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1. I Don’t Get It
“Fuck yeah, it’s my turn for game night!”
“Hal, man, at least—”
“Time to play Fuck, Marry, Kill, bitches!” Hal crowed, summoning a gavel of green light and slamming it down on the WatchTower’s main meeting room table. Why? Who knows. It’s Hal Jordan.
Flash sighed, lips twitching, half-amused half-defeated by his friend’s antics. He tugged his mask over his hair and off his face, replacing the speed hero’s dependable visage with Barry Allen’s. He’d revealed his identity pretty early on to the Justice League. It was hard not to trust people who carried his life in their hands every week, and he for them in return. Not that he held anyone who wanted to keep their secret identities secret against them; people went at their own pace. In any case, he was supposed to be the fast one.
Barry considered the members of the Justice League to be some of his closest friends, though rather than drinking beer and going bowling they fought wrong-doers and saved the world. Still, bonding was bonding.
Wonder Woman frowned. “I am not familiar with this game.”
“It’s pretty straightforward, Diana,” Cyborg replied. “Someone gives you a list of three people and you have to decide which one you’re marrying, killing, or…screwing.”
“I see. Sounds like Hal. Thank you, Victor,” mused Diana Prince, princess, warrior, and ambassador of Themyscira. Yeah, she had her own soiree of titles. Came with being a demigod, apparently.
Across the room, Hawkwoman, or Shayera Thal, scowled ferociously. “Sounds stupid, you mean. Seriously, Lantern? What are you, fifteen?”
“Hey! If you got to choose ‘dodge-knives’ then I get to pick FMK!” accused Hal. “C’mon, we only do this once a month, anyway. With the way the team’s growing, I’ll only get to pick the game once a year or two. Let me have this!”
Martian Manhunter tilted his head. “This assessment is true. I have also not heard of this game, but I am open to playing it.”
“Not the guy I thought would back Hallie on this,” Green Arrow muttered.
Captain Marvel raised a hand. “Uh, not that I’m against Green Lantern’s choice or anything, but I think I’m gonna sit this one out,” he grimaced. “I’ve got…magic stuff to do.”
With that, he flew from the room faster than anyone could protest. Not that anyone would’ve; in fact, many of them were considering following his example.
“Hey, no!” Exclaimed Hal, as if he could read their trains of thought. “No one else is backing out! Captain Wet Blanket may have already ditched, but I’m putting my foot down for anyone else! Except for you, Batsy, feel free to leave. In fact, I actively encourage it.”
There came a grunt from the front of the room near the computer that Batman had been using earlier to lead the meeting with a report on Granny Goodness’ latest movements. Barry wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing, but he trusted that it was productive. He’d bet that their resident vampire didn’t so much as go pee before weighing the pros and cons.
“Hal’s right,” Superman butted in, ignoring the following ‘Ha!’ “Fair’s fair. If you can spare the time, even if you don’t want to, we should honor Hal’s choice and strengthen our bond as friends in arms.”
“Always the boy scout,” Barry teased, an easy grin on his face.
The returning sheepish smile was all Clark Kent.
“I actually love this game,” Dinah admitted. Shayera turned to her in surprise. At the look on her face, Dinah put her hands up in a defensive posture. “What? It’s a fun drinking game.”
“I’m down for drinks!” yelled Hal, a grin lighting up his face.
“No alcohol on the WatchTower,” admonished Batman, who didn’t even deign to spare any of them a glance.
Hal groaned. “Buzzkill.”
“Space pig.”
“Oh, I’ll show you pig, you—!”
“Oookay, how about we start, then?” Victor Stone cut in, looking very much like a worn-out mother of ten despite being the youngest person in the room.
Hal huffed but didn’t call out the obvious misdirect. “Fine by me. We’re doing celebrity edition, by the way, which includes heroes…and villains. Supes!”
Clark, the poor guy, looked visibly startled and perturbed by the green-gloved finger pointed his way. Barry felt for the guy. “Y-yes?”
“Big blue, boy scout extraordinaire, goody-two-shoes-epitome-of-humanity himself!” Hal rattled off, obviously building up to something obnoxious if his widening grin was anything to go on. “Fuck, marry, kill: Plastic Man, Bruce Wayne, Steve Rogers?”
Dinah raised an eyebrow. “Steve Rogers is a fictional character.”
“A fictional character with the greatest ass in America,” Hal responded seriously.
“Who’s Plastic Man?” Hawkwoman asked. Her scowl had lessened, but not by much. Barry didn’t think he’d ever seen her smile outside of battle and talking about her home planet. Well, that and dodge-knives.
“He’s a criminal-turned-vigilante who can stretch his body any way he wants, kinda like Mr. Fantastic from the Fantastic Four comics, except a lot more money-hungry,” supplied Green Arrow. “Batman’s having him play hero for his community service hours.”
“A reformed con, the Prince of Gotham, and a fictional superhero,” murmured Clark. He cleared his throat and spoke loud enough for the table to hear. “I want to make it clear that this is entirely hypothetical and that I would not act in these manners in any real-life scenario. No one anyone says can be used against them because none of these opinions will bear any weight to our actions in real life.”
Hal groaned. “Oh my god, we know. Now get on with it!”
Clark grimaced but continued. “Have sex with Captain America, marry Bruce Wayne, and…kill Plastic Man.”
There was a brief pause in the rhythmic tap-tapping that had been coming from the front of the room—brief enough that Barry didn’t think someone with a normal perception of time would notice—before it resumed.
Hal let out a whistle. “That’s pretty unexpected. I thought you’d fuck Brucie and marry Cap. Is our resident boy scout secretly a gold digger?”
Clark sputtered, but J’onn came to his defense. “You didn’t say we had to provide an explanation for our answers,” he remarked, not unpleasantly.
Barry kinda felt like laughing. He wasn’t sure if this was some kinda alien solidarity or if the Martian was genuinely confused about the rules.
“D-Diana! FMK: Emma Watson, Tom Cruise, Sam Smith?” Clark burst, a little desperately.
Diana shot him an amused look, knowing what he was doing but going along with it anyway. “Kill Tom Cruise, of course. Hmm…let’s see, I’d pleasure Sam Smith and marry Emma Watson. Not that I have anything against Sam Smith, but…”
“Women?” Barry supplied, smirking.
Diana returned the expression, echoing “Women.”
They lobbed similar questions to each other till everyone had had at least two turns. By the end of it, Barry could tell that everyone was having fun. Victor admitted to finding Jinx attractive while J’onn, inexplicably enough, was fond of humanitarians (Temple Grandin had just barely won out over Jane Goodall, apparently. Although Dolly Parton was his peak). Hal had a thing for models (especially rich ones) who slept around, which was a surprise to no one. Green Arrow surprised everyone by supporting his answers with little-known celebrity gossip, though Dinah claimed that if it weren’t for doctor-patient confidentiality she’d have him beat. Shayera and J’onn had to look up who some celebrities were sometimes, but all in all the group was in a better mood than expected for one of Hal’s ideas. Barry, himself, had found the look on Hal’s face especially funny when he said he’d marry Storm from X-Men over him (“Don’t worry, dude, I still said I’d fuck you.” “But you wouldn’t marry me?!” “Bro…I’m sorry, but no. She’s Storm.”).
It was Hal’s turn again, and Barry could see from the way he put his hand on his chin that he was calculating who would be his perfect next victim. His eyes had just narrowed on Dinah, a lecherous gleam glinting in his eyes, when a satisfied little ‘Hn’ sounded, somehow perfectly timed for when there was a lull in the boisterous cajoling filling up the room. It succeeded in capturing Hal’s attention, whose gaze swept toward the monitors. Barry could almost see something clicking in his brain when his leer transformed into more of an arrogant smirk. Two very ‘Hal’ expressions, if he were being honest.
“Bat in Black! Fuck, marry, kill: Bruce Wayne, Marilyn Monroe, Cheetah?”
Batman immediately shut him down. “I’m not playing.”
Hal’s smirk widened, and honestly? Barry wanted to see where this was going. “C’mon, Spooky, team bond with us! You’re in this room which means you’re fair game.”
“Then I’ll leave the room.”
Hal’s face fell fleetingly before he sported an annoyed expression. “You’re the one always telling us we need to work on our cohesion or whatever. If you ask me, you’re the one that needs to learn to trust other people more than anyone else in this room! So why don’t you get off your high horse and interact with us common folk, huh, Spooky?!”
Batman paused at the doorway, which was a little surprising. Usually, the guy didn’t sway after he said he was going to do something (unless Superman argued with him. And even then). From this angle, Barry could only see about half of his jaw, but there was a certain tension there that made Barry think that maybe, just maybe, Batman was considering something. Whether that something turned out to be acquiescing to Hal’s pestering or enacting a plan to orchestrate his demise remained to be seen.
After what was probably three seconds but what felt like an eternity to Barry, Batman turned to face them all with a dramatic swish of his cape. He didn’t make any indication of further movement for another couple of seconds, though Barry didn’t doubt he was analyzing all of them from behind his white lenses or something. For what, he didn’t know.
Everyone seemed to be holding their breath. Hal shifted, clearly feeling the weird energy in the room but purposefully choosing to ignore it as he growled out “Well? Do you need to be spoon-fed your options again?! We can start slow if you need, Emo Furry. So, Brucie: fuck, marry, or—”
“I’d kill myself,” Batman interrupted. It was a dark joke but an admittedly expected response. Barry didn’t think the guy would confess to feeling emotions even if he were being threatened by Darkseid himself.
Curiously, Batman’s body language, subtle as it was, didn’t fit his reply. His shoulders relaxed as if relieved of some pressure, but the tension in his jaw only got stronger as if he were bracing himself.
Hal sighed theatrically, head hanging and everything. “Batty, that ain’t how the game works. You weren’t on the menu. I was talking about Brucie Wayne, Bruce—”
Suddenly, a booming laugh sounded from an unanticipated side of the room. J’onn J’onzz was in an uproar, his head thrown back and his hands clasping his shaking arms as chuckles and guffaws escaped him. It was honestly almost disturbing coming from someone who was generally a pretty stoic guy.
“Oh, what a marvelous joke! Truly peak irony. I did not know you possessed such a sense of humor, Batman,” J’onn smiled at the stone-faced Bat who still occupied the doorway of the room. It was wide, joyful, and confoundingly different from his usual impassivity.
Even more strange was how the tension in Batman’s jaw dissipated and his lips even twitched in a manner that would be equivalent to a megawatt grin on anyone else’s face.
Batman hummed in reply, sounding almost jocular. Freaky.
Dinah’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “Since when do you two share a sense of humor?”
“This just in: the Martian Manhunter and Batman in on a joke together? More likely than you’d think!” drawled Green Arrow, chuckling.
Dinah elbowed him. “You’re not half as funny as you think you are.”
Superman looked between Batman and J’onn, his face a devastatingly perfect picture of loss and confusion. Barry knew that the founding trio had a special bond, so he sympathized. It must’ve stung to see a close friend known for his seriousness have a special inside joke with someone else. Then again, Diana just looked assessing and vaguely amused, so maybe he was way off the mark.
“Now none of you can say I don’t trust you. Abuse this knowledge and you’ll have monitor duty for the next month,” Batman deadpanned in his perpetual monotone. Barry startled, twisting in his chair to re-face Batman, his eyes briefly catching on Hal’s slack-jawed face.
In true Batman manner, with another swish of darkness, Gotham’s Dark Knight vanished from the room before anyone else could get another word in. J’onn was working through the last of his giggles, the volume of which seemed to be dialed up to an eleven in the otherwise-silent room.
He couldn’t take it anymore. “Welp, this has been fantastic, but as you know-duty-calls-soI’mjustgonnadipoutsobyeseeyounextweek!” And with that, Barry flicked his mask back over his head and sped from the room.
He was going to go back to Central City, cuddle with Iris, and maybe have a beer or ten.
Hopefully, that would dull the shock of Martian Manhunter and the Batman sharing jokes.
2. Women and Children Are the Priority for a Reason, Actually
Billy Batson was not pouting, thank you very much. Captain Marvel was the Champion of Magic and all things Super and Manly, so why would he? But everyone had been acting weird ever since Hal’s gameday and he didn’t know why because he wasn’t there! Barry had already whispered to him that Batman of all people had cracked some sort of joke that only Martian Manhunter was in on for some reason, sure, but that still didn’t explain everyone’s odd behavior!
Well, okay. That was a little mean. It’s not that everyone was acting odd, it was just that they all seemed a little closer and a little looser around each other than they had two weeks ago, and Billy felt left out. He didn’t regret leaving before the game started (what ten-year-old wanted to hear about adults’ love lives? Gross!), but that didn’t mean he was too happy about it, either. It sucked being the only kid, sometimes (a lot).
So now he was…on a walk. In the Watchtower. And definitely not pouting. Being on the move made him feel better, and discovering all the nooks and crannies of a new area was always fun (and necessary for survival; check the exits, check for supplies, check for the best piece of floor to sleep on—). So, a stroll around the WatchTower was perfect!
Just as fast as Billy turned the corner, pursing his lips so that he could practice his whistling in his adult body again, he pivoted back into the wall outside the room.
Unfortunately, he was not unseen.
“Come out, Captain Marvel. I need to talk to you, anyway,” wafted out Batman’s artificial growl from inside the room.
Shoulders back and smile full-force because if Billy was going to confront the Knightmare of Gotham then he was at least going to commit to the ‘unflinching superhero’ bit, Captain Marvel re-entered the room.
“Batman,” greeted Captain Marvel once he got close enough. He nodded at him, then to the equally-badass-but-less-frightening figure beside him. “Wonder Woman.”
“Again, please call me Diana. We are friends and comrades in arms; even if you do not tell me your name, I would at least like to hear mine from you,” Wonder Woman said firmly, a welcoming smile on her face and her firm hand clasping his wrist briefly.
Billy didn’t know how to explain the awkwardness of calling an adult by their first name without giving the secret of his age away, so he opted for a more slanted smile and injected an easy humor into his tone when he retorted “Ah, well. Better not to fall into unwise habits, y’know?”
“Indeed,” Wonder Woman ceded. “But I trust that a man as experienced as you will not slip up.”
“I don’t care what you call me,” Batman slipped in. Billy started; he’d forgotten he was even there. Batman, thankfully, ignored this. “But my real name is Bruce Wayne. I already told everyone after last week’s meeting, which you left early, so it’s good that I caught you today.”
Billy stared.
Batman’s eerie white lenses and cowl, which apparently hid Bruce Wayne, stared impassively back.
“Bruce Wayne,” repeated Billy, feeling a little outside himself. “Bruce Wayne, as in the guy in ‘Prince of Gotham’s Top Twenty Most Epic Fails’ with over 250 million hits on YouTube, Bruce Wayne? That Bruce Wayne?”
Surreally, Batman’s white lenses slit and closed in an approximation of a long, slow blink. “Yes.”
“Oh,” Billy said faintly. He’d seen Bruce Wayne walk on the red carpet with toilet paper stuck to his shoe in that video. He’d seen Batman walk on the red carpet with toilet paper stuck to his shoe in that video. “Okay.”
Batman, Bruce ‘Brucie’ Wayne, nodded, satisfied, and turned back towards Wonder Woman.
Wonder Woman, who was looking just as baffled as Billy felt. “Wait, so that day, during the game…” Wonder Woman trailed off as if coming to a realization. Her eyes widened and she stood up a bit straighter. “You were…oh. Oh. Oh!”
Suddenly delighted, she clasped both Batman and Captain Marvel on the shoulders in an exuberant gesture. Her face was one of true radiance. “This is a fine day for comradery,” she declared gleefully. “Truly, I am honored by your great show of companionship!”
At least now Batman looked a bit bemused, as well.
“...right. Well. If that’s all, then we need to talk more about Maxwell Lord. After his last attempt to mind control us, I thought up a few countermeasures—”
3. Batman Got Game
This month was Green Arrow’s turn to choose a game for game night. Unfortunately for everyone involved, he was inspired by Hal Jordan’s last pick.
“The flirting game?!” Repeated Clark, mortified.
“Oh, don’t get your panties in a twist,” Green Arrow smirked. “How about this: no touching or being too graphic. I don’t want to give Batman any more reason to ditch us than he already has, so we can keep it SFW.”
Hal made a disappointed noise, which everyone ignored.
“What of Captain Marvel? He didn’t participate in last month’s bonding ritual, either,” Shayera grunted.
Victor checked the WatchTower’s logs remotely, searching for…ah, that’s right.
“He’s got Champion of Magic responsibilities every week during this time,” Victor supplied. “His files claim that the Rock of Eternity requires a lot of maintenance that requires his supervision. This is additionally verified by John Constantine, consultant occult detective.”
Batman rumbled in presumed displeasure. That’s right, the two of them weren’t on great terms. It was funny because Batman introduced him and was usually the first one to suggest requesting his expertise. Then again, Batman wasn’t exactly on best-friend terms with most people he worked with.
“Hold on,” Barry jumped in, giving J’onn a side-eye. “New rule: no powers. Martian shapeshifting is totally a cheat!”
J’onn tilted his head at him. “I am reasonably confident in my ability to fluster you besides, Mr. Allen.”
Barry gaped.
“Oi! Knock it off, lovebirds; it’s my game, so I’m starting!” Green Arrow’s smirk widened. He rubbed his hands together like a cliche supervillain and turned to face Dinah, his eyes sparkling.
“Your screams are already music to my ears, m’lady,” he purred, placing his forearm on the table and leaning forward. “But one night with me, and I’ll make you sing.”
Dinah raised a solitary eyebrow at him, saying nothing. She didn’t even flinch when Green Arrow had gotten within six inches of her face. Internally, Victor thanked Lady Luck that he wasn’t seated next to her. Then again…
He glanced to the side.
He was seated near Batman.
So. That sucked.
“Is that so?” Dinah’s voice responded. She sighed almost wistfully and lowered her pitch to a sultrier tone, saying “Personally, I think we’d have more fun if I were your vocal coach.”
With that, she plucked Green Arrow’s bycocket from his head and placed it on her own. She finished her deadly assault by leaning back and tilting her head up, so as to give the impression that she was looking down on him.
Somebody gulped.
“Well, fuck,” Green Arrow breathed. “A man knows when he’s been beat. At least losing to someone as beautiful as you is no real loss at all.” He winked.
Dinah rolled her eyes and gave him his hat back, turning to Shayera beside her.
“Well? Shall we continue?”
“Certainly. Your place or mine?” Shayera smirked back.
Dinah oohed. “Didn’t think you had it in you. Well then, Shay baby, I say we ditch this boy’s club and go do something actually fun.”
“I’ll bring my mace.”
“And I’ll bring a whip.”
At this, Shayera broke character, looking confused. “A whip? Why? I was joking when I said I’d bring my mace. Unless we are genuinely sparring, why would a whip be necessary for activities of the flesh?”
“Oh, uh…well, I—”
“You’re blushing! Shayera wins!” Green Arrow yelled, slamming his fist down on the table.
Honestly, it was a little excessive, but Victor supposed that he was just reveling in being avenged.
“C’mon, man, why stop it when it was just getting good…” Hal groaned, tipping his head back.
Batman hmphed. “Congratulations. You managed to be the sore loser in a game you weren’t even participating in.”
“Shut it! I don’t need to hear that from Mr. Anti-Fun!”
“Hal, Shayera, it’s your turn now,” Victor reminded everyone, suddenly very tired. Weird, because he’d recharged himself just before the meeting.
Shayera and Hal bantered for far longer than anyone had anticipated before Hal was finally crowned the winner. He’d made Shayera turn red from anger rather than fluster, sure, but it still counted.
Fortunately, Diana won before it could get to his head. She admitted that she picked up a few tricks from her first boyfriend, and for some reason Victor didn’t want to think about too hard, Hal Jordan went pinker than a salmon at being objectified in pilot lingo.
Diana broke the winning-then-losing streak with Clark after his face went up in flames four words into her pick-up line. Not that Victor expected much from small-town farm boy, has-only-had-two-serious-relationships-in-his-life Clark Kent.
Slowly, Clark turned around to face Batman, who had been sitting silently in his seat with his arms crossed during the whole game.
Victor did not envy the guy.
The great and powerful Superman’s hands were trembling almost imperceptibly and the tips of his ears were noticeably still red. Plus, Victor's biofeedback scanners read that his heart was beating at an accelerated pace and his respiration intake was faster and more shallow than normal. Despite this, Clark put on a beatific smile.
“Uh…pumpkin?”
Batman didn’t react. His heartbeat showed no noticeable changes, either.
In direct contrast, Clark blushed so furiously his eyes glowed red, though thankfully no lasers shot out. Even so, Victor’s scanners alerted him that Clark’s body temperature had tripled, so he was glad when Kent took the initiative to put his face in his hands (was that a whimper his audio feed picked up??).
Batman hummed and turned to face Victor. It was eerily similar to last week when he’d shared that abstruse ‘joke’ with J’onn.
Oh, shit, Victor thought. My turn.
Victor swore some of his internal cylinders stuttered.
The rules dictated that Batman would be the one to make the first move. But would he even do it? It was Batman they were talking about, after all, there was no way he would—
Instantaneously, Batman’s entire demeanor changed. He uncrossed his arms and it was like every muscle in his body relaxed at once, his body language opening up. A rakish, charismatic grin overcame the visible part of his face as he leaned his chin into his open palm, which was connected to the elbow he had placed cheekily on the table. One heavy, booted leg came up to rest on a darkly uniformed thigh, stretching the fabric almost obscenely in his lower half.
Victor’s vision tinted red as emergency alerts flashed across his field of vision.
He’d just gotten rid of the notifications clogging his sight when a husky, accented voice drawled “I hear you’re called Victory. Gotta say: I can see why, jawn.”
It wasn’t a pick-up line, not really. Barely even a compliment. But Victor was struck utterly dumb. “My, uh, my name is—it’s Victor. Stone.”
Batman (BATMAN!!!) grinned wider. It was lopsided and his teeth were model-white and straight, oh my god.
(Were those dimples?!?!).
A bright burst of laughter rang through the air, loud and clear. Victor subconsciously calculated its vibrations.
Batman leaned forward, still with that damning, lopsided smile, and, with the edges of laughter still in his voice with a dash of Batman’s usual gravel baritone mixed in, whispered “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Victor Stone.”
As if from a great distance, Victor heard a loud CRUNCH and a notification flashed in the corner of his eye, telling him that the heartbeat located right next to where Batman was sitting had accelerated well past the extent of a healthy rate for a human (and on the verge of clinically concerning for a Kryptonian). Much more quietly, Victor heard an “Oh my god, that bastard” from Green Arrow’s direction.
Most pressingly, a big, emergency-red notification flared up to span the entire width of his vision, screaming SYSTEM ERROR at him.
The next thing he knew, he was looking at his load-up screen.
System rebooting…
Checking for system updates…
Verifying reason for error…
Recalibrating…
Starting program…
Victor blinked into consciousness to a fretful Barry Allen.
“Thank god you’re okay, ohmygod dude! There was literal steam pouring out of your ears! I mean, I don’t exactly blame you, but all-your-lights-turned-off-thenyoujustcollapsedandIdidn’tknowwhattodothankgoodnessIcaughtyoubutBatmanisNEVERallowedtoplaythisagain—”
“Flash,” interrupted a curt monotone. “Take Cyborg to his room and make sure he’s alright. Green Arrow, game night ends here. Dismissed.”
A familiar black cape swished at the corner of Victor’s vision as Batman swept past him and towards the door.
Unexpectedly, it settled to a stop near his head as the Dark Knight paused.
“Cyborg, I…apologize for what just happened. I will take care to ensure that it won’t happen again.”
It was said so quietly and flatly that Victor thought he’d hallucinated it for half a second. Then, he swiftly turned his head only to catch the tail end of Batman’s cape whisking out of the entryway.
It was only later in his room, long after Barry had left, that one of Victor’s programs finished compiling; one that he didn’t even know was running.
His audio recognition software blinked at him, reading: ‘Match: Bruce Wayne from Gotham, New Jersey.’
Victor stopped mid-way through his sleep routine and just…sat down heavily on a nearby workbench. He thought back to last month.
So that was the joke.
4. The Art of Negotiation (and Manipulation)
“I wouldn’t have shown up if I’d known he was going to be here,” Shayera hissed, casting a scathing glare toward Hal.
Hal put his hands up, smirking unremorsefully. “I didn’t know you’d be here either, birdie, but I must say that it’s a pleasant surprise.”
“Guys,” Barry interrupted impatiently. “Usually I don’t let work and work mix, but I need both of your expertise on this. Captain Cold has been kidnapping people lately, which is outside of his normal MO. The only connection I can find between these people is that they’re all rich, from out of town, and flew in on private jets. I’m in forensics, so I need someone who knows their way around detective work and someone who knows about planes to help me figure out his endgame, here.”
Shayera scowled. “I am no Earth policeman. Why haven’t you contacted Batman for help? Surely he would get you better results faster than if we investigated.”
“Hey!” Hal complained but didn’t refute her.
Barry flushed, nervously shoving his face back onto his microscope eyepiece. “I just…thought he might be busy. There was an Arkham breakout four days ago, you know.”
“There are always breakouts at Arkham,” Hal rolled his eyes. “You’re just being weird ‘cause we all found out that Spooky is actually sexy if he wants to be.”
Barry kept his face stubbornly planted on his eyepiece, lips pressed together tight.
(He just wanted to be able to go home and look Iris in the eyes without feeling guilty, okay?)
“Anyway,” Barry misdirected, badly. “Can you help me or not?”
Hal snorted. “Sure, lover boy. There’s an airshow going on all week in Central City. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of it. Rich collectors and military men have been flying in from all over to take part in it. It’s the hottest party in the air this year.”
Barry actually had heard about it, but he thought that all air shows were only held by…like, the government or something.
“I don’t think ‘Captain Cold’ is up to anything especially nefarious,” Shayera commented. Barry lifted his head to see her flipping through the files on his computer. How had she known his password?
His gaze drifted to a sticky note pressed to the computer frame which read ‘Iris4Ever_XxAmSpedxX’ in bold sharpie.
Ah.
“I think he’s just broke,” Shayera continued, utterly oblivious to Barry’s mortification. “Ice rayguns must cost a lot to manufacture, right? And he’s not in the drug or mercenary business…I guess kidnapping rich people with money to lose seemed like an okay trade to him.”
“Thanks, guys,” Barry said sincerely. “I really—”
“Shit!”
All three heroes turned toward the sound, instantly on high alert.
“Patty? What’s wrong?” Barry asked immediately, eyes trained on his blond coworker.
“Captain Cold just put up another ransom demand. This time, for Bruce Wayne,” she explained hurriedly, not looking at them as she rushed to put on her jacket.
“Uh…okay? And why are you dressing up to go out? It’s not like there’s a crime scene to go to,” Barry posited, confused.
“Yet,” she stressed tersely. “Mr. Wayne is currently dangled four thousand feet in the air, unlike the last six kidnappings, and it’s not like the Flash can fly!”
She turned to face him, snapping her fingers impatiently. “Come on! Hurry up, let’s go!”
She didn’t wait for them before pivoting and running out the door.
In eerie synchronicity, Hal and Shayera both turned to face Barry.
“Maybe the Flash can’t fly—” Shayera started, face hardening.
“—but the Green Lantern and Hawkwoman can!” Hal finished, grinning.
They made their way out of the building in a flash (ha!) and made it to the site of the airshow in record time. Up in the sky, dangling on a wire from what had to be his own private jet, was Bruce Wayne himself.
The police were already sectioning off the area below him, barking out orders and evacuating citizens. Patty Spivot wasn’t there yet, which was to be expected considering she was a normal human being and their heroic trio consisted of two flying beings and the fastest man alive.
“Lantern, give me a boost. I’ll take on whoever’s waiting for us in that jet while you fly it down safely. Hawkwoman, get Mr. Wayne out of the air and on his feet,” Flash ordered. His city, his plans. “Ready? Go!”
Green Lantern summoned his signature giant baseball glove and he and Flash rocketed off into the air toward the jet. Meanwhile, Hawkwoman spread her wings and shot off toward Bruce Wayne. When she got within three feet of him, she stooped, hovering.
“Bruce Wayne, sir!” she yelled. Those jets sure were noisy this close to it. “I’m going to get you down! Just don’t panic and hold on to me tight!”
She was half-expecting a lecherous remark but was shocked when she heard “Hawkwoman, quit it with the theatrics. News helicopters are too far away to make out what we’re saying so there’s no need to put on a show.”
She blinked. “...sir?”
Bruce Wayne scowled at her. She wasn’t the most up-to-date on Earthern celebrity gossip, but she was fairly sure this guy wasn’t supposed to be doing that. Weirdly enough, the expression also looked very familiar on his face.
“Shayera Thal. While I’m perfectly capable of getting myself down, it would be much harder to do so without exposing myself as Batman. So if Lantern and Flash are planning what I think they’re planning, then I really don’t want to be on the underside of this jet when it lands.”
A final puzzle piece slipped into place and a million things made sense all at once (or, well, three).
“Right,” Shayera affirmed at a normal volume, trying her best not to look like this was new information. “Right, you’re…that’s right.”
She made quick work of the wire, severing it with a spike on her mace and nabbing Bruce Wayne, Batman, out of the air as she did so. She flew them both down just in time to watch Green Lantern and Flash finally take control of the plane and land it on a nearby runway.
Distantly, she heard Bruce speaking to a couple of police officers.
“That’s my private jet, yes. Ah, excuse me, I want to thank those dashing heroes who saved me and returned my property safely to me. It costs $12 million, you see…”
Hal and Barry stepped off the jet with matching grins, waving at the cameras flashing in their direction. Hawkwoman ignored them, as usual. Instead, she made her way up to her fellow Leaguers, tucking her mace away. When they regrouped, she wasn’t quite sure what to say, She felt that she should say something, but what?
“Barry. Hal.” growled a familiar, gravelly baritone behind her. “You’d both better hope that Jordan’s piloting skills are as good as he says they are and that you didn’t mess up my interior, because after this I am not flying home on commercial.”
Shayera turned around quickly, only to immediately regret it when she got a faceful of smiling Batman. Without the cowl.
It was the most terrifying thing she’d ever seen in her life (not that she’d admit it under the pain of death).
Barry was visibly startled at the casual use of their civilian names, but Hal didn’t seem to notice as he marched up to Bruce, pointing a finger in his face. “Now listen here, we just saved your rich ass so you—”
Quick as a whip, Bruce snatched Hal’s outstretched finger and repositioned it to look like they were shaking hands for the cameras. Only, Shayera could tell from the muscles that stood out in Bruce’s arm and the angle at which he was holding Hal’s hand that he was gripping it was pressure just short of what was necessary to dislocate his finger.
“Ow, shit, fuck-OW—!”
“Insult me again in front of a civilian audience and I’ll show you exactly why I chose to be a symbol of fear in Gotham,” Bruce gritted out through still-smiling teeth, eyes glinting with violent promise.
Now, no matter how much he acted otherwise, Hal Jordan was not an idiot. If anything, he usually had the most common sense in non-Batman supergroups. So he didn’t need to be told any more hints to realize who he was really talking to.
“Spook—?!”
Bruce pressed his thumb down just a smidge harder and Hal choked on his own breath, cutting off the identifying nickname partway.
“Green Lantern! Such an honor to meet you! Not to mention Flash, here, and the lovely Hawkwoman! Thanks for saving me and my jet, truly, I admire the work you do,” Bruce exclaimed loudly enough for the surrounding microphones to pick up.
Bruce turned, finally releasing Hal’s hand, and hugged a shell-shocked Shayera. Before she could blink, he was off again, extending a hand toward Barry. Cameras shuttered so fast the clicks blurred together, the flashes nearly blinding. All the while, Bruce was smiling his signature Brucie grin.
“Flash, old chap, quite the wonderful city you’ve got here. Shame I got kidnapped, and dangled like a fish on a hook, though. What d’ya think, would a photo of us together make the front page? Or would it be better with all four of us?”
Barry gawked, his hand slack as Bruce vigorously pumped it up and down.
Barry, the smart scientist he was, had carefully come to a conclusion after processing a mountain of data. And that scientific conclusion was telling him that Batman was currently holding his hand and flashing him the most devastatingly attractive smile he’d ever been on the receiving end of, wearing a three-piece suit that probably cost more than his house.
Iris, Barry thought wildly. I’m so sorry.
5. Galas and the Explosions that Come With Them
Bruce hated going to charity balls.
Sure, he organized them all the time, but he’d much rather be patrolling his city, poring over case files with Gordon, or even updating the defense protocols on the WatchTower than schmoozing the point-one percent occupying Gotham and Star City into donating money to support youth homeless shelters.
“Bruciiiiiiiieeeee!” sing-songed a high-pitched voice behind him.
Bruce bit back a groan and plastered a wide smile on his face as he turned around. “Elaine, darling! How lovely to see you. Here to help give the new generation homes, I presume?”
“Oh, please,” she trilled, giggling. “You know it’s my father who holds the credit cards, not me.”
Bruce did know. But he also knew that Mr. Rochello treasured his daughter more than his own life and would happily part with large sums of money if she asked. Of course, his daughter was well aware of this but pretended she didn’t so she could get rich charity foundation owners like Bruce Wayne to sleep with her. He never had, though, because she was always trying to marry up and he really didn’t want to give her any ideas.
Gently, Bruce unwound her arms from the back of his neck and held her at a more respectable distance. “Ah, that’s right. I suppose I should give him my welcome. I have the Wayne Foundation’s reputation to think of, after all, and Lucius will become quite cross with me if I don’t at least try to garner some interest in the cause.”
Elaine pouted at him. It was, admittedly, an attractive look on her. “You never pay enough attention to me. Maybe it’s because all you care about is my money.”
Bruce grinned lopsidedly at her, nonchalant in the face of her cutting accusation.
“Elaine, my dear,” he drawled, long and slow. “All anyone cares about here is money.”
With that, he brushed past her to make his rounds. Two exhausting hours of handshaking, sweet-talking, and flirting later, he made his way to the balcony to take a breather from the chittering laughter and the cloying scents of the upper class. On his way there, he swiped a flute of champagne from a passing waiter.
He wouldn’t drink it, of course, but it was much easier convincing people you were drunk when you had alcohol in hand.
To his pleasant surprise, he spotted one Clark Kent leaning against the marble railing, outlined by the cloudy night sky. Hardly a perfect picture, what with the lack of starlight and Clark’s ill-fitting suit and clunky glasses, but Bruce preferred it to the artificialness of the glossy magazine covers his face and body frequented. For an alien, Clark had always looked the most human of them all.
“Clark,” Bruce greeted warmly, coming up beside him.
Clark jolted, turning to Bruce in disbelief as if surprised he was there. Which was odd, because surely Clark had heard his heartbeat and the thudding of his pristine dress shoes as he approached. Sure, Bruce had managed to sneak up on him before, but it usually required a suit that churned out artificial white noise and a distraction of some sort. This time, he was wearing no such suit and the only thing Clark could have been distracted by were the flickering lamps lighting up the streets of the city and far-off sounds only he could hear.
Maybe that was it?
“Hear something, Mr. Kent?” Bruce raised an eyebrow at him. Surely, if it were something important, then Clark wouldn’t be here and Superman would be on TV.
“Er, uh, nothing but the party Mister, Mr. Wayne. Sir,” Clark stammered, his gaze skittering from his eyes to his jaw to his tux, to his hands, then back at Bruce’s eyes.
Bruce was vaguely amused by this. Well, it was the first time they were meeting out-of-costume since Bruce spilled the beans on his secret identity almost three months ago. Perhaps he was still getting used to it.
Brucie Wayne was very different from Batman, after all.
“Please, call me Bruce. Or Brucie. Mr. Wayne was my father,” Bruce winked at him glibly, a rakish smile breaking out on his face. This time, it was even half-genuine.
All the blood drained from Clark’s face. He looked devastated. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Bruce waved a hand dismissively. “I’m the one who brought it up, anyway. How about a change of topic? What are you doing at this bloodsucking event?”
Clark looked surprised again, the color returning to his face a bit. Good.
Well, Bruce thought grimly. I suppose that I am acting rather out of character, for both Brucie and Batman. Have I truly never talked to him without either mask on?
It was a sobering thought. One he’d need to correct.
He laid a hand on Clark’s, stepping closer. Clark lit up like a firetruck and Bruce is sure that if he could sweat, he would’ve been doing so by the buckets. Cute, but not good for Superman’s indomitable image. They’d have to work on training him out of that later.
“B-Bruce..?” Clark asked weakly, his hand twitching beneath his. “What..?”
“I asked you a question, you know,” Bruce reminded him in a soft tone after it looked like Clark wasn’t going to finish his question. “What are you doing here?”
Clark blinked rapidly and seemed to come back to himself a bit. “Ah…” He looked down, then lifted the press badge stuck to his shirt slightly. “Clark Kent, I’m a reporter for the Daily Planet. I’m covering for this event in a coworker’s place. May I ask you a few questions about this charity, the Wayne Foundation, and possibly schedule an exclusive interview with you later?”
Bruce's smile turned genuine. Good ol’ Clark; always so reliable and polite.
“Fire away,” who was Bruce to turn down a friend in need? “And you can have as many exclusive interviews with me as you’d like.” Bruce winked at him.
Was it mean to make fun of Clark like this? Maybe a little. Was it also funny as hell to watch him blush redder than the bricks at their backs? Most definitely.
(They’d train him out of that reaction later, too.)
They talked for a good thirty minutes, Clark firing off questions and Bruce answering them with the confidence of a man who could run circles around any given team of PR agents. Bruce flirted with him a great deal, too (just because his reactions were funny, of course). Eventually, Clark ran out of relevant questions to ask so conversation petered out as Bruce waited patiently for him to finish up his journalist notes.
After a couple of minutes, Clark looked up from where he was scribbling on his notepad and checked his watch. His face turned grave. “Oh, I’ve kept you for so long. I’m sorry about that, Bruce, I didn’t realize how much time had passed.”
Bruce smiled fondly at him. “You’re a better conversationalist than anyone in that ballroom, anyway. Even if it was just me getting interrogated the whole time.”
Clark paled even further. “I really am so sorry—”
“Clark,” Bruce interrupted, holding a hand up. Clark fell silent immediately. Bruce smiled reassuringly at him. “When would you want to schedule that interview? Taking into account your work schedule and mine…would this Saturday afternoon be sufficient? I’m afraid I’m not much of a morning person.”
“You…you know my work schedule?” Clark looked vaguely freaked out by this, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. Bruce zeroed in on the movement.
“Yes, of course,” he heard himself say. Then he gave himself a mental shake and forced himself to smile winningly again. You never knew when someone had a camera trained on you at these things. “I own the Daily Planet, remember? It’d be laughably ignorant of me if I didn’t. Did you forget? Why else would a Metropolis-slash-global newspaper be covering this gala?”
Clark relaxed slightly, though he still squinted at Bruce suspiciously.
Rude. Bruce hadn’t done anything recently to deserve such a look.
“Still, I’m just a reporter who specializes in covering Superman. Why would you memorize my work schedule, specifically?”
Bruce tilted his head at him. Was there something he was missing? “Well, you said it yourself. You’re my Superman specialist. Of course, I’d keep tabs on your work schedule.”
Clark’s eyes widened. “You—”
Suddenly, an explosion lit up the night sky from across the harbor. Hundreds of car alarms went off in response.
Both men’s heads snapped to the side, staring intensely at the mushroom cloud roughly 2.8 miles away. Bruce stiffened because that was Gotham Harbor. His city. Beside him, Clark was similarly tense. He glanced between Bruce and the aftereffects of the fireball as if uncertain.
“Clark,” admonished Bruce gruffly. He was no longer smiling. “Go. Superman will be able to get there faster than Batman or Green Arrow can.”
Clark’s baby blues steeled into Superman’s noble gaze. Between one breath and the next, he floated in midair next to the balcony, just barely below the line of sight of the partygoers behind the floor-to-ceiling windows.
“Saturday,” he intoned, his voice brokering no room for argument. “At noon. I’ll see you for the interview.”
Bruce grimaced. He wanted to talk about this now?
“Yes, okay, whatever,” he growled. “Now go!”
Just as Superman flew off, Oliver Queen and his date Dinah Lance stumbled out onto the balcony.
“Bruce,” Oliver gasped, a bit out of breath. “Explosion. Batman, Green Arrow, Black Canary, Superman?”
“All yesses,” Bruce affirmed. “I’ll get suited up. Do you need an excuse?”
“No,” Oliver replied swiftly.
Bruce nodded in acknowledgment. He turned to Black Canary, who’d been looking between the two of them with an alarmed and almost desperate expression, and ordered “Get to the docks at Gotham harbor in under five. Superman will meet you there. Based on recent movements, I’d bet this is Riddler, so bring your thinking caps.”
Realization seemed to dawn on Dinah’s face, which was a rather extreme reaction to being told the answer to what couldn’t even count as a mystery.
“Batman?!” she hissed.
Bruce raised a brow at her. He was doing a lot of that this evening.
“Black Canary,” he returned. “Now get moving before Clark ‘wears-a-yellow-bowtie-to-a-black-tie-event’ Kent gets confused with all of the lead in the city.”
With that, he re-entered the ballroom, swayed widely while loudly calling for Alfred to prepare him for bed, smacked a wet kiss on Lucius Fox’s cheek in a banal apology for leaving him with the cleanup yet again, and staged smacking his head on the doorframe before gallantly exiting the room with all the swagger of a drunken man.
As soon as he was out of sight, Dinah swiveled to look at her boyfriend incredulously. “How did you know?!”
Oliver put his hands up defensively. “Hey, Brucie flirts with everybody. I’m not ashamed of playing the game!”
“Excuse me?!”
1. It’s a Bird! It’s a Plane! It’s—Robin?
“Diana, you’re not helping,” Clark moaned miserably, his face in his hands.
Currently, Diana was laughing her ass off at him on the floor of the WatchTower. Her sword was in serious danger of stabbing her through the thigh, her lasso thankfully already loose from her person nearby. The digital clock on the wall read: Saturday, 11:45 am.
“So, let me summarize,” Diana sat up, wiping a fake tear from her eye. “You’ve been crushing on Batman hard ever since we founded the Justice League, which was four years ago. You’ve had a celebrity crush on Bruce Wayne for even longer. And now, Bruce Wayne has recently admitted that he knows you’re Superman and you’re afraid that Batman is going to kill you for letting the biggest idiot in Gotham figure out your secret identity? And on top of all that, Bruce Wayne was hitting on you so now you’re conflicted on whether you should ‘tap that’ or remain faithful to your fruitless crush on Batman?”
“Yes!” Clark cried, eyes watering. He’d tear his hair out if that wouldn’t be objectively overdramatic.
Diana raised an eyebrow at him, the corner of her mouth also upturning mirthfully. “You didn’t seem to have a problem dating other people when you started seeing Lois Lane.”
“That’s different! Lois is brave and smart and beautiful—I thought that she could be the one, maybe; I didn’t date her just because she—just because I—”
“—was overtaken with lust at her appearance?” Diana supplied, cracking a smile.
“No! …I mean, yes, but—wait, no!”
Diana lost it again, falling back down as she clutched her sides. “Oh, great Hera—why put this world in the hands of idiotic men?”
Clark half-heartedly glared, still overcome with his despair.
“Oh, Rao,” he muttered, returning his face to his hands. “Just what am I going to do?”
A blinding flash and a low BOOM sounded off to the side, signaling arrivals via the BoomTube.
“Welcome, A-01, Batman. Welcome, B-01, Robin.”
Laughter trickling away, Diana looked up in slight alarm. “Robin? Who is that? And since when does the teleporter have a ‘B’ designation?”
Clark, however, was more concerned about the first welcome statement.
“Superman, Wonder Woman,” greeted Batman.
Well. More like ‘grunted.’
“Batman,” Diana replied, a little uneasily. “Are you aware of your…miniature companion?”
Clark shifted his gaze from the white-on-black contrast of Batman’s lenses on his cowl, down to the traffic light-colored child at his side.
Wait…did Batman have children?
Was he married?!
I’ve been crushing on a married man all this time, Clark thought wildly. I’m going to Hell.
Aaaaaaand he’s miserable again. Fantastic.
“Batman,” Clark began, his voice not shaking because he was a professional, goddamnit. “Why are you allowing a child to run around the WatchTower in a superhero outfit? You don’t let him fight crime, do you?”
The child in question frowned at him, his brows furrowing. It was absurdly cute.
Before anyone could react, the kid launched himself into the air, sprang off Batman’s front, and executed a truly spectacular double front flip before landing with his feet on Clark’s shoulders. Alarmed and vaguely intimidated, Clark quickly grabbed onto the boy’s waist to ensure that he didn’t fall off. Taking full advantage of this, the kid grabbed fistfuls of Clark’s hair and bent so that he was at eye level with him. Clark didn’t dare move. It’s not like having his hair pulled on hurt, even if it was with the full weight of a prepubescent boy.
“I’m Robin, Batman’s partner!” The boy, Robin, barked half an inch from his face.
Clark winced. Super hearing was a bitch sometimes.
“I’ve had this gig for years, flyboy!” Robin grinned at him. “Now gimme your autograph!”
Clark was…so confused.
“Robin,” he explained patiently. “While it’s very heroic to stand up to bullies at school and such, being out on the streets and facing off against people who genuinely want to kill you is very different. I’ve been doing this for four years, and—”
“Ha!” Robin exclaimed gleefully, his fists in Clark’s hair tightening. His breath smelled like lemon candy. “I’ve been Robin for five years! On the streets! Against people who want to kill me! So take that!”
Diana made a strangled sound in her throat. Clark heard more than saw her physically marching up to Batman, considering he was having the world’s most ridiculous staring contest with a young boy dressed in the same colors as your standard hot dog condiments.
He also, Clark just noticed, wasn’t wearing pants.
“By the gods!” she yelled at Batman. “You let what was…what was probably an elementary schooler face off Gotham’s worst with you? Are you insane?! Have you no dignity, no shame, as a father?!”
“HEY!” Robin screeched, kicking off Clark. Honestly, he barely felt it. The yell right in his ear had hurt worse. As had the knowledge that a kid without chest hair had been in the hero business for longer than him.
Robin double-back-handspring-ed his way between Batman and Diana. With all the self-assurance of a child utterly incapable of believing that any adult in this room would ever truly do him harm, he stabbed a finger into her stomach.
“I haven’t called him my dad yet!” He griped angrily. “And don’t tell me what to do! I chose this for myself, it isn’t Batman’s fault! He didn’t want me to do this, but I didn’t give him a choice so he trained me because he’s a good guy!”
“Yet?” echoed a soft voice from behind the pair.
Robin’s angry expression melted on his face and was replaced with one that made him look as if he’d been struck.
Head bowed, he turned toward Batman “I…”
Batman kneeled down and laid his hands on Robin’s shoulders. “Dick,” he continued in that same soft tone.
Clark made a noise that was half-astonishment half-beratement that everyone ignored.
“Dick,” he repeated, more firmly. “You don’t have to say anything you’re not ready to yet. Just remember that I’m…proud of you. No matter what. Everything you do, and everything you will do, only make me prouder. Even if…even if you never think of me as your dad, I’ll always think of you as my son. I…I-I love you. I do.”
Then, right in front of Clark and Diana’s eyes, Batman hugged Robin (whose real name might actually be Dick??). They let them have their moment for a bit before Diana reluctantly cleared her throat.
“So,” she began. “Is this not your blood child?”
“Not my biological one, no,” Batman answered, voice rougher than usual.
“So you’re not…married?” Clark piped up, much too hopefully for his personal liking.
Batman frowned at him, which while a tad discouraging, wasn’t a negation.
“No,” he said slowly as if speaking to a child. Which felt a little unfair, seeing as when he was speaking to an actual child he hadn’t sounded like that. “I’m not married. You know this.”
Clark felt the rancid urge to laugh. “Do I? I don’t even know your name.”
Batman’s frown got impossibly deeper. Teeth grit, he snarled “What are you talking about? Quit kidding around, we have an interview scheduled in two minutes. The only reason I’m here is because you weren’t in your apartment and weren’t anywhere near Gotham, so I thought the worst-case scenario was happening and came here with backup.”
Robin preened at the implication that he was ‘backup’ for the Justice League.
Clark felt gobsmacked.
“But,” he replied dumbly. “My interview today is with Bruce Wayne.”
There was a beat of silence. Even Robin wasn’t saying anything, the eyes of his domino mask ping-ponging between the two older men.
Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, Batman reached up and lifted his cowl off. Inch by world-changing inch came into view to reveal one neutral-faced Bruce Wayne.
“Yes,” Bruce confirmed, cowl tucked under his arm and pressing into a body that was wearing Batman’s costume. “And I have an interview with Clark Kent. One that starts right now, actually.”
A thousand universes exploded into life and died in Clark’s eyes. His senses had both sharpened and dulled. His mind cleared, yet it was foggier than it had ever been. His heart was at peace, and in utter turmoil.
Faster than the human eye could perceive, Clark snatched up Wonder Woman and flew from the room in a whirlwind of color.
“Clark!” Diana gasped in surprise. “What in Athena’s noble name are you doing?!”
“You knew,” Clark hissed at her, feeling like a wild animal. “You knew, your heartbeat didn’t change because you knew and you laughed at me—!”
“Yes, I knew,” Diana snapped. “He told us all months ago. Poorly, admittedly, but I’ve known for a while. In fact, you’re the last to know.”
Clark looked at her like a drowning man looking at water. “So—when he flirted with me, that was—”
“It was Batman flirting with you, yes. Whether or not it was genuine remains to be seen, but for now, it is a terrible idea to leave your paramour waiting like that.”
Clark paled. “Oh god, Batman—Bruce!”
Just as quickly, he flew back towards the main room. There, Batman, Bruce, had his cowl back on and was watching Robin (who was almost definitely Dick Grayson, the orphan Bruce Wayne had adopted from the circus five years ago) perform aerial cartwheels.
“Bat—Mr.Way—Bruce!” Clark called out, feeling more than a little helpless. “I’m so sorry about that. I don’t know what came over me. So, uh, about that interview—?”
“Alfred has prepared us tea and snacks in the sitting room. I don’t particularly want to deal with his disappointed stare if it gets cold by the time we arrive, so I’d prefer to leave sooner rather than later.”
Clark nodded, normally. Very normally. “Of course,”
“Shotgun!” Dick shouted gleefully.
“Robin,” Bruce sighed. “Superman doesn’t need to ride in the car. He can fly.”
“I’ve told you a million times, it’s called the Batmobile!”
“Right, right. My bad. The Batmobile.”
Feeling incredibly out of his depth, Clark followed the father and son duo to the transporter.
Right as they were about to depart for Gotham, a thought struck him.
“Wait, how did you know I wasn’t at my apartment?”