. “Is Batman gonna be my stepdad? Are you gonna move to Gotham? Will I get to live with Damian?”
Of course that was where Jon’s mind would go. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Clark chided. “Bruce and I haven’t even gone on a date. I haven’t even asked him on a date.”
“Why not?” Jon asked.
“I don’t think he wants to go on a date with me,” Clark said matter-of-factly, concealing the way he actually felt about the matter. He would have plenty of time to be emotional about his dead-end love life after Jon went to bed.
“Why not?” Jon repeated.
I wish I knew. “Batman doesn’t go on dates with people very often.”
“Wh—”
“I don’t know why not,” Clark preempted. “Get out your homework. I know you didn’t finish it at Damian’s house.”
Jon grumbled but he took his homework out of his backpack. Together, he and Clark sat down at the kitchen table, their heads bent over Jon’s History textbook.
Later that night, after he’d put Jon to bed, Clark called Bruce. He wanted to make sure he didn’t owe Bruce another apology. If Bruce had gotten home before Jon had left the Manor, Clark cringed to imagine what Jon might have said to Bruce about his dad’s “crush.”
“Thanks for letting Jon come over today,” Clark said after Bruce picked up.
“No need to thank me. Jon is a pleasure to have around,” Bruce told him. “Besides, I barely saw him before he went home.”
So Bruce had gotten home before Jon left. “He didn’t say anything about the talk show, did he? Lois and I have tried to teach him not to tease people, but sometimes he doesn’t always know the difference between having fun and teasing.”
“No, he and Damian weren’t a part of any teasing,” Bruce assured Clark. “Jon was very well-behaved.” Clark breathed a sigh of relief. “I take it he’ll be here again tomorrow?”
“Only if you don’t mind.”
Clark could hear the smile in Bruce’s voice. He loved that. “Clark, I’ve told you. We never mind.”
“I feel guilty using you and Alfred for free childcare.”
“It’s not free childcare,” Bruce said, as he always did. “Jon’s just spending time with a friend.”
“At your house, while his mother and I are at work,” Clark pointed out.
“If you want to make it up to me,” Bruce ventured, “Maybe you could come with him sometime. Maybe this weekend.”
Clark had been invited to Wayne Manor before, many times. He’d joined Bruce’s family for dinner. He’d spent countless evenings in the Batcave. He’d had drinks with Bruce in the study. He’d had tea with Bruce in Martha’s garden.
Being invited to the Manor wasn’t noteworthy. But the way Bruce had phrased the invitation, the tone of his voice, was. He sounded nervous. It had taken a long time for Clark to learn how to recognize nervousness in Bruce; Bruce concealed his anxiety well. But “maybe you could come over” instead of “we’d love to have you for dinner” or “would you like to join me for tea?”
It was a subtle difference, but being friends with Bruce for nearly two decades had trained Clark to pick up on subtle differences.
Or maybe Clark was imagining things, hearing what he wanted to hear.
“Jon is with Lois this weekend,” Clark told Bruce regretfully.
“You could still come over,” Bruce persisted. “Say, Saturday?”
Clark was happy to do that. Always. He just needed to know when to be there, and what the occasion was. “Sure. For dinner? Drinks? Tea?”
Bruce hesitated, just a fraction of a second, before saying, “I was thinking it could be a surprise.”
A surprise. Clark’s eyebrows drew together. What did that mean? Bruce wanted him to come over, on a weekend, alone, and he wouldn’t say why.
If it was anyone else, Clark would have assumed… But it couldn’t possibly be.
Could it?
Clark thought about the way Bruce’s heartbeat accelerated when Clark was near. The way Bruce allowed Clark into his personal space. The way Bruce looked at him. The way Bruce seemed to want him around more frequently than anyone who wasn’t family.
“Are you asking me on a date?” Clark ventured. He knew what he was risking by saying this. But he also knew what he would be risking by staying silent.
Clark had been divorced for three years. He hadn’t gone on a single date in all that time. He’d spent the first year figuring out his new single life and the next two waiting for Bruce to make a move. Maybe this was the move he’d been waiting for.
“You’re lucky,” Bruce said, humor in his tone, humor meant to cover up the nervousness Clark had been detecting. “Not many people get the opportunity to go on a date with the best-looking member of the Justice League.”
Clark’s heart swelled. “I am lucky,” he agreed. “I’ll be there.”
Bruce hadn’t been on many first dates in his time. His past relationships had all been highly unconventional. But he was familiar with the theory. He knew what his options were, ranging from the casual (getting coffee or drinks) to the classic (dinner and a movie) to the explicitly romantic (horseback riding, a picnic in the park) to the nontraditional (joining together to defeat the forces of evil).
Bruce wanted to differentiate this occasion from all the platonic quality time he and Clark had spent together over the course of their friendship by doing something special, but he didn’t want to overdo it. He wanted to go somewhere private, where they wouldn’t have to worry about being recognized and potentially photographed. And most of all, he wanted to do something for Clark that Clark would appreciate.
His first thought was dinner at the Manor, which fulfilled the privacy requirement, but it wasn’t special enough. Clark had come to dinner many times.
Perhaps a slight change of scenery would do the trick. The weather had been nice enough lately. They could eat outside. Not in the garden, because that was where they usually had tea, so it wouldn’t be special either, but there was a duck pond under a copse of trees on Bruce’s property. (It hadn’t always been a duck pond, but Damian had successfully transformed it into one.) That would be romantic, especially if Bruce scheduled their date to coincide with the sun setting.
Bruce was about to approach Alfred about preparing the food for his and Clark’s picnic when he had another idea. Clark’s love language was acts of service; everyone who knew him knew this. If Bruce really wanted to make this date special, he should make dinner.
He couldn’t believe he was even considering it. Bruce could cook enough basic, healthy meals to keep himself and his children alive and well when Alfred went on vacation, but he was no chef.
But he couldn’t shake the notion that Clark would really, really like it if Bruce made dinner. And maybe it wouldn’t matter if the result wasn’t perfect. As the saying went, “It’s the thought that counts.”
Bruce gave in. He explained his predicament to Alfred, and Alfred suggested a few simple recipes. Bruce shopped for the ingredients himself after work on Friday. Late Saturday morning, he set up in the kitchen, attracting a small crowd of his children who either lived in the Manor or had stayed the night after family dinner. Damian, Duke, and Cass sat at the kitchen counter, eating their breakfast and watching Bruce set out ingredients and double-check recipes.
“Is that for us?” Duke asked as Bruce was boiling water over the stove. He sounded trepidatious. Whether that was because Bruce was cooking instead of Alfred or because there obviously wasn’t enough food to feed the whole family, Bruce couldn’t be sure.
“No,” Bruce told him. “I’m having someone over tonight.”
A brief pause. Then, Cassandra prompted, “Who?”
Before Bruce could answer – or refuse to answer; he hadn’t decided – Dick appeared, stretching his arms over his head and yawning. He sniffed the air and came to look over Bruce’s shoulder at the boiling pot of water and open box of fusilli beside it. “What’s the occasion?” he asked.
“Father is having company over tonight,” Damian repeated.
Dick tried to meet Bruce’s gaze. Bruce steadfastly ignored him. “Any chance this ‘company’ has bulletproof skin and can shoot lasers out of his eyes?” Dick ventured. Out of the corner of his eye, Bruce could see Dick grinning.
Bruce knew there was no getting out of telling his kids the truth. They’d find out when Clark arrived that evening, anyway. “It shouldn’t be a surprise to any of you that Clark is coming over,” Bruce said neutrally. “He’s here all the time.”
“Yeah, but you’ve never made dinner for him before,” Dick countered.
The sound of footsteps, then, “Bruce is making dinner? And you’re all just standing there?” Jason stood in the doorway, one hand on his hip, the other gesturing to Bruce. “This man is a fire hazard.”
“He’s making dinner for Clark,” Dick relayed brightly.
Jason came to stand over Bruce’s other shoulder. “I thought you liked Clark.”
“Do you need help with anything, Bruce?” Dick offered.
Bruce didn’t know how to answer that without offending anyone. Did he need help? Probably. Did he need Dick’s help? Absolutely not. Other than Alfred, Jason was by far the best chef in the family. Duke knew his way around a kitchen, Tim could make a few recipes, Cass could do anything as long as she was shown how, Damian didn’t care enough to bother to learn, and Dick was hopeless.
Jason saved Bruce from having to turn Dick’s offer down gently. “Dick, please, you’re worse than he is.” He surveyed the ingredients Bruce had set out. “What are you making, anyway? Pasta salad?”
“Yes. And tomato and cucumber sandwiches,” Bruce explained.
Jason walked over to the counter, where Bruce had laid out a knife and cutting board. “These are your vegetables for the salad?”
“They are.”
Jason made a noncommittal “hm” sound. Bruce started cooking the pasta. When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw Jason pacing back and forth along the kitchen island, a thoughtful frown on his face. He appeared to make a decision. He turned on the sink and started rinsing the vegetables. He then announced, in a decisive tone, “Dick, you can grate the cheese. If you somehow manage to fuck that up, I don’t know what to tell you.”
“What are you doing?” Bruce asked Jason, taken aback. Dick offering to lend a hand was expected. Jason offering was… unusual, to say the least.
“Chopping these vegetables,” Jason stated. “Obviously.” He motioned at the pot on the stove with Alfred’s vegetable knife. “Keep an eye on that pasta; if you overcook it I’m gonna make you do it again.”
Bruce did as he was told. Jason chopped the vegetables. Dick grated the cheese. “Duke, get over here; whisk those ingredients together for the dressing,” Jason instructed. Duke got up, walked around the counter, squinted at the recipe Bruce had laid out next to the ingredients for the dressing, and got to work.
Tim came downstairs to find his entire family at work. Cass and Damian had been put on sandwich duty, Damian slicing the cucumbers and tomatoes (he may not have known how to cook, but he had knife skills) and Cass meticulously slicing the bread and spreading the butter.
“What’s everybody doing?” Tim asked.
“Making dinner for Bruce and Clark’s date tonight,” Duke said.
“I didn’t say anything about a date,” Bruce reminded everyone.
Tim ignored this. “When will he be here?”
“I told him to come at eight. But you won’t get to see him. We’re eating outside on the grounds.”
Cass looked up from the sandwiches she and Damian were assembling. “A picnic?” She smiled. “Romantic.”
The meal came together easily under Jason’s supervision. They put everything in the fridge to keep until dinnertime.
“What wine are you pairing with this?” Jason asked Bruce.
Bruce looked over at Jason, feeling a surge of gratitude. He knew not to make a big deal out of this. When Jason opened up, the quickest way to send him retreating back into his shell was by calling attention to it. He and Bruce were somewhat similar in that way.
Bruce turned Jason’s question around on him. “What would you pair with it?”
“Cab,” Jason said. “Obviously.”
It was an obvious choice, but not a bad one. “Then that’s what I’ll do.” Bruce addressed the whole room, saying, “You were all very helpful today. Thank you.”
“Everyone except Tim,” Damian muttered.
“Tim can make them coffee in the morning when Clark inevitably stays the night,” Dick teased.
Damian made a face. Dick laughed.
On Saturday morning, Clark dropped Jon off at Lois’. He stayed for lunch at Lois’ invitation; they went out to Jon’s favorite pizza place in Metropolis. Jon was, tragically, of the opinion that the pizza was better in Gotham – the Waynes’ influence, Clark had no doubt – but he was a kid. He liked all pizza.
After lunch, there was flooding along the Gulf Coast. Clark ran into Conner and Kara there and they worked together all afternoon to deliver supplies and fly people to safety.
“Don’t you have a date tonight?” Conner called out as evening approached. “You should go; Kara and I got this.”
“A date?” Kara exclaimed. “With who?”
“With Batman, duh,” Conner said, lifting an ambulance that had gotten caught in a flash flood. “Didn’t you see the interview? He thinks Batman is the hottest member of the Justice League.”
“I did not say ‘hottest,’” Clark corrected. “I said ‘best-looking.’ But you’re right; I should get going. You two have everything under control?”
“Totally!” Kara assured him. “Have fun on your date!”
Clark took a long, thorough shower – just because Bruce had seen him at his worst didn’t mean Clark wanted to show up to their first date smelling like floodwater – and changed his clothes. Because Bruce’s plans for the evening were a surprise, Clark wasn’t sure how he should dress; he settled for dressy casual, with a plaid button-up shirt and a dark-wash pair of jeans. He left his curls loose, donned his glasses, and headed out the door.
It was a short flight to Gotham. Clark rang the Manor’s doorbell promptly at eight. He waited only a few seconds before Bruce appeared in the doorway.
Bruce was dressed casually as well, for him. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to the elbows, revealing toned forearms. He was wearing a more relaxed pair of trousers than usual; not jeans (never jeans) but the fabric content and the tailoring were looser. His hair was still neat, but he’d let a few strands hang in front of his forehead.
Clark stood by his statement that Batman was the best-looking member of the Justice League.
“Hey,” Bruce said, voice soft and low, a smile playing on his lips. Clark’s heart did a backflip.
“Hey yourself.” Clark looked down at his own outfit. He felt pretty good about it, but just in case: “I hope I’m dressed appropriately. I figured you’d tell me if this was a formal occasion.”
“You look great,” Bruce assured him, beckoning Clark inside.
“So do you. But you already knew that.”
Bruce smirked. “You have mentioned it.”
“Where are we going?” Clark asked. “Or are we staying in?”
“Follow me. I’ll show you.”
Bruce led Clark through the house with a hand on the small of Clark’s back. Clark knew his way around Wayne Manor, but he didn’t complain. Bruce’s touch felt electric. It always did.
They walked through the front parlor, past the stairs that led to the bedrooms, past the kitchen and the media room and the home theater and gym, and out the back door onto the grounds.
“We’re going outside?” Clark was surprised. Bruce wasn’t a particularly outdoorsy person.
“It’s a nice night for it,” was all Bruce revealed.
“It’s a beautiful night,” Clark agreed. Partially cloudy, the sun sinking toward the horizon, painting the sky brilliant shades of orange, yellow, and pink. Bruce and Clark walked a short way until they reached their destination.
There was a duck pond on the Waynes’ property. Damian and Jon spent a lot of time there, Clark knew. There were weeping willows draping their branches into the water, and aquatic plants waving from the murky depths. There were tadpoles swimming in the shallows and, of course, ducks on the far shore. There was a picnic blanket laid out on the grass, a covered bowl of pasta salad and a covered plate of sandwiches and a bottle of wine.
Bruce and Clark sat down beside each other, facing the water. Clark was blown away. This wasn’t what he’d expected. He knew Bruce was capable of deeper emotion than he ever allowed himself to show, but he hadn’t realized Bruce was capable of this much romance.
Bruce was watching Clark carefully. “I hope it’s not too much,” he ventured.
Clark met Bruce’s gaze. He reached out and took Bruce’s hand; Bruce looked down at their interlaced fingers, visibly surprised. “It’s perfect.”
Bruce unpacked a basket of plates and utensils, poured two glasses of red wine, and divided up the food. “Did Alfred make this?” Clark asked, curious. It wasn’t Alfred’s usual fare.
“Actually,” Bruce said, “I did. So if it’s terrible, you know who to blame.”
Clark was even more shocked by this than he was by the picnic. “You made this?” He had never known Bruce to cook.
“The kids helped.”
Clark took a bite of his sandwich: tomato, cucumber, and mint on sourdough bread. It was just a sandwich, but the fact that Bruce and his kids had made it meant everything to Clark. He took a bite of the pasta salad too; another simple dish, but executed well. “It’s good,” Clark said sincerely.
Bruce’s heart had been racing. It started to slow.
They ate in silence for a few minutes. Clark felt as though he was in a dream. He was on a date with Bruce, eating a meal Bruce had prepared for him, drinking wine and watching the sun set. It was picturesque. Peaceful.
On an ordinary first date, Clark would spend a lot more time talking, getting to know the other person. But he and Bruce already knew each other better than almost anyone else. All the things Clark did want to say felt like too much for a first date. So he settled for a familiar topic: “How are the kids?”
Bruce’s eyes twinkled. “Do you want the full report?”
“I’d love the full report.”
Bruce delivered it, talking about each of his children in turn. “What about your family?” he then asked. And Clark gave the full report too. On Jon, and Conner, and Kara, and Martha, and Lois.
“Have you heard from any of our teammates about my interview?” Clark said, curious. The only other heroes he’d come in contact with since the talk show had aired were Bruce, Conner, Kara, and Jon.
“Not yet,” Bruce told him. “I haven’t been to the Watchtower. Have you?”
“No.” Clark looked up. The sky had transformed from pink and orange to blue and purple. The sun was a golden sliver on the horizon. “It’ll be even worse if they find out we’ve actually been on a date.”
“I’d offer to keep it between us,” Bruce said, “But I don’t think that’s going to happen. My entire family knows.”
Clark then turned around to face the house, checking with his telescopic and x-ray vision. He chuckled. “They’re watching us through the windows. With binoculars.”
“Of course they are.” Bruce sounded exasperated but fond. He followed Clark’s gaze, even though there was no way he could see what Clark saw. His hand found Clark’s again. During their discussion about their families, they’d finished eating.
Clark felt Bruce’s eyes on him, and he turned away from the hilarious scene of six teenagers and young adults crowded around a second-story window with high-tech surveillance equipment, spying on their father and his date. Crickets were starting to chirp, the noise reminding Clark of home. A plane flew overhead and Clark could hear a flight attendant instructing the passengers to prepare for landing. In the house, Duke sounded split between horror and excitement as he whispered, “Oh my God, are they gonna kiss?” Clark was wondering the same thing himself.
“I think I know how we could make them look away,” Bruce said in that soft, low voice again. The one that sent a shiver down Clark’s spine.
Clark leaned in, like he’d been pulled by a magnetic force. “Oh?”
Bruce closed the remaining distance between them. He buried his free hand in Clark’s hair at the base of his scalp; Clark sighed into the kiss. He could hear everything around them for miles – the crickets, the passengers in the sky, the kids in the house, the ships in the harbor, the traffic in the city, Jon in Metropolis – but Clark let it all fade away for a few precious seconds until all he could hear was Bruce.
When they broke apart, Clark felt lightheaded. He’d expected this moment to be climactic, the culmination of everything he’d been longing for, but now he realized it was only the beginning. He wanted more.
“Did it work?” Bruce murmured. Clark blinked a few times before his short-term memory kicked back into gear. Right. The kids. Bruce’s kids.
“They’re disgusted,” Clark relayed. Except for Dick. Dick was cheering.
A smirk danced across Bruce’s lips. The lips Clark couldn’t stop staring at. “Good.”
Bruce kissed him again.
A chorus of groans in the house. “Alright, I think we get the picture; this is just gross.” “It’s currently nine-oh-nine in Gotham; the weather is a partly cloudy seventy-nine degrees. We’ll be arriving a few minutes early.” “Jonathan, how hard is it to make sure your clothes end up in the hamper and not on the floor next to it?”
And the beat of Bruce’s heart.