Chapter Text
The League members congregated around the table are acting as usual, like nothing is wrong. Well—Clark supposes—they have no reason to act unusual. It’s Clark who’s the odd one out, Clark who thoroughly pissed off one of their leaders.
Clark’s the weird one.
He moves rigidly as he pulls back his chair and takes his seat next to Batman, swallows hard as he rights himself.
Clark has never done well with tension, with conflict oddly enough. He can handle intergalactic conflicts, talk down villains, and lead meetings full of the world’s noblest heroes, but he cannot for the life of him handle personal disagreements or someone being angry with him.
He doesn’t like conflict, but what should he do? Apologize? Clark does feel sorry. Sorry for his outburst…but sorry for the way he feels? His desires?
Next question.
So, an apology—In Clark’s humble opinion—would be almost unauthentic. And for Batman, that just won’t do. Anything less that 100% genuine would be insulting, and he would never give anything less anyway.
Not to mention that Clark is fighting with Batman of all people, the most stubborn, headstrong, egotistical man he’s ever had the pleasure of meeting.
Has anyone ever won an argument against him? Some have dared, Clark recalls, but no one has prevailed.
All in all, Clark feels defeated, and he’s not sure where to go next. He tries to imagine the wonderful things over the horizon Lois mentioned, but struggles to come up with how to get there.
He does know, however, that both him and B have quite a lot on their plates currently, and this little predicament should be the least of Clark’s worries when he’s got an off-world mission in less than 24 hours and potential Kryptonian-infused tech floating around Gotham.
He just can’t, for the life of him, get his mind off of Batman. It seems as though since their argument all he thinks about is kevlar and the sharpness of that clenched jaw. Clark replays their argument in his head constantly, but he often finds his mind wandering elsewhere now, too.
He finds himself, for one of the first times ever, curious about the man underneath the cowl. What color his eyes are, his hair color. Does he have beauty marks? Downturned eyes? Streaks of gray in his hair? Clark wants to know what his eyes, his brows are doing when he yells at Clark. Wants to know what kind of expression he wears as he breaks Clark’s heart.
Clark thinks about what they could be doing if they hadn’t traded harsh words. He thinks about what him and Nightwing get up to, and if it’s something he should be jealous of or not.
He thinks a lot about his jealousy towards the young hero, and what it could potentially say about himself.
Clark realizes he hasn’t been paying attention when Batman begins speaking beside him, most likely taking over after Diana’s introduction. Clark flicks his eyes towards him, but doesn’t turn head-on. He doesn’t think he could manage that.
“As you know, Lantern, Nightwing, Diana, Kal-El and myself will be landing on Zaarhalan. Normally we would be taking additional members, however, given the current tension between planets, we’ve agreed that sending more of us would inflict a power imbalance. The rest of you will be on comms and on standby. This is a quick mission, no less than three Earth days. All we are there to do is oversee the certification of the peace treaty between the the three planets and minimize conflict—“
Batman speaks with such affirmation—no hesitation, no dip in tone. Clark is almost envious of his control. Does he not feel anxious around Clark? Does he not feel the weight of their previous interaction, the sting of it all?
Clark all of a sudden feels lonely in their argument. Does he not have such an affect on Batman that he does on Clark?
The rest of the meeting is swift, and the breakout session between the traveling League members passes by with ease. Clark doesn’t speak much, only reaffirms or clarifies what he needs to. He doesn’t look over at B, nor Nightwing for that matter. He’s afraid of his awful feelings resurfacing if he looks at that stupid (okay, childish much?) domino mask any more.
Not looking at two out of the four people he’s talking to leaves Clark awkwardly glancing back and forth between Diana and the Green Lantern. He must look like he is incredibly interested in Lantern’s words, so much so that the man catches his eye and raises an eyebrow at Clark, smirking at him like he’s in on the joke (which there is none as far as Clark’s aware). Feeling awkward and caught, Clark looks away and ends up staring out one of the windows for the next five minutes.
As Diana goes on about the details of their landing, Clark’s mind begins to wander. While he hasn’t come up with an actual apology yet, he should say something to B, for the missions’s sake of course. This needs to flow smoothly for all of them, and if Clark has to be the one to break the ice then so be it.
He doesn’t want to put his issues on the back burner, but the more he thinks about it the more it sounds like the mature thing to do. And then when they return to Earth, Clark could possibly ask for a chat with Batman and he’d tell him everything (everything?) and maybe Batman will understand and nod and say, ”Why yes, Kal, you have a great point. I’ve been acting strange, and it’s all because I like you, not Nightwing, so why don’t we get out of here-“
Alright. Pause. Those thoughts are leading Clark down a road he doesn’t quite want to explore yet, so he shakes his head clear, tuning back into the conversation.
He has made up his mind, however. He’ll speak with Batman, declare a sort of truce during their mission and request to talk afterwards so by then Clark might have an apology-but-not-really-more-like-admittance ready for B.
“On the second day there will be a celebration of sorts. We’ve been invited to attend, so it would never hurt to brush up on Zaarhalan customs out of respect,” Diana informs steadily. Clark tries not to wince at the mention of cultural practices, remembering how their last study session had went.
Clark clears his throat.
“Of course. Thank you, Diana. Anything else we’d like to go over?” He asks, surveying the people in front of him.
Lantern shrugs, and Clark takes that as a no. Diana crosses her arms and shakes her head alongside Nightwing, and Clark catches the tight nod from Batman.
“Great. Lantern, take Nightwing with you for last minute adjustments on the Javelin. Diana, check in with comms to make sure they’re alright—“
Clark pauses, inhales.
“And Batman, may I speak to you afterwards?”
Batman glances at him, the whites of the cowl catching his gaze before he hums in acknowledgment.
Whatever. Clark will take it.
Diana wishes them farewell and the Green Lantern takes his exit, not before jabbing a finger in B’s direction before whispering,”Oooh, someone’s in trouble!” with a low chuckle.
Batman doesn’t spare him a glance, but Clark picks up on the quiet ”idiot” under his breath.
When it’s just them two, Clark feels more antsy than he anticipated. He gets up from his seat to turn around and lean his hip on the round table, arms folded across his chest. He stares at the door his team left through, quiet.
All of a sudden Clark’s mind is blank and he can’t quite decide how to approach this conversation. Their silence drags on, and Clark is at the point where he wishes Batman were to get the hint and speak up, but that would unfortunately be uncharacteristic of him to initiate conversation, Clark notes.
The silence borders on torturous before Clark finally works up the courage to speak.
“So, um—The other night I got word that there’s Kryptonite weapons in Gotham?”
Oh, nice, Clark. Way to avoid the elephant in the room. He internally sighs in defeat, not being able to muster up the courage to actually discuss their argument, the only one to blame himself.
Batman hums, tilts his head to the side and then the other side like he’s mulling over what to say.
“Yes, I’m aware. I am looking into it and have it under control,” B says matter-of-factly.
Clark raises an eyebrow, a little confused. From the information he could squeeze out of Luthor, it seems out of control if anything. There are thugs out there playing hot potato with new technology that could theoretically kill him, so excuse Clark if he’s a little worried.
“B—“ he interjects, the nickname slipping. “Shouldn’t we look over this together—?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t worry about it?”
“I’m handling it.”
“Don’t worry about the kryptonian-infused weaponry loose on the streets?”
“Exactly.”
And then something seems to snap within Clark and he pushes himself off the table, shaking his head as he lets out a frustrated groan.
“You’re unbelievable,” he states, has to refrain from spitting at Batman. His frustration with the man finally boiling over. “I don’t know why I ever try with you.”
Batman only tilts his chin up at Clark. He raises an eyebrow.
“You sound like you want to be my parental figure,” is what he gets out of the vigilante.
Clark spins immediately to face B, still in his chair. He takes a few steps closer, throws his hands out to his sides in defeat.
“A child, you are. Your refusal of assistance will get you nowhere except in some dark alley in Gotham with a bullet between your—“
Clark considers himself lucky for his Kryptonian blood when Batman gets up from his chair in a matter of milliseconds and crowds into his personal space. If Clark had not stepped back in time Batman would have barreled him over.
Batman’s fist hits the ‘S’ on Clark’s chest, thunks on it hard like he wants to push Clark back but knows he’ll never be able to unless he was willing. The anger seeping through the man in front of him is surprising, and Clark is unsure what to do with it as his own anger subsides.
“I will not be lectured about immaturity from someone who cannot separate their petulant feelings from their commitment to their job,” Batman grits out between clenched teeth, so close that he has to tilt his head up at Clark.
“I’m not an idiot, Kal. I know why you wanted to talk—“ Clark winces at the feeling of being seen right through. “—But what is there to talk about? You’ve said enough about Nightwing, and I don’t give a shit about some half-ass sorry you feel the need to give. You want someone to apologize to? Nightwing is working on the Javelin, go say sorry to him.”
And that seems to be the end of that as Batman uses the fist on Clark to push against him and away, shoulder-checking him as he passes.
Clark stands there for a moment, two moments, with his head tilted downwards. His eyebrows scrunch together in worry and he wonders how he could’ve made things worse than they already were. He doesn’t have a plan anymore (not that his original one could be called a plan), but as Batman’s footsteps recede he can feel desperation claw at his heart.
Before Clark can register his actions, he’s going after Batman and halting him by grabbing his wrist. B tries to wrench it free, but Clark cheats by using his strength to flip him around so they’re face to face again.
Clark doesn’t say anything at first, and neither does Batman. They both stare at each other, Clark trying to convey his desperation with just a look. He doesn’t know why he’s so worked up, but he does know that if he lets go then the ache in his chest will worsen.
“I—“ Clark finally croaks out, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to tell you what I want. I don’t know what I want, but—“
He swallows, squeezes B’s wrist.
“If you leave me—if you despise me, I won’t know what to do with myself.”
And his confession seems too vulnerable, too honest. Clark finds himself torn between being grateful for the cowl covering B’s expression and loathing it.
He doesn’t know how long they stare at each other in silence, but the spell is broken by Batman.
“Kal, let me go.”
And Clark reluctantly does, without another word.
—
Down in the hangar, Dick is flat on his back underneath the Javelin, tightening some pipe with his lip between his teeth. He gets lost in his work on the ship, only speaking to reply to Green Lantern’s remarks coming somewhere to his left.
Recently, a few days ago to be precise, Dick had been caught up in a thought, a string of questions.
He was unsure why this particular thing caught his interest. Lord knows he’s got more important things to worry about, but he can’t help himself.
He replays his conversation with that reporter, at the Metropolis gala, over and over. He thinks about the words they exchanged, how it had touched him in a way.
But that wasn’t what Dick had been mulling over.
It was simple things Clark had told him about himself. All it was had been small talk, really, but for some reason it stuck.
And if Dick was any other person, raised by any other man, he would have let it go. This was not the case, however, and he had been taught that no matter how crazy, how erratic, following your gut was your best option.
So with that being said…
“Hey, Nightwing?” calls Lantern, followed by a hissing sound from the ship.
“What’s up?”
“Before I forget, Flash told me to tell you that he got those files you asked for. From Smallville, sound right?”
Nightwing smiles contently to himself, picturing the large box of school records, police reports, newspapers, and the like dating back to a few decades ago awaiting him.
“Those are the ones. Tell him thanks for me,” he says back.
“Sure thing. Though what’s with the sudden interest in that hick town, anyway?”
Nightwing takes a pause, shrugs to himself.
“Just a hunch.”