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“So did you take his name, or did he take yours?”
Clark looks up at Hal. “I’m sorry?”
They’re on monitor duty and honestly, Clark would rather not talk about the marry or die situation he and Bruce got into three months ago. The core members of the League know though, and now they’d have to be more careful since two of their highest profile members are legally bound as civilians, not that the marriage was televised or anything—Bruce had to work his magic to make sure it was kept secret.
“Are you now, Mr. Wayne, or is he Mr. Kent?” says Hal, mask off, absently throwing and catching a construct softball off the walls of the bridge. “Or did you hyphenate? Wayne-Kent? Kent-Wayne? Wayne-Kent kind of rolls off the tongue smoother. What about the kids?”
“Uh…” Clark swallows. They hadn’t really exchanged…well, names, or vows.
They didn’t talk about whether the kids would change names. Or if Clark would like to legally, officially adopt them. Only that… they wouldn’t divorce. Actually, it’s Clark who insisted that they don’t divorce, because Bruce would be losing so much since there wasn’t a prenup.
“Well, no, I’m pretty much still a Mr. Kent,” he says nervously. “Adding or changing seems like too much paperwork,”
“Ha!” laughs Hal, catching the green softball, then turning to Clark. “Are you kidding? You’re loaded, man. You got the biggest catch on earth, and you’re thinking about doing your own paperwork?”
“That seems mean, Hal,” frowns Clark. “I’m not going to take advantage of Bruce and his money. That’s his,”
“And also yours! I don’t think you realize, the moment you signed that paper, that’s your money, too,”
Clark knows. Oh, he knows. He just doesn’t want to admit it. He doesn’t want to touch a dollar from Bruce’s money, or ask anyone under his employ to do anything for him. He won’t take it. And if he must declare himself legally dead in a few years just to return Bruce’s assets to him, he will. Maybe.
“Hold your hand out, someone will appear and hand you a flute of champagne; say it’s too hot, someone with a fan will follow you around. You married into royalty. The only thing missing is the curtsying and the bowing!”
“Look, Hal,” Clark sighs. “I know it sounds like a romantic comedy or whatever, but I’m not doing that to Bruce,”
Hal raises his hands up in defeat. “Alright,” he brings up the holo controller and logs out from his shift. “I’m just saying. You literally, own a castle on top of a hill in Gotham, and you choose to live in your crappy fourth floor apartment,”
He has a point.
Then, Clark’s personal phone rings. “It’s Bruce,”
And that brings Hal’s attention back to Clark. “Well? Answer it!”
Clark slides his thumb over the screen to accept the call. “Hey,”
“Hey, Honey,” comes Bruce’s voice. It’s not Batman. It’s Bruce. Bruce the father, his husband.
The call isn’t on loudspeaker, but it’s one of those mid-range phones that have speakers for receivers. So Hal hears it loud and clear.
“H-hey, Muffin,” Clark replies, trying to sound calm. Whenever Bruce uses his pet name for him it just makes his legs turn into jelly. And he can’t resist calling him muffin, either. It’s an inside joke nobody will ever get the explanation for.
Hal grins at him.
“I apologize for the short notice. We’ve got dinner at the Royal Gotham Hotel at seven. Be at the penthouse at five thirty so I can dress you properly,”
“Sure…uh,” Clark glances at the clock on the screen in front of him. It’s five past five and he and Hal should be endorsing the shift to the next guys already. “I’ll see you in a bit?”
“Don’t be late, Clark. Let Kon deal with the kittens,”
“I won’t,”
“Bye, Honey,”
“Bye, Muffin,”
Clark hangs up. Hal has never seen Superman so flushed red before.
“So.” Hal says.
“Please don’t.”
“Honey and Muffin, huh?”