The sixth time...

[moonshadows]

The sixth time, no one was prepared.

The floor of the Daily Planet hummed with its usual quiet chorus of conversation and typing, paper-shuffling and footsteps, a susurration of productivity punctuated by the occasional ringing phone or closing door. The vibration of his cell phone didn’t raise any alarms in his mind until he answered it reflexively – without checking the caller’s number first – and Alfred’s diffident voice called him Master Clark. He didn’t even have time to react to the change in address, much less wonder when it had occurred or ponder the implications of it, before panic turned his blood to ice. 

“Master Clark, ah…I trust you are aware that I would not contact you this way were it not a matter of utmost urgency.”

“I’m aware,” he responded dully, mechanically, already fabricating an excuse to explain leaving work so early in the afternoon.

“Ah, good. I apologize for the interruption to your busy schedule, but if you’re free, there is…a package…waiting here for you.”

“I’ll be there as soon as possible,” he promised, already shutting his computer down and digging for his keys.

“Thank you, Master Clark.” Alfred sounded genuinely relieved, which was almost more worrying than the previous implications. “I’ll inform Master Bruce of your impending arrival.”

“What’s wrong, Clark?” Lois asked as he hung up, eyebrows furrowing in concern.

He tossed her his keys. “Tell Perry I had to leave. Family emergency.”

“Clark…”

She knew that wasn’t the real reason. She wanted to know what was going on, but they hadn’t planned for something like this. Why hadn’t they planned for something like this? This was why Batman was the tactician. Still was. Hopefully.

Batman.

“It’s related to that thing we don’t discuss,” he half-pleaded, hoping she’d get the hint.

Her violet eyes widened; she’d gotten the hint. “Right. Keep me posted.”

“I make no promises,” he said grimly.

Then he was out of the door like a shot.

 

On a pleasant afternoon, the flight from Metropolis to Gotham would take him ten, maybe fifteen minutes. This wasn’t a pleasant afternoon, and he was landing at the front door of Wayne Manor in just over three. Alfred ushered him inside, leading the way to wherever Bruce was.

“It’s been three days since Ms. Kyle was arrested,” he explained hurriedly, keeping his voice low. “Master Bruce was in a right state the first day, and after that fell into his usual depression. Barely ate, hardly slept, refused to leave the Batcave. He’s been down there ever since.”

Clark nodded, refusing to dwell on the implications of the words usual depression.

“Normally, he’d continue like that until even his body gave out, but something’s different this time. He’s growing agitated again, and I fear what he might do – either to himself, or to his equipment.” The elderly man stopped before a grandfather clock and manipulated something that caused it to slide to one side, revealing steps descending into darkness. “The request to contact you was the first thing I’ve heard him say in over twelve hours.”

“I’ll do whatever I can,” he promised grimly.

He could have flown down the steps, into the Batcave, but this was not his realm. He was a guest here, however welcome, and he showed his respect in every echoing footstep as he walked cautiously down the stone staircase, afraid of what he would see. The Batcave stretched out into darkness, ledges and chasms and clusters of equipment, but the main portion was a stone floor larger than his apartment with an enormous computer terminal facing the stairs, and it was there that Bruce was pacing back and forth like an unwashed, unshaven lion in a blue terrycloth bathrobe and bare feet, fury radiating from him even at this distance. One hand was fisted behind his back, the other locked tight around his wrist. His eyes burned with hatred and lack of sleep in equal portions, and they glided past the hesitant figure of Superman like a pair of hungry sharks. Bruce reached the end of whatever imaginary line he was marking out and turned, those barely-rational eyes scraping again across the bright colors of Superman’s costume, the sharks circling closer. Again he reached the end and turned but this time, Clark stepped forward into his intended path.

“I’m here,” he said gently as Bruce approached, arms half-spread to take him into an embrace.

Bruce punched him in the chest.

It hurt, of course – even if the tissues took no damage, his nerves still performed their function and relayed their messages of pain – but while the blow would have knocked down a lesser man, it wasn’t at what Clark knew Batman’s full strength to be. Stoically, he endured a second punch and then a third, the impact of flesh on flesh and Bruce’s soft grunting the only sounds in the cave. Batman knew he couldn’t actually cause Superman any injury this way – he had to know that. But still he kept throwing blow after blow like a boxer working a heavy bag, not looking Clark in the eyes, until his breath came in ragged gasps and droplets that could have been either sweat or tears marked his cheeks. Then he pulled a punch, frozen for just a moment mid-strike, and Clark’s heart broke at the sight of knuckles that had been bloodied against his body.

You were very angry. What would you have done if I hadn’t been there?

Gone out on patrol. Found some scum to take my anger out on. Probably felt worse when it was all said and done.

“Bruce,” he murmured sadly, pieces fitting together. Bruce was furious with himself, but knew that his usual coping mechanisms weren’t healthy and didn’t know what else to do. Fearlessly, Clark gathered the now-trembling man into his arms and pulled that dark head gently down to his shoulder.

“Clark.” The whisper was tight and thick. “Help me. Please.”

What had been a loose embrace tightened; he fairly crushed Batman to his chest, wordlessly promising anything and everything as the tired man cried. There was nothing of Batman’s usual grace or control in this, only harsh sounds like shards of jagged glass being pulled from the wounds they had caused, and moaning, gasping breaths like the slow, pulsing flow of lifeblood that had to be stemmed before there was nothing left. Clark stroked unwashed, tangled hair and let his own tears fall, murmuring Bruce’s name over and over as if he could pull the other man’s mind back to sanity through a lifeline of repetition.

“Talk to me,” he urged as the broken sobbing began to calm. “Tell me what happened.”

“I love her.” The syllables shuddered, incoherent pain forced into words that repeated with each exhalation, a despairing chorus chanted with the same fervor of a devotee praising his or her chosen deity.

“Who, Bruce?” It had to be someone new. He’d already come to terms with how he felt towards Lois; they all had. The mysterious Ms. Kyle, maybe?

“Selina,” he whimpered, hands clutching the material covering Clark’s chest, face pressed against Superman’s shoulder. “I love her. I don’t know what I want anymore, Clark. Am I fooling myself? Projecting onto her because I don’t want to get between you and Lois?”

This was alarming. This was beyond alarming. Clark didn’t quite know what to do with a Batman who was clearly having a breakdown. On top of that, the three of them had danced around the word love, but now it was out in the open, making the Man of Steel feel the cold curl of fear in his belly.

“Shh, it’s okay. We’ll sort it out.” Meaningless reassurances, but they were all he had at the moment. “Tell me about her.”

“She’s beautiful,” Bruce breathed. “Strong. Fearless. She could have been my Lois, but I put her in jail.”

Time to change tactics; this was just raising more questions. “You love her.” He licked his lips. “Do you still…” He couldn’t bring himself to say it, coward that he was. Like saying the word might kill it, cause it to vanish like fairy gold in the morning light, like Eurydice one step shy of freedom.

Bruce’s lips on his shattered that fear.

It was a kiss unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Under other circumstances, the motions would have been precise, graceful, demonstrating the expertise Batman displayed in anything he did. But like everything else about Batman right now, all of that control and elegance had been discarded in favor of raw, desperate emotion. One hand slipped up to cup the back of Clark’s neck, silently demanding he hold still because they both knew mere human strength couldn’t hold him if he decided otherwise. The other slid around to the small of Superman’s back, urging their bodies closer together. Clark kissed back, helpless to do anything else while that flood of emotion surged through them, and a tiny corner of his mind wondered if this was what Bruce would be like in bed.

When the flood faded to a trickle, Bruce relinquished Clark’s lips as though exhausted, his hands resuming their hold on his costume as he bowed his head and whispered, “Yes.”

Words failed him entirely. Lacking any other means of reassurance, Clark kissed his forehead tenderly and held him close. They stayed like that for a handful of minutes, until Bruce’s heartbeats returned to a more normal range and his breathing was slow and even.

“Finally feel like you deserve it?” Clark asked softly.

Bruce snorted. “No. But I couldn’t let you think I didn’t care.”

“Bruce,” he chided lightly, urging the other man’s face up with one finger, smiling to show he wasn’t angry. He’d intended to initiate a second kiss, this one gentle and reassuring, but when those tired and bloodshot eyes reluctantly settled on his, they begged him not to. Clark’s smile slipped, and he pressed a kiss to Bruce’s temple instead. “When you’re ready,” he whispered, and felt the minute nod of acceptance for his half-unspoken promise before Bruce buried his face in Clark’s shoulder again.

“At the moment,” he said in something close to his usual deadpan, “all I’m ready for is a bath and something to eat, followed by a lot of sleep. You don’t need to tell me I look like hell.” He paused, then said quietly, “The last time something shook me this bad, I gave myself hypothermia. I don’t know that I handled it any better this time, but I wasn’t safe to drive, much less fly.”

“Aren’t you the one who said it takes a strong man to ask for help?” Clark nuzzled the other man’s tangled hair. “And didn’t I say I’d be there if you needed me? It’s okay, Bruce. Eat. Sleep. Get cleaned up. And then tell me all about Selina so we can figure out what to do.”

“And you can wear my clothes for a change.”

It was dry humor, but it was humor none the less and a little bit of the tightness around Clark’s heart eased up. “Should I start looking for a place in Gotham?” he teased.

Bruce straightened up and re-tied the belt on his bathrobe. “No. There’s plenty of spare bedrooms upstairs. Let Alfred know I’ll be up in a few minutes? There’s a shower and a change of clothes down here.”

“For just such an occasion?” Clark asked warily.

“More often, it’s because my patrol was messy.” He flashed a tight, self-depreciating grin. “Alfred hates it when I track dirt through the house, much less some of the other things I’ve been splashed, submerged, thrown, or fallen into.”

That was an excellent point; he wasn’t sure he wanted to think about what kind of messes Batman regularly got into. Suddenly, he was aware that the blue terrycloth bathrobe seemed to be the only thing Bruce was wearing, and he didn’t need to see the amused look on his face to know that he was blushing.

“I’ll…go let Alfred know you’ll be up in a few minutes,” he said hurriedly, Bruce’s laughter following him as he absolutely did not run for the stairs.

 

Sitting in the “small” dining room, at a table that could hold eight, in the Superman costume, Clark felt vastly out of place. Neither Alfred nor Bruce seemed to be bothered by it, although the former made only brief appearances and the latter was focused on tucking away a quantity of food that would have been astonishing to almost anyone else. No take-out or delivery here; Alfred had whipped up a veritable vat of chicken carbonara and sautéed vegetables in such a short amount of time that Clark had to assume he was accustomed to preparing huge meals at the drop of a hat. Then again, he’d probably had two days to prepare this meal while Bruce sulked. Clark had accepted a serving in order to be polite, but it was too good to not eat, even if he didn’t need to.

Bruce, of course, was still going long after he’d finished. Clark could only imagine how hungry he had to be after two days of ‘barely eating’. Now that he was out of the Batcave and freshly-showered, the dark circles under his eyes were visible and, quite frankly, rather alarming – despite growled assurances that they’d fade after a good eight to twelve hours of sleep. Bruce hadn’t asked if Clark would be there when he woke up, although Alfred had arched a questioning eyebrow and received a tiny nod of confirmation.

He was in the middle of contemplating a nighttime flight back to Metropolis for a change of clothes and maybe a few extra to keep at Wayne Manor when Bruce cleared his throat.

“What do you know about Red Claw?”

Clark searched his memory. “Not much,” he admitted. “Red Claw is a known terrorist, but information past that is sketchy. Government’s been keeping it under wraps.”

“In the last week, she stole a very deadly bio-weapon out from under the noses of a military escort and tried to use it to blackmail Gotham.”

Not good. “How deadly are we talking?” he asked cautiously.

Bruce looked grimmer than usual. “A canister about twenty ounces in volume that could have killed everything in a ten-mile radius.”

He wasn’t sure whether to be afraid, or angry. Or both. “And we didn’t even hear about it in Metropolis,” he said sourly. “That’s one heck of a cover-up. You took care of it?”

“Me, and Catwoman.” Now Bruce looked anguished. “I met her first as a thief, a cat burglar nonviolently separating the wealthy from their jewelry. The next night, Bruce Wayne met her as a friend of animals who could, would, and did drop ten thousand at a benefit auction and then decline to claim the prize she’d out-bid the competition for.”

“Which was?” Clark assumed this was Selina he was hearing about; the Ms. Kyle Alfred had mentioned. He could see already where things were…complicated.

Bruce took his time answering. He played with the remains of his latest helping, took a bite almost fondly, and washed it down with ice water. “A date with me.”

Clark let out a low whistle. “She turned you down. Must have been a first for you. How did that feel?”

“Brat,” he muttered, failing to hide a small smile. “I talked her into having lunch, but instead we wound up meeting with a sleazeball regarding some land they were both trying to purchase. That was our lead to Red Claw. We both went back there at night to do some digging. She got there before me and got into trouble-”

“-and you swooped in to save her.” Clark didn’t even pretend to hide his smile. It really did sound like Superman and Lois, minus the part about stealing.

“I did. And she kissed me.”

He couldn’t resist. Not that he was trying very hard. “Must have been a first for Batman. How did that feel?”

“Be serious for a moment,” Batman snapped. “She was already in love with me as Batman. I’ve led on enough women to know what that looks like.”

Okay, there was a nerve there somewhere. Warily, Clark asked, “And what about Selina?”

Bruce stabbed a hapless piece of chicken. “It wasn’t really a surprise to find out they were one and the same. She had the same poise and cool charm while trying to lose Batman as she did trying to lose Bruce Wayne. She’s passionate about her interests, she pursues them fearlessly, she’s not in it for personal gain, and she doesn’t expect to be rescued although she accepts it gracefully. All the things that attracted me to Lois. I wouldn’t have been able to find and stop Red Claw without her.” He paused to glare at the morsel skewered on the end of his fork, then devoured it angrily. “I told her to get to safety. She refused until I said please. I tried to unmask her the night before, she threw me off a roof for it, but she wouldn’t flee to save herself if it meant leaving me to die until I assured her I’d be right behind her and said please. She loves me, or did. I put her in jail. She could have been…” The fork fell from his fingers, and he hid his face behind trembling hands.

Clark was fairly sure he couldn’t stand to see Bruce cry again. “I’ll talk to her,” he promised. “There’s no point crying over milk that hasn’t spilled yet. I’ll talk to her and see how she feels.”

“And if she still cares?” Bruce whispered.

He leaned over and kissed one damp temple. “Then we talk about it. Are you finished eating?”

The hands fell. He didn’t look reassured, but he also didn’t look about to cry. With grim efficiency he emptied the serving dishes, devouring every last bite, and finally sat back with a heavy sigh. “I shouldn’t have eaten that much,” he said wryly. “I’m not sure I can stand, much less climb stairs.”

“Good thing you don’t have to.” Clark grinned as he stood up. “This is a job for Superman.”

He was afraid Bruce would protest being scooped up out of his chair and carried bridal-style, but no protest was forthcoming and he laid his head on Clark’s shoulder contentedly, murmuring directions to the master bedroom. It didn’t take long before he was laying Bruce on a bed that was easily big enough for both of them, plus Lois and Selina, and tucking him gently in. As he leaned over to kiss Bruce’s temple, a light hand on the back of his neck redirected him. He didn’t resist, and a tender, sleepy kiss was his reward.

“Thank you,” Bruce breathed, already half asleep.

Clark opened his mouth to say something, anything, but the words stuck in his throat. Instead, he laid a feather-light caress on the other man’s cheek and carefully flew out of the room.

 

They had her waiting for him by the time he got to the secure visitation room. Although the prison jumpsuit didn’t flatter her and she’d been handcuffed, she held herself with stately elegance that defied her surroundings.

“Superman,” she said, expressing none of the surprise, admiration, or even awe he might have expected. It was as though she were a hostess greeting him at the door. “To what do I owe the honor? I’ve never lived in Metropolis, and I thought Batman didn’t let anyone else play in his sandbox.”

The subtle challenge in her voice grated up his spine. To give himself a moment to force his hackles back down, he sat in the other chair and faced her across the plain, scarred metal table. “Selina Kyle, I presume?”

Anger snapped in her green eyes. “Is there anyone else here? What do you want from me, Superman?”

“Whoa, easy. I’m not here to fight. I just want to talk.”

“What’s there to talk about? I’ve already told you, I’ve never lived in your city and this isn’t your jurisdiction.”

Fearless, indeed. It was like dealing with Batman, before he’d earned some of the Dark Knight’s respect. “I understand you were involved in the Red Claw incident last week,” he began, forcibly keeping his tone even. “Care to tell me about that?”

“I’ve already told everything to the police.”

“Did you tell them that you initially refused to leave and save yourself?”

Jade-green eyes widened, then narrowed into angry slits. “You’re good,” she growled reluctantly. “But you’re not Batman.”

Clark blinked. She made it sound like he was some kind of imposter or second-rate crimefighter. He wasn’t used to being compared to Batman and found wanting. “I never claimed to be, although I am here because of him.”

The anger shattered, leaving sorrow and resentment. “He said if he didn’t unmask me, the police would. He claimed that what was between us was the law.” She shook her head, trying to chase away thoughts or emotions.

“He said please,” Clark said quietly.

“He told you.” Selina stared at him, resentment bleeding away and leaving…hope?

“I need to know if you still care about him, Selina.”

She caught his drift immediately. It was somewhat startling, seeing the change that made. Like the feral barn cats recognizing his form and the scent of raw chicken as he took out the kitchen garbage, going from hostility to anxious ingratiation. Like a teenage girl realizing that he could pass a note to her crush if she asked nicely enough. Then, like magic, she was back to the cool poise she’d had when he first walked in, all aloof dignity. She was refusing to beg.

“There’s nothing I could say that wouldn’t sound like I was trying to get on his good side. Of course I still care about him, for however much that’s worth.”

“Even though he put you in jail?” he asked cautiously.

Fearless, challenging, she met his gaze squarely. “I threw him off a building, and he still cared enough to say please. Cats hunt, fire burns, Batman catches people who break the law. You can’t be angry at something for following its nature.” She sighed and gave him a wry smile. “I’ll be honest, Superman – the only part about this week that I really regret is not being able to tell Bruce Wayne that I wasn’t interested only because Batman had gotten to me first.”

“Bruce Wayne?” he asked to cover – or at least excuse – his surprise.

This, it seemed, was something she was willing to talk about. “I used my ill-gotten wealth to buy a date with him at a charity event, then told him he was off the hook because I’d done it for the animals. He said he was ‘honor-bound and delighted’ to deliver.” Her voice took on a note of fondness. “He’s a sweet guy. Maybe if I’d met him first, things would have been different – but Batman has the eyes of a lion, and I don’t regret anything having to do with him.”

Clark took the opening, pressing for those honest flashes of reaction that spoke louder than words. “When I saw him not two hours ago, those lion eyes were tired and bloodshot.”

She looked anguished. Then she put two and two together, and looked frantic. “Over me? He thinks – no, Superman, please tell him I’m not angry. If he hasn’t given up on me, I’ll do whatever it takes to make what’s between us something other than the law. I’ll plead guilty, I’ll swear off crime.” Shakily, she laughed. “I must sound pathetic. I bet you hear promises like that all the time.” She gave him a lopsided smile, but he didn’t smile back.

She wouldn’t beg for herself, but she’d beg for him. Interesting “Would you share him?” he asked, low and serious.

“Share him? What do you mean?”

He was pretty sure Bruce was going to fillet him for this, but it was too good an opportunity to pass up. “Share his affections. If there were others he cared about as well, would you be jealous?”

She weighed the question for a long moment. “I’d get over it,” she told him with brutal honesty. “I probably wouldn’t want to be in the same room with them for a while, but I’d rather have some of his attention than none of it.”

“I’ll tell him,” Clark promised. “Oh, one more thing.”

Selina cocked her head to one side and made a small sound of curiosity. “Hm?”

“If you get the chance…level with Bruce Wayne.” He gave her a brief smile. “Who knows, maybe he’s willing to share, too.”

Bruce was definitely going to fillet him, but as he left, the cautiously speculative look on Selina’s face made him feel it would be worth it.

 

The groan was Clark’s first clue that Bruce was awake. He’d tried to be careful and slip between the heavy curtains instead of throwing them open and flooding the bedroom with early-morning sunlight, but he must have failed. Feeling guilty for being too sun-glutted to feel guilty about waking Bruce, he slipped back out and blinked, blind in the darkness of the master bedroom.

“Sorry,” he called softly. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” came Batman’s growl. Bedsheets and blankets rustled, and footsteps marked the other man’s passage to the master bath.

By the time Bruce emerged, looking rumpled but a lot healthier than he had yesterday, Clark’s eyes had adjusted again. He beamed at his grumpy host, but the half-formed thought of a good-morning kiss withered and died in the face of Batman’s scowl.

“Some of us need coffee and breakfast,” he half-accused as he walked right past Clark and left the bedroom. The fact that Clark was wearing a pair of his pajamas didn’t even seem to register.

Unbothered, Clark trailed after him. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ll need to apply dermal regenerative to my hands,” was the brusque reply. Then he stopped walking and closed his eyes. After a few moments, he added, “I’m sorry I used you as a punching bag.”

Clark pulled him into a hug. “It’s okay. Better than hypothermia.”

One, maybe two minutes, Bruce allowed himself to lean against the Man of Steel. Then he straightened and resumed his grim journey to the “small” dining room where a veritable breakfast buffet was waiting.

“I talked to Selina,” Clark said as he sat down and toyed with a piece of toast.

Bruce finished filling his plate and sat down as well. “Oh?”

Whoops, that was an unfriendly Oh. He dropped the toast and held both hands up in disavowal. “I can see why you like her, and she’s all the things you said she was, but I’m not interested.”

The aura of immanent pain and dismemberment dissipated. “Go on.”

“She’s not angry.” Best to get that out in the open first.

Bruce sighed, shoulders visibly unknotting.  

“She still cares,” Clark continued gently. “She said that if you haven’t given up on her, she’ll do whatever it takes to make what’s between you something other than the law.”

“Do you think she’s telling the truth?” He doubted her, or maybe himself. Trust issues.

Clark caught and held Bruce’s eyes. “I do think she’s telling the truth. I believe her. She loves you, Bruce.”

He smiled bitterly. “She loves Batman.”

There was that denial again; he was trying to convince himself that he couldn’t have what he wanted. Clark mentally juggled the pieces of information Selina’d given him, trying to decide which was better to counter with. “She told me that if she’d met Bruce Wayne first, things might have been different.” The astonishment on Bruce’s face made him smile. “She also regrets not being able to tell Bruce Wayne that the reason she was uninterested was because Batman had gotten there first.”

Guarded hope flickered in Bruce’s eyes, but for a handful of minutes he mulled it over in silence while he ate and Clark sipped coffee.

“I’ll have a talk with her lawyer,” he said finally. “There’s no point in trying to plan anything until we have a sense for how the trial is going to go.”

Clark gave him a stern look. “Are you going to talk to her? As Bruce Wayne?”

His eyes slid away from Clark’s. “That depends on her lawyer.”

Oh, no – he wasn’t going to get off that easy. “Do you want to talk to her as Bruce Wayne?”

“Yes,” he ground out, then busied himself with pancakes and bacon to avoid any further questions.

Clark let him; that was enough pushing for now. He’d tell Bruce the rest of it when he was more willing to listen. After a minute of smelling syrup and salt, he gave in and assembled a plate of breakfast foods for himself. When they were both finished eating, he cleared his throat.

“There’s one more thing,” he started cautiously, feeling Bruce out.

“Oh?” This time it was cheerful; a good sign.

“The other reason I believe her. I asked if she’d share Batman, or if she’d be jealous if there were others he cared about.”

Bruce went very, very still. Batman-still. “And?”

“She said she’d get over it. She’d rather have some of your attention than none of it.”

For a long moment, he just sat with his jaw clenched, staring intently at nothing. Then he shook his head, forcing himself to relax. “Answer one question, and another pops up. I know where I stand with her, and with you, but I still need to re-evaluate what I feel for Lois in light of all of this – and I’m still not entirely certain of what I want.”

Clark couldn’t feel hurt that Bruce didn’t know what he wanted with him; not when Clark didn’t know where he wanted things to go, either. Lois was an understandable enigma. But Selina? “Bruce…you love Selina and she loves you. How can you not be sure of what you want with her?”

Bruce shot him a dark look. “I could say I don’t want to be arrogant and make decisions without her input, but the truth is I have issues. I know I have issues. Think of my childhood, Clark. While other teenage boys were fumbling in the backseats of cars, I was learning how to pick locks. While other teenage boys were going on awkward dates, I spent my nights in the dojo. Think of my dubious reputation.”

Clark winced.

“That’s right,” he continued grimly. “I know how to flirt, how to lead someone on, how to kiss and where to touch. But further than that, all I know is how to do it wrong and end it messily. Remember all those scars you refused to say anything about? Do you really think I’m comfortable showing those to anyone? My entire life, since the child I had been died in that alley, has been about control and self-denial. I want the people I care about to be happy, and I’ll do whatever I can to make that happen – but I don’t know how to be happy.”

Instead of answering, Clark stood and pulled Bruce, unresisting, into a hug. Despite all his angry assertions, he melted almost eagerly into the embrace, head on Clark’s shoulder, arms tight around his waist.

“Does this make you happy?” Clark asked softly.

“Yes.” It was no louder than a sigh.

“Then trust the people you care about. The first step is asking for help; the second step is accepting help when it’s offered. Let us help you find what makes you happy, one step at a time. We care about you, Bruce. I know it’s complicated, but as long as we’re honest with each other and take it slow, I’m confident everything will work out in the end.”

A comfortable handful of minutes passed in silence while Bruce thought about that.

“You’re due for a day off at the end of next week,” Clark said gently. “How’s the penthouse coming?”

“It won’t be ready until next month. The construction is complete, but I’ll need to take a week off to have it decorated and enhanced to my satisfaction.”

“Movie night at my place again, then? Food ordered from Pizza Palace and Gray Ghost, season one, volume two?”

The silence stretched for a few breaths before Bruce said, “I’d like that.”