The seventh time...

[moonshadows]

The seventh time, he was nervous.

“It’s perfectly normal,” Lois told him for the fifth time in as many minutes, rolling her eyes. “You care about him. You love him. Of course you’re going to be nervous about this. Everyone’s nervous when they’re about to confess how they feel about someone they love – or when they’re about to find out how someone they love feels about them.”

“He’s not,” Clark protested, knowing even as he said the words that he sounded petulant.

She gave him a sharp look, hands on her hips. “If he tells you that, he’s lying. How long until…?”

Until Batman arrived and Lois brought their double-blind confession out into the open. She’d insisted on them being in her apartment to hear it in person. Partially, he suspected, because she didn’t trust that they’d actually discuss it with each other if left to their own devices. And, he thought with an internal wince, she was probably right. That’s why Superman was standing nervously in her living room, waiting for Batman to appear like a monster out of a Japanese horror flick. It was kind of surreal when you looked at it objectively, he thought. Too bad he was having trouble keeping objective about this.

“Yoo-hoo,” Lois called, waving a hand in front of his face. “Earth to Superman. How long?”

Clark blinked and shook his head, then focused his super-hearing, listening for…

A heartbeat in the apartment with them. He should have known. “How long have you been there?” he called up to Batman, who was examining the wall above Lois’s bed.

“Long enough,” came the infuriating reply.

Lois looked like she was counting to ten. In Chinese. “If you get my sheets dirty, I’ll skin you alive,” she announced, not even turning to glare in his direction.

“You’d never catch me,” he replied, seemingly unfazed.

Clark opened his mouth to say, I would.

“Third pocket on the right from the flash-bangs.”

Third pocket on the…? X-ray vision revealed nothing he could see in that pocket; the entire container was lined with-

-lined with lead. The kryptonite.

“You wouldn’t!”

“Try me.”

Clark sighed. He would.

“What are you doing up there?” Lois asked, irritation forgotten.

A rustle, a whoosh, and Batman landed on the floor and stalked towards them. “Measuring the hole in your wall and doing some rough calculations.” He glanced at Clark. “I’ll need you to replicate that for me at some point so I can get more accurate data – not to mention a fresh sample so I can ensure there’s no unfortunate reactions with the material.”

There had to be something he was missing. “Material for what?” he asked.

Lois snickered.

…right. The hole in the wall he’d made accidentally while Clark Kent was officially out of town on a family emergency. “Never mind.”

Before he could really let himself think about what kind of sample he’d be providing, Lois clapped her hands.

“Okay! Let’s get this started.” She pointed to one of the two chairs she’d had him move to the center of the room. “Superman, sit there.” As soon as she pointed to the other, positioned such that the occupants could look easily at each other or at a speaker standing equidistant, Batman flowed over and sat.

Suddenly nervous again, Clark took his seat.

“First,” she said sternly, hands back on her hips, “I’d like to say that I’m disappointed in both of you for this even being necessary. But I don’t blame you,” she went on grimly. “I blame Hollywood for its pervasive message of heterosexual intercourse being the be-all and end-all of human relationships. A man and a woman can’t be friends without also wanting to be lovers; two men can’t bond without gratuitous violence to reinforce their masculinity and assure the world they’re not gay.”

From the way Batman’s eyes were narrowed behind the cowl, Clark guessed he was probably one step ahead of what Lois intended to say.

“And as for two women, well, you can forget about anything going on between them!” she spat. “They just need the right man to show them what love is. And by love, I mean sex.” Lois sighed. “Which neither of you want to have with each other.”

That was not what Clark was expecting her to say next. “We…don’t?”

“You don’t,” she repeated. “You, Superman, express your feelings physically because Hollywood has brainwashed you into thinking that kisses and sexual acts are the only way to show your love. And you, Batman, don’t want to express your feelings physically because you associate the acts with false pretenses and insincerity, but you don’t know what else to do so you tolerate them from him as a sort of demonstration by omission. Both of you, ironically, would be perfectly willing to sexually pleasure the other but don’t actually desire the other to sexually pleasure you.” Lois crossed her arms and said with dry amusement, “You’re ruining my orgy fantasies, you know.”

“I’m willing if Selina doesn’t mind,” Bruce said instantly.

Clark blushed. “I, uh, guess I don’t mind either.”

She didn’t look convinced. “We’ll talk about it once the four of us can talk about it. In the meantime, don’t you two have some serious snuggling to do?”

“I’ll meet you there,” Batman said, already vanishing around the corner and how did he do that?

Superman stood more slowly, eyes on the bedroom window where his x-ray vision showed Batman jumping into the cockpit of the Batwing. Even with his best flight speed, Bruce would probably beat him back unless he left just as suddenly. That was fine; he’d laid everything out before coming over.

“Thank you for doing this,” he told Lois solemnly.

She waved it away. “It was nothing. Always willing to help two friends out. Especially since he’s been tying himself into emotional knots about this.” She stepped closer and hugged him, and he hugged carefully back. In a low voice, she said, “Go make him happy. He doesn’t get enough of that.”

 

He thought about that as he took his time flying back. Bruce slept when he didn’t have to be either Batman or Bruce Wayne, which not only meant he didn’t have enough time to actually enjoy himself between both sets of responsibilities, but also that he very likely didn’t know who he was if he wasn’t being either of them. Clark had at least had a normal upbringing to ground him; he knew who he was and what he liked, and he knew what he’d do with himself if he didn’t have to be Superman on top of his normal day-to-day life. He doubted that many people knew either Bruce Wayne or Batman well enough to realize that there was nothing in between, and that worried him – not just for Bruce, but for Selina.

When he dropped down into the bedroom, Bruce was nowhere to be seen although the Batsuit was draped over the chair. A quick check through the walls showed him in the living room, reading the back of the DVD case. Clark suspected that Bruce owned the entire Gray Ghost box set, but he’d decided to purchase copies of the DVDs for himself. If it was something that made Bruce happy, it was worth investing in. Which brought everything back around to Selina.

Quickly, he stripped out of the suit and tucked it away, then just as quickly slipped into his pajamas and carefully flew through the door to land lightly beside his guest. He hated to potentially spoil a good, mood, but…

“Bruce,” he said quietly, “we have to talk.”

The DVD case trembled slightly. “I know.”

Clark blinked. “You do?”

Bruce set the case on the table and turn around as though facing a firing squad. “I visited Selina.”

“That’s great! …isn’t it?” he asked hesitantly when the other man’s expression didn’t soften any.

“I made sure she knew who I was,” he said in Batman’s gravely voice, clearly expecting a negative reaction.

He got a hug.

“That’s good, Bruce,” Clark said softly. “That’s good. I’m proud of you for taking such a big step.”

Some part of that must have been the magic word, because Bruce went from hostile tiger statue to scared child in a man’s body and hugged desperately back. “She loves me,” he whispered raggedly. “Not just Batman. She loves Bruce Wayne, too. That’s why I told her. Discreetly. But she knows. She’s beautiful and fierce and clever and she doesn’t hate me for what I did, and…” He took a minute to calm his breathing while Clark murmured that’s good over and over again. “And when she gets out, she’s probably going to expect me to be a functional adult instead of a façade and a cowl covering a pile of issues,” he said dryly,  “and I have no idea what I’m going to do, but I’m already half-convinced I’m going to ruin it and leave you to pick up the bloody pieces.”

Clark hugged him tighter. “If you fall apart, I’ll pick you up,” he promised. “But you’re asking for help, and I’m proud of you for that, too, because that’s an even bigger step.” After a moment, he grinned and asked in a lightly teasing tone, “How long did it take you to work up the courage to say this to me?”

“Consecutively, or in total?” was the self-depreciating answer. “Two weeks from the time it first occurred to me, probably about eight hours thinking about it directly in segments ranging from thirty seconds to a minute and a half.”

“Bruce…” He leaned back, intending to lay a kiss on the other man’s temple, and then stopped. Unhappy look aside, the thought that Bruce only tolerated that kind of gesture made him uncomfortable. “Talk to me,” he said instead. “What do you need?”

Narrowed eyes suggested Bruce hadn’t missed that little internal conflict. “Do it,” he growled. “What I need is a reminder that not all gestures of affection originate in a lie, and I need practice at making them without intent to deceive. So whatever you were going to do, whatever your impulse is to do, do it because I don’t want Selina thinking the wrong thing. I know I can mess up with you and you’ll forgive me. If I mess up with her, I won’t forgive myself.”

“And how long were you thinking about that?” Clark asked softly.

Bruce closed his eyes and sighed, tension already creeping back into his posture. “Too damn long.”

A kiss on the temple, one hand in Bruce’s hair, and when he went for the lips they were already parted and waiting. This time, Bruce was neither emotionally distraught nor half-conscious. This time, the kiss was as elegant as Batman’s fighting, as dangerous as Bruce Wayne’s lady-killer smile. Even knowing that Bruce wasn’t gay, that he wasn’t gay, it was making him feel weak in the knees. When Bruce let him up for air – and it was unquestionably a deliberate release, making him wonder just how long the other man could keep that up – he shook his head to clear it and blinked several times.

“Wow,” he muttered, still dazed enough that Bruce’s slightly-smug expression didn’t even register for a long moment. “No wonder Lois is always so happy to see you.”

“She’ll be sorry she missed seeing this,” he practically purred.

Clark grinned. “Not if we do it again where she can see. You need to practice, right?”

“Tell you what. When you come visit me to give me velocity and impact measurements, I’ll turn on the encrypted video channel.” He sounded far too amused at Clark’s lingering reaction.

The thought that they’d be kissing, in the Batcave, with Lois watching, before he…

He felt like his face was on fire, and even Bruce’s rare laugh couldn’t quench it. “So…is that how you kiss all the ladies?”

“The techniques are the same,” he conceded, “but the execution…it varies. Usually, I focus on what Bruce Wayne is supposed to be feeling.” The amusement faded, leaving him looking more vulnerable than Clark was used to. “This time, I focused on how much you actually care about me.”

How much he cared about Bruce. In other words, how much Bruce cared about him. He thought that would have made him turn a deeper red, but it just made him feel warm and fuzzy. From the tentative smile on Bruce’s face, he guessed he must be beaming, but he only had a few seconds to wonder before he had a dark head on his shoulder and a broken, scarred, but defiant man nestled comfortably in his arms.

“Not afraid to let yourself have what you want?” he murmured, pleased with the novelty of not being the one initiating the hug for once.

“I know what I’m offering and what I’m not; and more importantly, so do you. I know how far I can go. Now the trick is letting myself open up that much.”

“One step at a time,” Clark reassured him. “We’ll get there. You can practice on me. I’m sure Selina will understand if you explain it to her – and if you want, I’ll explain for you.”

“No.” The word was hard and cold, a frigid spike of verbal steel at odds with the warm and relaxed bulk of his body. “It has to be me. If it’s going to work between us, there can’t be any deception.” He sighed and pressed his face deeper into the curve of Clark’s neck. “I’m not looking forward to it,” he muttered, the words somewhat muffled.

“I wish you could have seen her when I was there,” Clark said softly. “She told me I was good, but that I wasn’t you. The way she said it…there was pride there, and loyalty. When I told her that I needed to know if she still cared, she knew that anything she said could be relayed back to you and I could see that she wanted it – that she wanted you – but she was proud. She wouldn’t beg.”

The lips pressed against his skin curved. “That’s my girl,” he breathed.

“She said you have the eyes of a lion. When I told her that your eyes had been tired and bloodshot, that’s when she promised to do whatever it took if you hadn’t given up on her. She wouldn’t beg for her own sake, but she begged for yours.”

Bruce went rigid in his arms. “Her lawyer said that after your visit, she started cooperating fully. Like the fight hadn’t gone out of her exactly, but that she’d switched sides. She was already doing what she could to prove her intentions to me.” His breath caught and, for a long moment, he held it. “You’re a good friend, Clark,” he said finally. “Thank you.”

Clark kissed his hair. “You’re still afraid of messing up.”

“Terrified.”

“Tell her that first, when she gets out. She’ll understand.” Gently, he stepped back to examine Bruce’s forlorn expression. “Just give her that look, and she’ll be falling over herself to reassure you.”

He didn’t look convinced. “How can you be sure of that?”

“Because that’s what it makes me want to do.”

Slowly, as if Bruce were a cat that might bolt at any moment, Clark leaned in and kissed him. He was afraid that Bruce would pull away, but although the forlorn expression hardened into something more like determination, the most he did was close his eyes and wait. He tried to focus on what he was feeling – the deep affection, the trust, the desire to help, the concern, the impossible wish to erase the pain of the past and free Bruce from his self-imposed shackles – and keep the kiss slow and gentle. Surprisingly, Bruce cooperated. When he broke the kiss an indeterminate time later, the expression on the other man’s face was…serene. Contemplative. Clark wished he had a camera.

“I still don’t feel like I deserve it,” Bruce said calmly, eyes still shut. “But you do, and my being happy makes you happy.” His eyes snapped open, hard as lapis. “Selina begged for me, but she wouldn’t beg for herself. I won’t hurt her again, not if I can help it. Feeling like I don’t deserve to be happy is irrelevant; if the ones I care about want me to be happy, then what I want doesn’t matter.”

There was nothing Clark could say to that, really. So he deflected. “Except when I’m placing an order for delivery. Then, nothing matters but what you want.” He grinned at Bruce’s startled expression, anticipating the laugh. “So…what do you want?”

He wasn’t disappointed.

 

It was a very unsettling evening. Not in a bad way, mind. It was just that with Bruce making a concerted effort to open up, to let himself have what he wanted, the usual give-and-take Clark was used to…vanished. Bruce seemed to be fighting himself – he’d start to make a gesture, like smiling warmly or putting his arm around Clark’s shoulders, and then frown and flinch away before looking warily at his host and completing the gesture, sometimes grimly. Wrestling with the façade, he explained while the ending credits of The Mad Bomber were playing. He was used to making the gestures without feeling genuine emotion behind them, and he was having to remind himself that he could make the gestures out of actual affection and not have them be a lie.

When there were only two episodes to go, Clark took the remote and kissed Bruce’s temple. “Relax,” he whispered. “You’ve been pushing yourself all evening. This is something you can enjoy without being either Batman or Bruce Wayne; you can spare an hour to just be you.”

For an instant, he looked ready to protest. Then it faded into graceful surrender. Slowly, Bruce leaned back and settled in against him, chuckling. “I told you I don’t know how to be happy.”

Clark gave the remote back so he could drape both arms around his guest. “You’ve been leading a double life for so long that you’ve forgotten who you are when you’re not on the clock – if you ever knew to begin with. I’m worried about you, Bruce.”

The man snuggled up against his chest sighed. “I don’t know if that person ever existed. There’s pieces. The remnants of my eight-year-old self. The moments when Batman comforts a civilian. The times that Bruce Wayne…” Absently, he paused the DVD. A minute and a half passed while he thought about something. “I can salvage Bruce Wayne,” he said at last. “With Selina’s help, that is.”

This sounded promising. “Tell me.”

“I’ve built Bruce Wayne into a buffoon, a skirt-chaser with a drinking problem and a head full of fluff. He’s got a good heart, and he’s sharp enough when he’s not drunk or distracted, but I make sure to act up enough that it’s easy to dismiss him. There’s…a lot more of me that shows behind Bruce Wayne’s smile than I’d thought,” he said slowly. “When Selina gets out, if she’s willing to put up with me even more than you do…I can alter the mask of Bruce Wayne to fit better. He’ll stop flirting with every pair of breasts that crosses his path. It’s far past time he settled down, anyway. She’ll curb his drinking. Not that I actually do any of it, but when you’ve gone without sleep past a certain point…well, a few splashes of wine or champagne on my neck and no one would believe I hadn’t had a drop of it.”

“Hold on a second,” Clark said sharply. “When you get so sleep-deprived that you’re impaired, you go out in public to reinforce the image of Bruce Wayne being drunk instead of sleeping?”

“I sleep afterwards,” Bruce retorted in Batman’s voice. “It explains why I’m unavailable until noon the next day. I’ve been doing this for years, Clark. I don’t need a lecture from you.”

“I’m sorry.” He kissed the other man’s hair, then pressed his cheek against it. “It’s not my place to tell you how to keep your secrets. I’m just worried because I care.”

Slowly, the sense of hugging a brass tiger faded. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.” It was still Batman’s voice, but upset at himself rather than angry at Clark.

“Forgiven,” he said instantly. “You were saying Selina will curb Bruce Wayne’s drinking?”

He could hear the smirk in Bruce’s voice when he said, “If he stops appearing in public late at night when she’s on his arm in the afternoon, no one will question it. They don’t need to know that the sleeping I’ll be doing won’t be euphemistic.”

Well, that would take care of a lot of Bruce Wayne’s reputation, he had to admit. “What about the head full of fluff?”

“I’ll hire her,” he answered easily. “You’ve met her; she’s sharp. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind playing bad cop to my good cop, and if Bruce Wayne starts being quicker on the uptake…”

“…people will assume she rubbed off on you,” Clark finished. “Very clever.”

“I don’t have to keep Bruce Wayne as a mask forever,” Bruce said softly, wistfully. “I’m not trapped behind his reputation. I can take my name back, make my public face into something that’s actually me…provided she’s willing to be that big a part of my life.”

Clark hugged him tighter. “I get the feeling that your acceptance of her secrets means as much to her as it did to you when she accepted yours.”

As he pressed play, Bruce muttered, “I hope you’re right.”

 

Despite the solemn conversation they’d had, when the DVD returned to the main menu at the completion of season one, Bruce was a warm and comfortable weight in his arms and he grumbled good-naturedly about having to move.

“I could carry you,” Clark teased.

Bruce turned to grin up at him. He had just enough time to register the feeling of impending something before one hand on the back of his neck urged his head down and he was being kissed in a way that made his heart race and his arms tighten around the man half-sprawled over his lap. When it was over and Bruce’s chuckle traced a path from the couch all the way to the bathroom, all Clark could think about was that Batman cared about him, and how grateful he was to have earned that level of trust.

When he entered the bedroom, still slightly dazed, the bed was unoccupied and a pair of strong arms slid around him from behind.

“This time,” Bruce murmured into his ear, “I want to be the one holding you.”

Well, when you put it that way, how can I refuse? That’s what Clark wanted to say. Or maybe, You are a very dangerous man, Mr. Wayne. Possibly something witty about saying that to all the Kryptonians. But no, this application of charm had successfully driven such eloquence out of his reach and what came out was a breathy, “Okay.”

That earned a soft laugh that made him shiver as it caressed his ear, and the arms let go. “Now you know how I keep my reputation,” he said in a voice that should have been thick with amusement but instead was dark and smooth and sweet, like melting chocolate.

Clark shook his head and glanced at the other man, unsurprised but thrilled to see him grinning. “You are a very dangerous man,” he mock-accused.

“So I’ve been told,” he retorted cheerfully. “Come on, into bed.”

Obediently, Clark laid down on his side. As Bruce slid in behind him, arms encircling him, cheek pressed against his hair, he thought that Selina Kyle was a very lucky woman. Hard on the heels of that thought was the private admission that Bruce’s accusation of being a pushover might have some weight to it after all. He didn’t exactly long for the hand on his chest to move lower, like Lois’s had, but if that’s what would make Bruce happy then he would submit to it willingly, even cheerfully. Briefly, he wondered if that was normal. Then he laughed silently at himself. He was an alien, the last of his race. Who could say what normal was for him? As long as everyone was happy and no one was hurt, what did it matter?

Clark twined his fingers around Bruce’s, lifted the other man’s hand to his lips for a light kiss. The arm around his chest tightened.

“Selina made me see how arrogant I had been,” Bruce murmured into his hair. “I’m sorry.”

How long had that been festering, waiting for the right moment to be confessed? “I forgive you because I know you know better now,” he replied quietly. “What did she do?”

“She told Bruce Wayne that he didn’t need the scandal of being involved with a criminal or the heartache of knowing her heart belonged to Batman. It hurt, hearing her close the door without asking if I was even interested, denying me the chance to make that decision for myself. I hurt you, and Lois, by doing that. I won’t do it again,” he promised in an iron tone one would expect to be used for things like swearing undying vengeance.

“Has the mighty Batman finally met his match?” Clark teased.

The laugh was unexpected. “Red Claw,” he chuckled. “When she stole the plague canister. She told me I’d finally met my match, and that unsurprisingly, it was a woman. She was right, but it wasn’t her.” He hugged Clark tighter. “Selina’s lawyer is good; he was on the Red Claw connection before I even talked to him. We expect the DA’s office to offer her a plea bargain. The case goes before a judge in three weeks.”

“And the penthouse?”

The chuckle this time was more dry. “Decorating and redecorating will keep me occupied enough to not drive myself crazy until she gets out.”

“Just remember to sleep,” Clark told him firmly.

Bruce was silent for so long that his breathing was the only proof he hadn’t fallen asleep. He tried not to worry, but failed. So he counted, counted his heartbeats, counted Bruce’s, trying to build a wall of numbers to hold panic at bay, but it trembled and collapsed like a house of cards.

“Bruce?”

“You’re worried about me,” he said as if the last five or ten minutes hadn’t happened. It almost sounded like some obscure piece of evidence he was pointing out.

“You’re my friend.”

“Why?”

The question hung there between them, in the dark. Clark took his time answering, sifting through words and feelings, trying to describe something he’d never defined, even to himself.

Quietly, he said, “What we do, all of us, isn’t easy. To dedicate that much time and energy to making the world a better place, to saving it from itself and defending it from outside threats…it takes a toll. Maybe it’s lighter on Diana and J’onn because they have little or nothing outside of it, but it still takes a toll even on them. None of us are exactly slackers, but you…you work harder than any of us. You were doing this before any of us. You have more invested in your public life than any of us. The rest of us were given something that makes our work easier; you had something taken from you. But if anyone could take us all down in a worst-case scenario, it’s you – and it would take all of us to bring you down non-lethally if you were the one that turned. You looked into the abyss, became the abyss, climbed out of the abyss, and kept going. I…” Clark closed his eyes, hand tightening around Bruce’s. “I will never be as strong as you. If I’d gone through what you went through, it would have broken me. But you go out in a costume every night, and you wear a mask every day, and you pour so much of yourself into helping others that there’s almost nothing left over for you. I became a superhero because of you, because I was following your example. At first I thought you were a super or a meta, and I looked up to you because of that. When I learned the truth…I was humbled. You, Bruce, are the best humanity has to offer.”

A derisive snort ruffled his hair.

“It’s true,” Clark said firmly. “Whenever my faith in humanity dries up, I think of you. Of how you could have shattered, or turned bad, or just became the useless fop Bruce Wayne gets dismissed as – but you didn’t. You turned around and devoted your life, both sides of it, to helping others. No matter how bad it gets, you keep going. And when I start to have doubts about what I’m doing, I look towards Gotham and remember that if you can still see something worth fighting for, then so can I.”

“I think you attribute too much to me,” Batman growled, but he wasn’t angry.

“Don’t care. I look up to you, I respect you, I’m humbled by you, and I’m terrified because now I know you well enough to see the cracks you’ve been keeping taped up behind your masks. Until you showed up with hypothermia, I’d have nightmares that you died and someone spoke badly about you at your funeral and I snapped and went off on them for it, blowing both our secrets wide open. After that…” He gripped Bruce’s hand harder, not missing that Bruce returned the pressure. “After that, after I learned how much I mean to you, they changed into nightmares where you were hurt and bleeding somewhere and dying and I couldn’t get to you. I couldn’t save you. I’m worried about you,” he said in a small voice, blinking back tears, “because super-strength and speed and hearing and everything else Superman can do…none of it is any use when it comes to helping you. If you even let me help you in the first place. You don’t always want help. That’s the part that scares me the most.”

He fell silent, all the words having trickled out and dried up, and waited. This time, he had no fear that his friend had fallen asleep; one thumb was rubbing slow circles into the back of his hand.

“I didn’t have a reason to want help.” The words were dark and soft, like the breath of air that might precede something emerging from a cave. “I keep close track of everyone I think might know my secret, and watch them closely. If one of them puts two and two together, I have to be ready to act in case they take it badly.”

Clark nodded; a deception like that wouldn’t be easy to forgive.

“The only ones who knew both sides of me had watched Batman being born despite their urging me towards a healthier path. You were the first one to discover my secret; you peeked. But you didn’t blow my cover – you could have tipped Lois off, don’t even try to deny it – and you worked with me. Initially, I had to trust you.”

“Not that you did,” he teased.

Batman chuckled. “Not that I did. But you proved yourself. So I took the chance and made the decision to come to you for help the first time. But I still wasn’t sure you wanted to help, that you weren’t just helping out of a sense of obligation. That’s why I gave myself hypothermia,” he said grimly. Then he sighed, making Clark shiver as his breath caressed his hair. “That, and other reasons you picked up on. It was the first time I wanted help patching the cracks, but I didn’t know what you could possibly do. I just knew that I couldn’t keep going like that, and that your answer wouldn’t be ‘stop being Batman’. I can’t do that, Clark. You know that.”

He did.

“Until you, if I died, the people who knew both sides would shake their heads and sigh because they’d seen it coming. The ones who didn’t would be shocked and angry that I hadn’t trusted them…or disappointed they didn’t get to off me themselves. But you…” Bruce’s arms tightened around him again. “You’d mourn. You’re a damned super-powered puppy, good and noble and kind and forgiving and all the things I’m not, and if I died because of something that could have been prevented if only I’d let you help, then your pain would be my fault. I don’t kill in part because I refuse to be the cause of the kind of pain I went through, but if I let myself die, that’s exactly what I’d be doing to you.”

Clark struggled to turn over, to face him, and Bruce shifted slightly to accommodate that. His expression, as best Clark could see in the dim light, was a study in grief and pain, like something Van Gogh might have done. When Clark pulled him closer, cradled that dark head to his chest, he didn’t resist.

“I need help,” Bruce whispered into sky-blue flannel. “I want help. Don’t let me convince you otherwise. I used to think I’d just keep going until something killed me. That’s not an option anymore, but I don’t know how...” The words trailed off, his throat closing up.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, kissing one temple as Bruce’s breath shuddered. “I’m here. I’ll help you. It’s okay.”

He didn’t quite cry, which Clark was guiltily grateful for because nothing made him feel powerless like seeing Batman break down. Slowly, the broken breathing eased. The fists that had been knotted in his pajamas loosened, and the anguished expression smoothed out.

“I’m here. I care about you. I won’t let you fall. It’s okay.”

He lay awake long after Bruce had drifted into sleep, cuddling the older man and stroking his hair, trying to sort through the tangled emotions the evening had stirred up. Anger, irrational and sharp, at the people who knew Batman’s secret and somehow hadn’t pressed home that they cared – assuming they did care, but that was a doubt Clark was willing to give them the benefit of. Exasperated despair because he knew Bruce was as dense as a brick wall about that sort of thing, and had likely done more than his fair share of causing that situation to begin with. Fragile wonder that he’d managed to penetrate Batman’s defenses so deeply, welling gratitude for Ma and Pa’s unwavering love and support. Apprehension, stabbing spikes of fear for the future, both trying to get his friend stabilized and how Selina Kyle would handle things – but strangely, no jealousy. He wondered for a long minute if that was because he was really that selfless, or if that lack stemmed from being utterly secure in how much he meant to Bruce.

Would she understand, he wondered? Would she step fearlessly up to help the man she’d defended, the man she’d begged on behalf of? He hoped so, he really did, both because Bruce deserved to be happy and because he was going to be very angry at her if she broke Bruce’s heart.

“You’re lucky you’re worth the frustration,” he murmured, kissing the sleeping man’s temple fondly.

 

A hand on his shoulder woke him, and it wasn’t a surprise when that hand was Batman’s. He hadn’t pulled the cowl on yet, at least, and Bruce gave him a faint, wistful smile as he blinked and rubbed his eyes.

“I hate this part,” he grumbled, sitting up.

Batman’s voice was dry and rough. “I’m not exactly fond of it, either. The penthouse will be complete by the end of the month, and then we won’t have to do it this way. In the meantime…” He trailed off, looking grimly uncertain, the same expression he’d worn last night every time he forced himself to not flinch away from gestures of affection.

Clark felt his spirits rise a little. “I actually get a hug before you go?”

Spread arms were his answer, and he surged out of bed and into them. Batman’s cloak enfolded him, something that couldn’t possibly have felt as reassuring as it did. For a very long, comfortable minute they stood there, aware that each passing second brought sunrise closer, and that Batman had to be away before that happened. Finally, Clark stepped back. Batman released him, but his gloved hands didn’t reach for the cowl. Instead, they went to Clark’s cheeks and he found himself being kissed, rough and fierce, Batman instead of Bruce Wayne.

I need help. I want help. Don’t let me convince you otherwise.

“Fly safe,” he breathed as the desperate kiss ended. “Call if you need me.”

“I will.”

This time, watching the cowl go on didn’t hurt. He knew what was behind the walls, and he had no fear that they’d keep him out. Bruce cared; they’d come down for him. Batman flowed out of the room, silent as a shadow, and Clark traced his heartbeat to the balcony, where it merged with the near-silent Batwing. He stood by the window, watching even though there was nothing to see, as that unique sound sped towards Gotham, and only turned away when the noise became too quiet for him to follow while still half asleep.