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“Bruce.”
Bruce stilled at the unexpected sound of his name being called. He was elbows deep in the inner workings of the Batmobile and with Alfred away from the Lake House for the rest of the day, he’d expected to have peace and quiet while he did some much-needed—and too long neglected—maintenance.
Although he’d fixed the damage caused to the Batmobile in the fight against Steppenwolf three weeks ago, the vehicle hadn’t run as smoothly as it should and he couldn’t figure out what was causing the problems. It was just as fast and agile as ever but Bruce knew his car well enough to know that something wasn’t working as he had designed it to.
Most of the various parts that made up the vehicle’s braking system were scattered around his feet. His bare forearms were covered in grease and brake fluid and he was pretty certain some of it had managed to get in his hair. Diana was unperturbed, however, and gracefully stepped over the Batmobile’s master cylinder in her impossibly high heels to give him a brief hug.
Bruce tried not to feel guilty at the smear of oil that now sullied her green dress.
“Diana,” he said with a genuine smile. “You’re early. The meeting is tomorrow.”
“I don’t think I’m dressed for that kind of meeting. I came to speak to you alone.”
Bruce had met all of the members of the newly-named Justice League since the battle in Russia had seen them all unite for the first time, but tomorrow was due to be their first formal meeting as a team. Barry and Victor had wanted to meet much sooner and even Arthur had been inclined to agree with them, but Bruce had been firm about the date.
If they were to work as a team going forward, Bruce wanted them to come to the meeting table with clear and unbiased minds. He wanted them to experience a few weeks of life without the Justice League first, to remember what it felt like to work alone before they decided that working together was the better option.
After all, even Bruce had been high on the endorphins of their success against Steppenwolf in the days that had followed. It had been such a rush to defeat a powerful foe with strong allies at his side and it would have been so easy to commit to a team because of it. It also would have been a mistake.
Bruce wiped his hands on the rag he’d stuffed into the pockets of his overalls and turned his full attention to Diana. “How can I help?”
“Have you spoken to Superman since Russia?”
Bruce paused. He didn’t know what he expected to hear from Diana, but he knew it wasn’t a question about Superman. “A handful of times. I went to Smallville with him to get the Kent farm back and we’ve spoken briefly on the phone since then. Why do you ask?”
“I’m worried about him.”
Without thinking, Bruce’s eyes looked past Diana to the lead-lined vault at the far side of the cave. The kryptonite spear was still there, locked away as a macabre souvenir of one of Bruce’s greatest mistakes. It weighed heavier on his mind than something safely locked away behind five thick feet of steel and a dozen high-tech security measures should.
Diana noticed the movement of Bruce’s gaze. She didn’t know where the kryptonite spear was—how could she?—but Diana was incredibly intuitive, even without her lasso in hand. “Not that kind of worried,” she replied softly. “Have you been watching the news?”
“I’ve been avoiding it. The idolization of the Justice League was giving me an ego.”
Diana nodded in understanding. Bruce had expected that once the news of the Justice League’s actions in Russia and the resurrection of Superman became known, it would be the lead story on every news channel in the world. He’d even expected a fair amount of hyperbole and for the Justice League to be proclaimed as heroes and saviors when they were really nothing more than a group of inexperienced misfits just doing their best.
However, the reports soon surpassed even Bruce’s predictions. Superman’s return was hailed as a miracle and led to Clark being treated as even more of a god than he had been in death and even the Bat hadn’t escaped unscathed. Gotham changed from denying his existence to celebrating him almost overnight.
Even the coffee shop located on the mezzanine level of Wayne Enterprises had taken to selling a Bat Coffee—strong, mysterious, and as dark as night. Bruce refused to drink it.
“I presume your monitors can display the news?”
“They can.”
Diana didn’t reply and instead simply followed Bruce from the dismantled Batmobile and over to the large computer that dominated one of the walls. The multiple screens were covered in schematics of the Batmobile’s systems but a few keyboard presses from Bruce soon had them tuned in to several of the world’s most well-known news channels.
All of them were showing footage of Superman rescuing people from a factory fire in Milan. Some of the footage was from local news crews on the ground and others showed angles from shaky cell phones held by onlookers, but the sight of Superman walking through flames to find those trapped inside was easy to see on all of them.
Bruce watched the footage carefully and hoped to see whatever had Diana so concerned that she needed to consult with him. After a couple of minutes, he had to admit defeat. Clark looked fine. He seemed in perfect control of his powers and even the reassuring smiles he flashed to the scared people he rescued seemed to be genuine.
Bruce turned to Diana. “What am I looking for?”
“Can you do a search of all the news stories that mention Superman?”
“Of course. Do I need to look for a particular time period, or—”
“The past 24 hours should suffice for now.”
Bruce left the live feed from CNN running on one of the smaller screens and ran a search on the larger central screen. It only took the Batcomputer a couple of seconds to trawl the Internet and find thousands of results.
“Is it possible to refine the search so that you only get one result from each confirmed sighting of Superman?”
“I’ll filter by location and time,” Bruce answered.
A few more presses of his keyboard and the results dwindled from thousands to just over a hundred. Bruce frowned at the larger-than-expected results that were still left. “It’s still picking up some duplicates, let me—”
“It’s not,” Diana replied firmly.
“Of course it is. Even Superman can’t manage 107 rescues in a single 24-hour period.”
“He can and he has. Expand your search to the last week.”
Bruce did as he was asked and saw similar numbers for every single day. Almost every country on Earth had reported help from Superman at some point in the past week and simply reading the headlines of them all made Bruce feel exhausted. Natural disasters, car crashes, fires, crime sprees, and even finding a leopard that had escaped from a zoo were all present.
“I can see why you were worried,” Bruce said. “Look—on Thursday he dealt with a flood in Japan and ten minutes later rescued a family from a collapsed bridge in Kenya.”
“This is too much, even for one as strong as Kal-El.”
When Bruce had first donned the cowl and stepped out into the Gotham night, he had been an idealistic young man with hopes and dreams of cleaning the streets of Gotham and stopping all crime. He’d vowed that no citizen would suffer the same trauma that had defined his life and he’d worked hard to make that vow come true.
He’d soon learned that it was impossible to save everyone. He was only human after all and was limited by how fast he could move and the physical limitations of his body. The young Batman that was still full of hope and determination had cursed those physical limitations and had pushed himself to be stronger and faster. He’d pushed harder and for longer until his body gave out and he had nothing left to give.
The physical toll had been easy to come back from. A couple of days of rest, some good food, and several hours of Alfred’s nagging and Bruce was back on his feet. The mental toll had taken longer to recover from, however.
All he could think of was the mistakes he’d made and the people he hadn’t saved. Putting the cowl back on after he’d recovered had been one of the most difficult tasks of Bruce’s life.
The older and more cynical Batman that he now was knew saving people wasn’t just a case of being physically strong enough but it also meant being mentally strong, too. Taking a break didn’t just restore your energy levels but it also replenished the mind.
Superman was mentally strong, Bruce knew. It was easy to forget sometimes how much Kal-El, the last son of Krypton, had lost because of how kind and warm Clark Kent was. Following Black Zero, half of the world had turned against Superman because he was an alien with unthinkable powers but Superman continued to help wherever he could.
Even Bruce had fallen prey to that narrative. He hadn’t realized at the time how much Superman was helping despite those that lived to condemn him, but he realized it now.
However, not even one as strong as Superman could spend every minute of the day helping others without suffering for it. Bruce had a working theory that Kryptonian minds worked faster than human ones but that didn’t mean they were infallible and not prone to the same stresses and strains that had nearly grounded the Bat for good.
“He will be at the meeting tomorrow. This needs to be addressed,” stated Diana. “He needs to know that we are concerned for his wellbeing.”
“Agreed. We can all tell him—”
“No, not all of us. You alone.”
Bruce paused at Diana’s interruption and the fierce insistence in her voice. There were times when Bruce looked at Diana in her civilian clothes and found it hard to believe that she was a several thousand-year-old goddess that could crush him in one hand. This was not one of those times. “You can’t think that is a good idea.”
“I do. We cannot all confront him because he will feel defensive and trapped. We are not condemning him, just showing our concern. That’s why it needs to be a one-on-one conversation. It will be less confrontational.”
Bruce considered how he’d feel if the entire Justice League tried to tell him how to be Batman and he understood Diana’s point. “Even so, surely I’m the worst candidate to speak to him one-on-one.”
“Who else could it be? He does not know Victor, Arthur, or Barry well yet and I do not think any of them would be well-equipped for the discussion. Barry and Victor are too young and inexperienced in these matters and Arthur is too blunt.”
“What about you? You’re better with people than I am.”
“Maybe so, but Kal-El doesn’t really know me, either. And if he does, he will know that I turned my back on the World of Men for decades and did not help anyone,” Diana paused, obvious regret on her face. She took a deep breath before continuing. “You, he knows.”
“He doesn’t know me. We fought together twice and I tried to kill him. He won’t listen to me.”
“Clark Kent was investigating the Gotham Bat before his death, was he not? He knows your long history so he knows that you will be speaking from experience. He also knows that you took care of his mother during his death and are continuing to do so. He will give you a chance he might not afford to the rest of us.”
Diana closed the short distance between them and placed a gentle hand on Bruce’s shoulder. The CNN feed still focused on Superman as he pulled people from the ongoing fire. “I do not claim that you are an ideal choice for this task, Bruce. But you are the best choice we have. You are a good man and one that commands respect. Even Kal-El knows this.”
Bruce closed his eyes for the briefest of moments and allowed the reassuring feel of Diana’s hand on his shoulder to warm him a little. She was right. He was far from ideal but he was the only choice they had. Diana was a better speaker and more empathetic than he was but she didn’t have the experience of getting out there in the modern world and fighting to save people. She hadn’t been taken to the brink by doing too much as Bruce had.
“I’ll speak to him.”
“Thank you. Now that we have come to an agreement, I will not keep you from your work any longer.”
Bruce looked over at the scattered Batmobile parts that were still strewn across the floor of the cave and sighed. His enthusiasm for auto-repairs had deserted him as soon as Diana had explained the purpose of her visit. “Sure you don’t want to help?”
“It is beyond my field of expertise.”
“I think it’s beyond mine, too.”
Diana squeezed his shoulder and smiled before saying her farewells and leaving Bruce alone in the cave once more. Bruce watched the CNN feed for a few more moments until it captured Superman flying away in a blur of red and blue to go and help someone else, somewhere else in the world.
As CNN broke from the rolling coverage for an ad break, Bruce headed back to the Batmobile. He had work to do and it involved more than just putting the Batmobile back together. He had to decide on a plan of action for speaking to Clark.
The first official meeting of the newly-expanded, newly-formed, and newly-named Justice League progressed more smoothly than Bruce could have ever dreamed. Barry ate 90 percent of the snacks, Arthur drank more of Bruce’s expensive whiskey than he should have, and everyone seemed a little awe-struck at Clark’s presence, but they were all surprisingly of similar minds when it came to the Justice League and how it should proceed.
The Justice League was to be a team that only came together when a threat was too large for any single member to counteract. Bruce had been worried that agreeing to join the League would mean interference in his work in Gotham, but everyone agreed that their regular activities would proceed as before, with no interference from the other members unless it was requested.
Bruce had to admit that after years of working with only Alfred, having a network of people he could call on if he needed it was tempting. Although he prided himself on his ability to work alone he knew that his most successful and satisfying years had been when he had a Robin at his side in the field.
That he’d spent the last several years working alone was his own fault. He considered it his penance for driving one Robin away and getting the other one killed. He would do better with the Justice League though. He had to. The world might depend on it.
It struck Bruce halfway through the meeting that the individuals gathered around his largest worktable were all just as lonely as he was. Barry had been open about his loneliness and lack of friends since the first time Bruce had met him but the others had tried to hide theirs, just as Bruce himself did.
They were all in their own way isolated outcasts. Whether it was the King who refused to take his throne, the princess who’d left her home, the cyborg who refused to show his face in public, or the literal alien that was the last of his kind. The loneliness and need to belong somewhere shone strongly from them all and Bruce wondered if it shone from him, too.
The orphaned billionaire that spent his nights dressed as a bat because he had nothing else in his empty and lonely life.
The meeting may have gone well, but it was only the first half of Bruce’s tasks for the day. As the meeting drew to a close and everyone started to fall into small talk that would soon turn into goodbyes, Bruce steeled himself for the second and more difficult part of the gathering.
“Clark, may I have a word with you?”
Since the meeting had finished, Clark had busied himself by collecting together the snack plates emptied by Barry’s neverending hunger. The sight of the strongest man on the planet taking the time to tidy Bruce’s home made Bruce’s stomach twist in a way that he couldn’t quite describe.
“Sure.” Clark put the plates down on the nearest stable surface and followed Bruce away from the others to a quieter corner of the cave. “What do you need?”
Bruce took a deep breath. Although he’d been able to piece together the Batmobile’s brake system and get the car running as smoothly as before, he hadn’t been able to figure out how to approach Clark about his and Diana’s concerns. Cars were simple. You could keep taking them apart and putting them back together until the end of time. But people? Bruce knew he had one shot at speaking to Clark and that one misplaced word would blow that chance into the sky.
“Superman has been very busy lately.”
“Yeah, there’s always something to do somewhere,” Clark replied.
“Don’t you think you’ve been doing too much?”
Clark paused. His previously open expression turned into something a little more guarded and unsure. “What do you mean?”
“I looked into how active you’ve been as Superman over the last week or so and I’m concerned you’ve been pushing yourself too hard.”
“I know what I can handle, Bruce.”
“Do you?” Bruce asked. “We all think we know our limits but that’s rarely the case.”
“I know my limits better than you do.”
“I’m not saying otherwise.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“Look Clark, I’ve been there. I know what it feels like to want to save everyone and think that you can, but you can’t. You need time to—”
“Wait. Are you seriously lecturing me on not knowing my limits and doing too much? You? The man standing in front of me with three cracked ribs that he’s trying to hide? The same man that I heard at 4 a.m. this morning doing auto-repairs as I flew over Gotham?”
“This isn’t about me.”
“Then what is it about?” Clark’s voice had risen in volume and Bruce could see that their discussion had begun to gain the interest of the other League members who had yet to leave. “I’m helping people. I’m saving lives. What’s wrong with that?”
“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Bruce said in a tone much calmer than he felt. “But even Superman needs to take a break and recharge occasionally.”
“Don’t tell me what I need and don’t need.”
Clark was getting angry and defensive and those were exactly the emotions Bruce had hoped to avoid. Angry people were difficult to reason with and people who felt defensive were unlikely to listen to anything that could be seen as criticism. Bruce knew that he’d had his one chance to get through to Clark and he’d blown it.
But he’d promised Diana he’d try and he’d never been good at giving up on a lost cause.
“Clark, you can’t be Superman 24 hours a day and not suffer for it.”
“No. I’m not listening to this.”
“We’re worried about you.”
“You weren’t worried about me when you bought me back to life.”
If Bruce were a lesser man, he would have taken several steps back at the anger on Clark’s face. But Bruce had not only spent 20 years facing down the worst Gotham had to offer, but he had an unshakable belief that Clark wouldn’t hurt him, no matter how angry he became. Every other member of the Justice League might punch him in the face at some point, but never Clark.
Instead, Bruce simply stood there and tried to avoid the shocked expressions of the rest of the League.
Now that Clark had started talking, it seemed he couldn’t stop.
“What else am I supposed to do, Bruce? The world thinks that Clark Kent is still buried six feet under in a Smallville graveyard so I don’t have a civilian life or a job. Lois spent six months mourning me and trying to move on with her grief and when she finally manages to start living again, I come back. She doesn’t want me or this,” Clark paused as he pointed at the House of El crest on his chest, “and I don’t blame her. I have no place in her life anymore.
“I tried to spend time at the farm, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t because every time Ma looked at me,” Clark paused again, the anger draining from his face to be replaced by a despair so deep that Bruce could feel it, “all she saw was the son she buried. She always treated me like I belonged. like I was normal, and now she looks at me like I’m a miracle that shouldn’t exist.
“The world has changed around me and moved on but I haven’t. Superman is all I have left. If I’m not him, then what am I supposed to do? Did you think about this at all when you resurrected me? Did you stop for a single second and consider what my life would be like after Steppenwolf was defeated?”
The answer came to Bruce immediately, but still, it stuck on his tongue and refused to come out for a few seconds. “No.”
“No, I didn’t think so. All you saw was a threat that needed to be defeated and I was just another tool on your utility belt. Something to pick up and put back down again when you were finished. So don’t you dare lecture me about how I spend my time.”
Bruce didn’t say anything as Clark rose off the floor to hover for a couple of angry seconds, before flying out of the cave at a speed that made the plates he’d neatly stacked earlier nosily clatter together.
Bruce’s heart was beating so fast he could hear the blood rushing in his ears and he wanted nothing more than to find some criminals to terrorize with his fists. He had chosen to wear the Batsuit for the meeting—all he needed to do was put on his cowl and gauntlets and he could be in Gotham in ten minutes. He felt angry, ashamed, and devastated in equal measures at Clark’s words. It was a potent mix that he needed to release before it burned him from the inside out.
But, Bruce still had guests. There were four faces staring at him with a mixture of expressions from guiltily knowing to thoroughly confused.
Surprisingly, it was Arthur who finally broke the silence. “Well, he’s not wrong, is he?”
Diana turned from Bruce to Arthur, her face changing from sympathetic to something harder in mere moments. “That is not helpful.”
“Maybe not,” Arthur said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “Don’t misunderstand me—we were fucked without the boy scout and there wouldn’t have been a world left if we hadn’t bought him back. But we never considered any of this shit, did we?”
“Years ago my uncle disappeared for a few years. He said he was captured by aliens and taken to their planet but I think he just ran off to avoid his responsibilities and get drunk every day. Anyway, when he came back my aunt had sold all of his stuff—she thought he was dead, you see—and he had nothing left, not even a sock, and he was so pissed and—” Barry trailed off when he noticed four harsh pair of eyes staring at him and his rambling.
“I should have thought about what Superman was coming back to, that’s all,” he finished, quietly. “I’ve seen what happens when people come back to nothing.”
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. The anger he felt at himself for so thoroughly fucking everything up was starting to dissipate but the shame and devastation remained.
“It was my idea to bring back Superman and my plan that achieved it. The only person to blame for not factoring Clark Kent into the equation is me.”
“We all agreed and we all played a part,” replied Diana. “This lies on all of our heads.”
Bruce knew better than to argue with Diana when she sounded as firm as she did so he bit his tongue.
Cyborg’s robotic eye blinked as it accessed some information. “For what it’s worth, Superman has just arrived in Argentina to help rescue people from a landslide that has occurred near the Andes mountains.”
Diana smiled and the atmosphere in the room immediately lightened a little. “Kal-El may be angry, but he is still Superman.”
“And I’m still Aquaman so if we’re finished here, I’m going to peace out. I have shit to do that doesn’t involve feeling fucking horrible about Superman.”
“I’m going to go too,” Barry said, pointing at what he thought was the exit but was really the Batcave shower room, “I don’t have things to do, but this has become incredibly sad and awkward and I don’t like it. And I’m hungry. And I need to run for a long time to forget about all of this.”
Victor looked directly at Bruce. “I know we arranged to test the cyber security on the Batcomputer after the meeting, but why don’t we try tomorrow instead? If you’re free.”
Bruce nodded his agreement and watched in silence as Arthur, Barry, and Victor left the cave. When they’d all arrived, it had been with smiles and eagerness to begin the first official meeting of the Justice League. Seeing them leave with such heavy steps and dour expressions was a contrast Bruce didn’t want to think about.
He was alone with Diana again. He didn’t want to think about that either.
“Still think I was the best candidate to speak to him?”
Diana’s armor shone underneath the harsh artificial lighting of the cave. It made her look even more ethereal than she usually did. “I think progress was made.”
Bruce paused. “Were you listening to a different conversation than I was?”
“I had hoped that Kal-El would accept your concern and realize that he is pushing himself too much. I am disappointed that he did not. However, I think he said some words that he needed to say and now that they have been spoken, maybe he will be more receptive.”
“You think yelling at me might have been therapeutic for him.”
“I think that bottling strong emotions inside is a dangerous game. It can destroy the soul of even one as good as Superman.”
Maybe Diana was right, but Bruce didn’t know. He didn’t have much experience in releasing strong emotions. “I hope you’re right.”
“As do I. Try not to self-flagellate too much, Bruce. You tried but Kal-El was not yet ready to listen.” She took Bruce gently by the shoulders and leaned in to give him a light kiss on his cheek. “Farewell.”
Bruce was so lost in his own head as he watched Diana leave that he didn’t notice Alfred’s appearance in the cave until the butler picked up the plates Clark had so helpfully collected earlier. He nodded in acknowledgment of Alfred’s arrival and began to help clear the cave of discarded plates, cups, and napkins.
They cleaned in silence for a couple of minutes but Alfred was never one to allow Bruce to wallow in silent self-pity for too long. “I believe that meeting was more eventful than you expected.”
“You heard what Clark said,” Bruce stated. It didn’t need to be a question as Bruce was well-aware that Alfred heard and saw everything that happened in the house, both above and below ground.
“Mister Kent’s voice does carry when he is angry.”
“He’s right, isn’t he? We acted with the arrogance of gods when we bought him back and never considered the consequences for him.”
“You did. But what’s done is done, Master Bruce. You saved the world and you bought back Superman. The question is, what are you going to do now to make it right?”
Bruce held two empty mugs in each hand and roughly thrust them into Alfred’s arms. Alfred’s words had created a spark in his mind that was rapidly leading to an idea forming. The Bat wouldn’t be seen in Gotham that night because Bruce had plans to make.
Alfred sighed in an exaggerated and fond fashion. He’d spent enough years around Bruce to recognize when the man had an idea. “I’ll put the kettle on, shall I? I can see that copious amounts of caffeine are going to be required.”
Twenty-eight days later, Bruce called another meeting.
Clark walked into the Batcave slowly, his red boots making more noise on the concrete floor than Bruce had ever heard them make before. Bruce guessed that Clark’s uncharacteristic noise was due to him both wanting to announce his arrival and his nerves at the reception he might receive.
Bruce hadn’t spoken to Clark since the last Justice League meeting had ended in such spectacular failure. Today’s meeting had been arranged through an impersonal calendar invite that Clark had replied to in an equally impersonal manner.
He’d kept track of Superman’s activities since that day, of course. Diana had been partially right because although Superman hadn’t stopped his whirlwind of activities around the world, Bruce had noticed occasional gaps of a couple of hours where Superman’s whereabouts could not be accounted for by eyewitnesses. He hoped that Clark was taking a break during those gaps, even if they were still far too short.
Bruce had also been busy since the meeting. It had been a while since he’d had a project to get his teeth into that didn’t revolve around the Bat’s nightly activities and he was both eager and anxious to finally see the plan to its end.
When Clark saw Bruce sitting at the Batcomputer in a shirt and slacks instead of the Batsuit, his expression faltered. When he noticed that Bruce was alone and the meeting table they’d used last time was still covered in grapple line components, he looked obviously confused. “Am I too early?”
Bruce shut down the table of data he was staring through and swiveled around in his chair to face Superman fully. “You’re right on time.”
“Where is everyone else?”
“They’re not coming. This meeting is between just you and me.”
Clark closed his eyes and rubbed a hand over his face. It was a startingly human gesture and looked completely out of place while he was wearing the House of El crest on his chest. “I know we have things to talk about. I was out of line last time and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“Excuse me?” Clark asked, his voice incredulous at the interruption. “I’m trying to apologize and—”
“I said I don’t want to hear it.” Before Clark could interrupt again, Bruce continued. “I don’t want to hear it because you have nothing to apologize for. The fault lies entirely with me and always has.”
“That’s not fair. I shouted at you and said some horrible things that I shouldn’t have. That was my fault, not yours.”
“You only spoke the truth, Clark, and I’m glad you said it. Take a seat, I have something to show you.”
Bruce gestured to the empty chair next to his that was usually reserved for Alfred. Clark sat down without question, taking care to ensure that his long, red cape was neatly out of the way as he did so. Seeing Superman sit in a mundane office chair shouldn’t have been as out of place as it was, either.
Bruce pulled a plain manilla folder out of one of the drawers next to where he sat and handed it over to Clark. He was confused but accepted it without question and flicked through the pages it contained. Clark moved through the pages quicker than any human could have and Bruce considered it evidence to support his theory that Kryptonian minds really did work faster than human ones did.
It only took Clark a few seconds to look through and absorb the information on the pages inside the folder but it felt like hours for Bruce. He’d spent more hours on the contents of that folder than he would ever admit and had needed to call in several favors—and avoid several questions—to get it all in place. He hoped it was what Clark wanted.
“This is—,” Clark paused, seemingly unable to find the right words at first. He cleared his throat and tried again. “There are hospital admission forms, patient notes, medical scans, and prescriptions in here. All for Clark Kent. All covering the time I was dead. What is this?”
“Those are reports that show that Clark Kent didn’t die in the incident with Doomsday, as we previously thought. Instead, he suffered severe head trauma and fell into Gotham Bay, only to wash up a couple of miles down the coast and be admitted to one of the worst hospitals in Gotham which is notorious for poor record keeping and accountability. He was in a coma for four months and when he regained consciousness, he had lost his memory. It only started to come back a few days ago.
“Now he knows who he is again, he can get his death certificate revoked and carry on with his life. I’m sure the Daily Planet would welcome him back if he still wanted to work there.”
Clark stared at the top page in the folder. It was an admissions form for a John Doe, dated a few hours after the Doomsday incident. “How did you manage this? This all looks genuine.”
“The forms are genuine, even if the information on them isn’t. I have an associate that helps me with medical things and was able to help me gather this information together.”
“Does this person know you’re Batman?”
“Yes.”
“Do they know this information was for Superman?”
Bruce paused for a few seconds. “I didn’t tell her that, but she is very intelligent so I can’t guarantee she doesn’t suspect.”
“You trust her?”
“She’s known my family since before I was born. I trust her completely.”
Clark nodded. “If you trust her, then I trust her.”
Bruce hated that Clark’s virtuousness could still surprise him. “Say the word and all of that paperwork will be filed away in the appropriate places within 24 hours. In less than 48 hours, Clark Kent’s death will be scrubbed off every government database and he’ll be as alive as any other citizen.
“If you don’t want to be Clark Kent anymore, then give me 72 hours and I’ll have a new social security number, birth certificate, passport, and driver's license in any name you want ready to go,” Bruce added. “I could even get you a degree or two if you want a career change.”
Clark mulled over Bruce’s offer for a few moments. When he spoke, his voice was soft and small but showed no hesitation or uncertainty. “I want to be Clark Kent.” He frowned, and then corrected himself. “I am Clark Kent.”
Bruce gently took the folder from Clark’s slightly shaking hands. “Consider it done.” He put the folder back into the drawer and turned to the Batcomputer. “I have something else to show you.”
Clark looked from his empty hands to the screens in front of him. They showed a series of building schematics and Clark quickly recognized what they represented. “This is STAR Labs.”
“Yes. Victor and I have been working on piecing all of the information together and working on an entrance and exit strategy.”
“For what?”
“For getting the Kryptonian ship out.”
For a moment, Clark was speechless. Bruce didn’t blame him for that because Victor had been pretty speechless too when Bruce had first contacted him for help with putting the plan together.
“The technology on that ship has been severely misused. I know the government, Clark, they’re not going to treat the ship with any more respect in the future either. It shouldn’t be in the hands of humans so they can pull it apart and use the technology for all of the wrong reasons. That ship should be yours and yours alone. If you want it, we will get it.”
“That simple, huh?”
“Well, no,” Bruce said with a deep sigh, “it’s going to be very complicated to get in and out but it’s achievable. The ship isn’t in good enough condition to fly into space but should be able to safely fly through Earth’s atmosphere.”
“Back to the Arctic?” Clark asked, hopefully.
“Back where it belongs,” Bruce agreed.
Clark leaned back in his chair and tilted his head toward the ceiling. His eyes closed and Bruce turned back to the Batcomputer to check the same STAR Labs schematics he’d already checked 14 times already. He’d given Clark a lot of information and a lot to think about since he’d walked into the Cave and if Clark needed a few moments—hours, days, weeks—to think about it, then Bruce could afford the time.
Although Bruce was willing to give Clark time to think, he wasn’t comfortable with sitting next to the man as the time passed. He doubted Clark wanted Bruce awkwardly fidgeting by his side, either.
There was a coffee machine only a few feet away from the Batcomputer. Alfred had insisted Bruce install one downstairs as he “spent so much time down there anyway,” and Bruce busied himself by making a couple of cups. He could remember how Clark had taken his coffee at the meeting the month before—he was Batman and he noticed the details—and was too busy piling spoonfuls of sugar into Clark’s cup to notice that Clark had moved from his seat.
When he wanted to, Clark could move even more silently than the Bat. The advantages of flight and alien cloth, Bruce mused.
“I’m very grateful,” said Clark softly, his hand tentatively reaching for his cup of coffee, “but this is far too much. You didn’t need to do all of this. Not after getting the farm back as well.”
“I’ve always believed that you should correct your mistakes and atone for your failures.”
“I shouldn’t have said those things I did last time. You were right—I was pushing myself too hard and I took my stress out on you. When you brought me back you were trying to save the world, and you did it. That’s a little more important than Clark Kent. You haven’t failed at all, Bruce.”
Bruce didn’t need to look at the damaged suit hanging behind him to know it was there. He didn’t need to see the burned-out foundations of Wayne Manor, the son that refused his calls, or the empty spaces in his life that should have been occupied by friends and family to know how many times he had failed throughout the years.
He couldn’t bring back Jason. He didn’t know where to begin rebuilding bridges with Dick. He couldn’t reconstruct his parent’s belongings from the ashes they had become.
But he could correct his mistakes with Clark.
“When I first started my career as the Bat, do you know what some of the friendlier officers at the GCPD called me?” Bruce wasn’t surprised when Clark indicated that he didn’t. It had been an internal nickname that even he wasn’t supposed to know.
“They called me the World’s Greatest Detective. Commissioner Gordon—Captain Gordon, back then—asked for my assistance on cases the GCPD couldn’t solve and I found things they missed. I had better technology, wasn’t bound to the GCPD rulebook, and wasn’t hampered by working with colleagues that were actively sabotaging investigations, so of course I was able to get results.”
It was obvious from Clark’s expression that he didn’t understand what Bruce was trying to tell him, but he was eager to listen and discover the destination. Bruce realized that in all of the conversations he’d had with Clark—both good and bad—he’d never said as many words to the Kryptonian as he just had.
And he wasn’t finished.
“World’s Greatest Detective,” Bruce said, mockingly. “Back then, I thought nothing of trailing suspects and criminals for weeks to get a full picture of who they were. I discovered everything about a suspect, from where they went to school, what they ate for lunch, and what their shoe size was. It was slow work, but I enjoyed it. It reduced mistakes.
“But what did I do when I first saw you? I moved straight to trying to kill you. I didn’t research anything about Superman at all other than any potential weaknesses I could exploit. I never once stopped to consider who Superman was or what he did when he wasn’t saving the world. All I saw was a threat. Lois Lane and Lex Luthor were both able to discover who Clark Kent was but I—the World’s so-called Greatest Detective—didn’t even try. I gave the Joker more chances than I gave you and he— He killed my son. That was the first time I failed you.”
“Bruce, you don’t need to tell me this.”
“I do.”
And Bruce found that he did need to say all of these things. He could feel the words burning inside him and needing to break free before they turned him to ashes. Most of the time Bruce’s emotions were walled up as tightly as water behind a dam but now that dam had become cracked, everything was spilling out in torrents he couldn’t hope to contain.
He knew that it wasn’t just Clark he was apologizing to. Although they weren’t there and would never hear the words, he was apologizing for his failings with Dick and Jason as well.
“On the night that you died and you came to me at the docks, I knew you didn’t want to fight me. I heard you ask me to stop and talk to you. I knew you were fighting defensively instead of attacking me, but I didn’t stop. I didn’t listen. I was so convinced I was right about you and had swallowed Luthor’s poison so thoroughly that I couldn’t stop. That was the second time I failed you.”
“My death wasn’t your fault, Bruce,” Clark said softly.
“No, it wasn’t,” Bruce agreed. “But thanks to me, you were exposed to Kryptonite for around 15 minutes before the fight with Doomsday. You were weak enough for me to cut you and place my boot on your neck. Can you really say that you were at full strength for the Doomsday fight?”
“I probably wasn’t,” Clark conceded. “But even if I had been, it wouldn’t have mattered. I still would have got nuked and I was holding a Kryptonite spear in my hand when Doomsday attacked me. The end result would have been the same, regardless of our fight.”
Bruce picked up his coffee cup and took a sip. He didn’t agree with Clark’s assessment of the Doomsday fight but didn’t want to argue. He never wanted to argue with Clark ever again. He also didn’t want to acknowledge that his hand was shaking a little as he lowered the cup from his mouth.
Bruce wasn’t good with emotions and he never had been. The death of his parents had hardened his soul in a way that made it impossible to let go enough to show how he felt. He had cried on the day of the murder but hadn’t shed a tear for them since. He didn’t know how.
Revealing as much of himself to Clark as he just had was enormously cathartic while it was occurring, but now that he’d said everything he wanted to, he was left with an ache in his chest where the bottled-up emotions had once been. He needed to sit down. He needed a drink. He needed to punch something really hard if his hands could stop shaking long enough for him to land a punch.
Clark noticed, of course. He reached out and gently placed his hands around Bruce’s cup to steady it, his left hand closing over Bruce’s right with a gentle touch that Bruce didn’t think he had earned.
Clark’s skin was remarkably hot to the touch. Bruce tried to ignore that the last time he’d touched Clark’s bare skin with his own, it had felt unnaturally cold.
“It’s okay Bruce. You made mistakes—we both did. But we’re both here now and we’re going to build something great together in the Justice League. You’ve given my mother her home back, given me my life back, and brought Clark Kent back from the dead as well. You’re even planning to commit at least ten major crimes so we can get the Kryptonian ship back. You’ve more than made up for any failures.”
Bruce couldn’t say anything. He couldn’t pull his thoughts away from how warm and comforting Clark’s hands felt. Those hands could crush steel yet they were holding Bruce’s shaking hands with a touch that was so gentle yet reassuring that it verged on too much.
He hadn’t noticed how closely Clark was standing. He could see the soft rise and fall of Clark’s chest as he breathed in the air he didn’t need and his eyes caught on the symbols woven into the ‘S’ of the crest. Although Bruce couldn’t read it, he could recognize Kryptonian writing when he saw it.
“What does it say?” Bruce asked, before clarifying. “The Kryptonian on your crest.”
It took more effort than it should have done, but Bruce raised his gaze from the unique lettering and focused on Clark’s face instead. At this proximity, Clark’s eyes were a shade of blue so deep that Bruce thought he could swim in them.
Once Bruce had learned that Superman’s main method of hiding his identity was a cheap pair of ugly glasses, he had been both shocked at the simplicity and bewildered at how they worked. Now, he understood. The slight tint on the pointless lenses on Clark’s glasses was just enough to disguise exactly how blue those eyes really were. Clark Kent’s baby blues were pretty, but Kal-El’s were breathtaking.
Although Clark seemed momentarily surprised by Bruce’s change of subject and question, he answered quickly enough. “It says ‘Where we had thought to stand alone, we will be with all the world.’”
“Maybe I should write that on one of the walls down here.”
Clark gently pulled the coffee cup from Bruce’s grip with his right hand but didn’t move his left. Instead, he left that where it was—gently covering Bruce’s own still slightly shaking hand. Bruce was sure that if he pulled his hand away from Clark’s loose grip Clark wouldn’t stop him, but he found he couldn’t move.
It had been a long time since anyone had touched Bruce Wayne with anything approaching gentleness. Bruce was embarrassed at how much he had missed it.
“When I did my research on Batman, one thing that stood out to me was how alone he was. I didn’t know about Alfred back then of course, but it struck me that none of the people you helped ever really reported talking to you. The GCPD denied any involvement with you, too.”
With the coffee cup now safely on the counter next to them, Clark closed both of his hands around Bruce's hand instead. “We don’t need to stand alone anymore. We can stand with the world and we can stand with each other. It doesn’t matter how we got here, Bruce. All that matters is that we are here.”
“I’m not good at standing with others.”
“Could have fooled me,” Clark replied. “You showed concern for me and how much I was pushing myself, even if I didn’t want to hear it. You pulled together a group of strangers that had nothing in common and created a league of superheroes that saved the world.”
“I did that in your name,” Bruce admitted. “I made a promise to you on your grave that I would make things right.”
“Okay first, less talking about my grave when I’m standing right here,” Clark said jovially, despite the discomfort he felt. “And second, really? You did that for me?”
“It was all I could do.”
Clark smiled then but it wasn’t the reassuring smile often seen on Superman’s face, nor the often shy and awkward one seen on Clark Kent’s face. This smile was something new and something entirely more precious.
Bruce stared at that smile and something in his brain finally clicked into place. Was that really the reason for all of this? Had he really been fascinated with Superman from the first second he saw him because of a misdirected and unwanted crush he had on the man? Was his desire to do right by Clark both in death and now in resurrected life because he’d slowly—and without knowing—fallen in love with him?
When Bruce looked back at the months that had passed since Clark’s death, all he could see was the hours he’d spent obsessively learning about the man he had so desperately let down. He’d listened to Martha’s neverending tales about the son she’d lost and had heard Lois speak of the loving partner she no longer had in her life. Between the two of them—and Bruce’s own independent research—they’d painted a picture of someone that was so much more than just a superpowered cape.
He was someone Bruce Wayne could fall in love with.
It would explain Bruce’s desperate need to make everything right with Clark. Bruce didn’t usually care too much about the opinions others held about him, but he wanted Clark to like him. He’d called in favors and broken laws to bring Clark Kent back to life and was willing to break several more to rescue the Kryptonian ship, just because he wanted Clark to have the life he deserved.
Clark still held Bruce’s right hand loosely between his own and Bruce never wanted him to let go.
“Bruce.” Clark’s voice was soft and gentle, but it was enough to pull Bruce out of his thoughts. “Look at me.”
Somewhere in the middle of Bruce’s panicked realization of how he really felt about Clark, his eyes had drifted away from Clark’s blinding smile to the safer and grayer floor of the cave. He wanted to keep them there, but he couldn’t deny a direct request from Clark.
“Bruce, I’m going to do something now and I want you to remember that I’m the Man of Steel, okay? If you punch me, you’re just going to break your hand. Push me, don’t punch me.”
Before Bruce could fully digest what Clark was trying to say, Clark kissed him. It was an awkward kiss as Bruce hadn’t expected it and they still had their clasped hands acting as a barrier between them, but it was a kiss, nonetheless. Clark’s lips were warm and smooth and he smelled of nothing but the freshest air.
Just as Bruce’s brain had begun to catalog and process the million different sensations running through his system, Clark took a step back.
“Well, you didn’t punch me, so that was a win. But, you also didn’t react at all so I guess it evens out at a tie?”
“I wasn’t expecting you to—,” Bruce paused. Bruce Wayne had kissed hundreds of people during his lifetime and he’d even meant some of them. One kiss shouldn’t have left him feeling as flustered as he currently did. He was an expert at this. He knew how to kiss. “Can we try again?”
Clark laughed and Bruce wanted to bottle that sound so he could hear it whenever he needed to. “Sure.”
It wasn’t perfect the second time either, but Bruce thought it could soon get there. Clark finally let go of his hand and instead placed his hands on Bruce’s face, his thumbs gently stroking across Bruce’s cheekbones and stubble as they kissed. It was all Bruce could do to grab a handful of Clark’s flowing red cape as his other hand found a home in Clark’s soft hair.
He had no idea how long they stood there, pressed together in the Batcave and making out like teenagers. He lost count of how many times they broke for air or how many times he felt Clark’s smile against his own.
Eventually, it was Clark who took the step back to put some space between them again and Bruce was not surprised by that at all.
Clark’s hands slid from Bruce’s face to rest across his broad shoulders and Bruce closed his eyes when he felt Clark’s forehead gently press against his own. He wanted to drink in this moment and commit it all to memory, in case it was the only moment with Clark he ever got.
“That was definitely a win,” Clark said.
“Do you want to win again?”
“Now there’s an offer I’d love to—”
Bruce opened his eyes at the sound of Clark’s voice breaking off and he knew what had happened without Clark needing to say anything. “Go. The world needs Superman.”
“It’s a flood in China. There are people trapped and—”
“Go,” Bruce said firmly, gently pushing at Clark’s shoulders. “I’ll be here when you get back.”
Clark leaned in for one brief and chaste kiss. “Promise?”
“I’m Batman,” Bruce said with a smile, “where else would I be other than the Batcave?”
“You’re more than just Batman. But I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Bruce watched Clark fly out of the Batcave as quickly as was safely possible and sighed. Now he really needed a drink. He’d shown more emotion in the last half an hour than in the last 10 years and it had left him feeling drained and oddly vulnerable.
There was Bat work to be completed but Bruce knew he wasn’t in the right mind for anything complicated. It was all he could do to prevent his mind’s eye from replaying the last few minutes over and over again. Clark had looked radiantly happy and it was impossible to believe that he could be the reason for that happiness.
As the seconds became minutes and continued to tick by, Bruce began to wonder if he’d imagined the whole conversation. He could no longer feel Clark on his lips and he had left no scent behind. Bruce was mere fingertips away from replaying the security footage in the Cave to prove to himself that yes, he really had felt Clark in his arms.
And that Clark was going to come back to him.
Instead, Bruce’s gaze fell upon his phone. He’d placed it next to the Batcomputer shortly before Clark had arrived and it had sat there ever since. A sudden compulsion took over him and before he had the chance to second guess himself, the phone was in his hand and he had navigated to his contacts list.
A couple of presses later and it was ringing. He held his breath until he heard the unmistakable sound of the call being answered by the person on the other end of the line.
Bruce paused and took a few seconds to remember how his honesty with Clark had led to something he never dreamed he could ever have. “Hey, Dick. I just wanted to call and apologize. For everything.”
Bruce had mended one relationship with spectacular results already this evening. Maybe he could make it two for two. He had the time to spare before Clark came back to him, after all.