Bruce had made more mistakes than he would like to admit, but nothing remotely rivaled the possible consequences of this invention. The dimension travel machine was a singular investment and experiment that the Justice League believed could be brought to good use. But the first trial run had proved its instability, and Bruce had rejected the technology ever since.
Yet the suppression of his curiosity only bred it further. One interstellar cross-dimensional fight restored his faith in the machine. If Batman could keep track of everything happening in every possible alternate universe, the League wouldn't be constantly fighting their evil doppelgängers.
Bruce unveiled the machine from the depths of the Batcave and stared at it for several long minutes, before plugging in the power cord. A stream of electricity coursed through the fibers. The screen blinked, displayed some rolling digits, and quickly flipped to its user interface.
Bruce had no plans on running the machine properly, yet. He was merely going to get the simulations running, and then decide what level of cross-dimensional supervision the machine was capable of.
A warning from Alfred about confiscating his breakfast finally motivated him enough to retire for the night. Bruce flicked on the auto-run button and set his main computer to sleep mode. He would have a detailed look into the machine in the morning.
The following week had been unusually busy. Gotham had exploded with organized crime on a massive scale for the first time in months. Batman forbid other Leaguers into his territory, but by the third night he had grudgingly summoned Nightwing from Bludhaven to restore order in his city.
Clark's whereabouts, though lurching at the back of Bruce's mind, was seldom given priority during his nightly activities. He was fairly certain that the League would inform him if anything unusual sounded from Superman's end.
It was only on the following Monday, four days since he had activated the machine, that he actually thought about analyzing the data. Bruce went back to the machine, only to find that something was… off.
All sensors had allowed access once more than his combined arrivals and departures. The fingerprint sensors and facial recognition software had detected no peculiarity. The oddest discovery was that the mysterious intruder had managed to pass by the newly installed electrochemical DNA sensors undetected.
The genius population was small. Those with malicious intent and a personal grudge were countable on one hand. Nonetheless supervillains like Lex Luthor and Brainiac had never succeeded in cracking his firewalls. There was no reason to suspect that they would score without multiple failed attempts.
Considering the purpose of the machine, Batman could name his first suspect. A Bruce Wayne could tamper with his inventions without immediately alerting Batman. That was worth investigating.
His surveillance videos had been washed, so Bruce skimmed through the local data. It appeared that his alternate self had taken advantage of his machine while it was in a ready state for reception. As a wormhole, it constituted one end of the delivery. His double must have also built a compatible machine, and established a connection between the two portals.
Still, it was odd. Why would Batman work anything against himself in any dimension?
He as Batman had never intentionally caused difficulties for other Batmans. Except that one time he purged the Justice Lords and dissolved their rule. And that other time he fought Ultraman and Owlman. He was also never very comfortable with Bat-Mage's use of dark magic. Not to mention there was a vampire version of him-
Well, Bruce rubbed his temples wearily. Let's not say the other Batmans' grudges were completely unfounded.
At least he had an idea of who he would immediately reach to in any dimension, if the other Batmans were anything like himself.
"Batman to Justice League." He spoke into the comm link. "Report Superman's location."
"Superman last reported in from the Arctic," said Diana. A pause indicated that she was studying the recorded messages. "He has been in the Fortress of Solitude for four days and has stated explicitly that we are only to summon him if there is an emergency."
"Why was I not informed, Princess?" Batman growled.
"Superman said you were with him." There was a slight, suspicious lilt at the end of the sentence that Bruce did not like hearing.
"I was not."
"It is not in my nature to question every sentence spoken by my teammates." Diana's annoyance was conveyed more strongly this time. "Soon after that, you and Nightwing were engaged in battle. We caught wind of the chaos in Gotham. Oracle promised to update the Watchtower on the situation."
Batman grunted, acknowledging the explanation. He couldn't shake the feeling that what happened in Gotham was a cannily devised distraction.
"Send in a signal to the Fortress so they don't blast off any incomings in the Arctic airspace." He barked into the comm link before switching it off. Then he hopped into a Batplane and lifted off the ground. His mind couldn't force away the image of a mind-controlled Superman, life at the whim of Batman's double. But he wouldn't call in the Justice League over his assumptions lest it was a false alarm.
It was humiliating enough that his machine churned out his evil twin. He was not going to give the League any more reason to mock him than necessary.
Clark woke with his arms wrapped around something warm and heavy. The weight leaned against him like a soothing reassurance, fitting snugly between his arms.
He didn't dare move. Bruce was hanging onto him like a koala, strong arms clinging onto his waist, his breath soft and steady. There was a thin strip of silver wrapped around his ring finger.
For the thirtieth thousand time since he had brought Bruce to the Fortress, Clark allowed himself to feel some form of relief. This was Bruce, hugging him in his sleep, murmuring his name, sneaking his hand underneath the covers to touch his chest, his torso, sneaking lower…
"Did I ever say I'm in love with you?" Bruce had asked.
Superman was facing away, walking towards the exit of the Batcave. He paused in stunned silence. Clark had thought it was a cruel joke at his expense. He didn't dare turn, didn't want to see a mocking sneer on Bruce's face. "Why?"
He imagined Bruce shrugging, his fingers tracing the back of his chair.
"Because I am," Bruce answered softly.
Superman took a steady breath. "So you figured out I'm gay. Congratulations. There's no need to patronize me."
He counted Bruce's steps, each sound agonizingly slow behind his back. Suddenly Bruce's breath was all he could feel, a warm exhale against the sensitive skin at the back of his neck. "You're being awfully presumptuous."
"And you're being a dick."
"Am I?"
"You're mocking me."
Bruce circled him slowly, stopping to watch Clark's stern expression with a look of amusement. "I'm not."
"You look like you're about to burst out laughing." Superman frowned. "At the expense of uncovering my sexual orientation."
"Maybe I feel inclined to laugh because I'm happy I've found someone." Bruce smiled enigmatically.
Superman snorted in disbelief. "Sure. Can I go now?" His voice came out level but his heart was hammering in his chest.
"You're being unnecessarily defensive." Bruce observed. "So afraid of getting hurt."
Superman grunted and stepped past the slighter man. "I'm going back to the Fortress."
"Take me with you."
"I'm really not in the mood for your games."
"Clark." Bruce gripped his cape, of all things, and yanked him back. Clark glared at him, but Bruce flashed him an innocent smile. "Take me. Please."
"Did you visit Poison Ivy lately?"
Bruce rolled his eyes. "Thus far, you're my most difficult conquest," he murmured. Then his finger had brushed across Clark's lower lip, and Clark felt electricity bolt through him like a stream of pleasure. It was a touch so light, so soft, so careful. It reminded Clark of the way Alfred treated the Wayne's porcelain tea cups. Bruce touched him as if he had forgotten he was invulnerable. Instead he was fragile, breakable.
"I want you, Clark." Bruce whispered earnestly. It was music to Clark's ears, hearing those few words coming from Bruce's mouth.
"I'm starting to think I'm not dreaming." Clark said hesitantly as Bruce lowered his gaze. "If you're planning to expose your surveillance videos, I'll burn a hole in one of your Batmobiles."
"You're making this very difficult." Bruce leaned in to brush his lips against Clark's. It felt a touch rehearsed, as if he had been preparing for it. But the preparation was very much Bruce's style. Bruce never did anything without a plan. Clark swallowed his nerves and willed himself to pull Bruce closer, angling his head to deepen the kiss. If the words weren't convincing enough, Bruce's enthusiasm was the ultimate push. Bruce gently pulled back when he was out of breath, and they parted reluctantly.
"I'm not exactly sure what to think." Clark admitted, his face tinged with color.
"Don't." Bruce grinned encouragingly. "Just fly us to the Fortress."
The next three nights were a blur of heated sex and making up for lost time. Clark didn't remember doing much else, besides leaving a voice message at the Watchtower and locking down the Fortress. The rest of the time he spent in bed, tirelessly appreciating the lean, muscled body that was offered to him. In the mornings, he woke with relief to find Bruce clinging onto him, sharing his body heat under the covers.
"Hmm…" Bruce snuggled closer, hands wrapped a little tighter. His uncharacteristically affectionate actions slowly grew to a halt. Then he sighed and opened his eyes. "Hey."
"G'morning." Clark brushed the few strands of dark hair that had fallen across Bruce's forehead to one side. He wanted to savor the sight of his beautiful blue eyes, the shade that was mesmerizing beyond compare. The shade he had wanted to see on his bedside, every morning. An unspoken wish since twenty years ago when he had first known the man behind the mask. "Did you sleep well?"
"After what you did to me last night, of course." Bruce's hands found their way southward, earning him a throaty groan. His hand wrapped around Clark's erection and gently tugged at the hardness. With practiced precision, his fingers teased the wetness out of the spongy tip. He was getting more than a groan out of this now.
"Don't-" Clark's protest was cut off midway by a warm mouth on his, the beginning of a stubble brushing across his own skin.
The hand was working diligently where he was not looking. Instinctively he curled his body away from Bruce's touch, trying in vain to prolong the event. Bruce seemed to have accepted the challenge. He quickly drew away from Clark's mouth and lowered himself to Clark's erection, dragging the covers down with him. He licked the sensitive flesh tentatively, until Clark's cock sprung fully erect. Then he swallowed his entire length and Clark almost lost his restraint. He wanted to thrust into Bruce's mouth, just to fuck his mouth until he comes.
"God, Bruce-" Either Clark was out of breath or out of vocabulary, for he never managed to finish any of his phrases. Bruce was watching him while pleasuring him, his expression ever so attentive. There was a sense of fierce possessiveness that gripped him hard. Then Clark was arching into Bruce's mouth, emptying his load, and Bruce was swallowing every drop of his cum.
Clark laid satiated in the afterglow, watching Bruce lick the overflowing juices off his cock voraciously. He was going to repay the favor, but Bruce's hand was steady on his when Clark wanted to touch his half-hard cock.
At Clark's confusion, Bruce simply snuggled into his embrace once more.
"I have to leave." Bruce said, pressing his body against Clark's. His wakeful erection was evidence that he wanted Clark, but what he needed to do was important.
Clark felt suddenly at a loss. "Is there an emergency?"
Bruce watched him for a second, contemplating his response, before caressing Clark's face. "Don't worry. I'll be back."
"Fortress, this is WA SlipStream, Batplane III." Batman intoned into his headset. He remotely activated the Fortress's automatic landing procedure. His screen blinked with the updated information on wind and altitude after refreshing. "Batplane III is one mile West NP Observatory two thousand. Inbound for landing."
The Batplane slid onto the recently constructed runway, slowly reducing speed by friction. Batman hated the idea of landing on slippery ice. He opened the catch.
Superman made no attempt to stop his landing. At least, that was a good sign to suggest that he was not mentally compromised.
Batman sneaked past the zoo into the central computer nexus, staying within the shadows. He made good use of the ventilation system when he deemed a corridor too exposed. A few climbs and leaps later, he was standing behind a pillar, next to the central computer console.
There was a movement that he recognized to be Superman. He was looking around in confusion. "Bruce?"
Batman activated the thermal scanners on his binoculars. Nothing. Clark was the only warm-blooded breathing entity in the space. He also didn't appear to be mind-controlled.
Nevertheless, Batman hurled a Batarang to catch Superman's attention. It caught him by surprise, but Superman didn't burn him with heat vision. The Batarang made a quick loop around the chamber and flew back to Batman.
"Superman." Batman emerged from the shadows.
Clark turned around immediately. His stance fell from alert into quick ease. "There you are."
Batman glowered at him in his usual unfriendly manner. "What have you been doing in the past four days?" He demanded.
Clark frowned slightly. "What do you mean? I was with you, of course."
"You were with me." Bruce repeated cautiously. "What were we doing?"
Clark looked positively confused and worried this time. "What just happened? Are you all right?"
"Yes, tell me what you remember. What was I last doing?"
To his surprise, Superman's cheeks turned red immediately. He mumbled something in Kryptonian.
"Never mind." Batman grumbled. "I'm taking you to the Regeneration Chamber. Fortress, prepare the med bay. Also, ready the new MRI scanner."
"Wait." Clark's eyebrows started furrowing. Annoyance was starting to lace his features. "Is this part of some roleplaying kink that you're into?"
Batman turned to stare, slack-jawed. "Roleplaying what?"
This time the blush on Clark's cheeks was even more apparent. "Nothing. You're acting very strange."
"I can assure you that I have reached the same conclusion." Batman pulled off his cowl, revealing an annoyed face and cold, penetrating eyes. "Superman. The person you were with in the last four days was not me."
Clark's expression shifted from immediate denial to disbelief, back to stubborn denial. "What do you mean that wasn't you?"
"I invented a dimension travel machine and activated it for cross-dimensional supervision. It was exploited by another dimension's Batman." Bruce explained with clinical coldness. "The Batman you met was another version of me."
The stunned silence was experienced very differently by the two men standing toe to toe.
"Wait. Are you saying-" Bruce had never seen Clark's face turn so many colors, but apparently his skin was as expressive as a chameleon's. He changed twenty hues in a matter of seconds. "Are you implying-? Oh, Rao." Instead of mere disbelief, the expression on Clark's face was now bordering on pain.
Bruce turned away to face the monitors. "Fortress, replay surveillance videos starting from September twenty-fifth oh-five double-oh."
"Wait," Clark raced in front of the computer console and switched off all the screens. "What do you think you're doing?"
"I need to know the extent of information you have released to a potential threat." Bruce explained matter-of-factly.
"I- What do you mean information?" Clark choked out, red-faced. "I would never-"
"Just five minutes ago, you were convinced that that complete stranger is your dimension's Bruce Wayne."
"Yes," Clark stammered, looking away. "Yes, but I didn't… Look, I swear, I wouldn't keep anything from you if I have endangered anyone in any way."
"Most times, you aren't aware that you have already jeopardized our safety." Bruce's stare was unrelenting.
"Please, just… let this one go." Clark almost pleaded in desperation. "I gave him nothing. No leads whatsoever. I've hardly mentioned the names of the Leaguers. Most of the time, we weren't even talking."
Bruce gave him a short once-over, before returning him an even, unreadable gaze. "Is that why your face is changing so many colors?"
Clark bit his lip and looked away.
Bruce sighed, shaking his head. "I am fairly certain that this alternate Bruce Wayne has already sneaked back into the machine. Record your memories into a data file, triple encrypt it, and send it to the Batcave."
"I can't do that." Clark muttered. At Bruce's glare, he managed to say, "I swear to God, I didn't give him any information that you would consider remotely usable. He didn't even ask about those things. Besides, I'm sure any alternate versions of you would be able to defeat the League without any leads from me. But what happened between me and… him," Clark heaved a sigh, feeling defeated. "I'm sorry. I'd like it to remain confidential."
Bruce gave him a long considering look. Superman was not going to yield. "Did he say anything about coming back?"
Superman's hopeful expression was telltale enough, so Bruce shook his head. "Then I need to be ready, when he comes back. I need base information to know what his motives are and what he wants from you."
"I know his motives, Bruce." Superman struggled to maintain eye contact.
"You think." Bruce retorted condescendingly.
"You can ask, but I won't tell." Superman crossed his arms, looking increasingly frustrated. "I won't record my memories and have them played out for you like a holographic soap opera in the Batcave. It wouldn't be... right."
Bruce cocked his head to the side in contemplation and finally relented, albeit grudgingly. "Fine. Guard your little secrets from me. Keep in mind who upgraded your castle's security systems just last month."
It turned out that his doppelgänger was more thorough than Bruce had expected. He hadn't bothered to replace the surveillance footage throughout those few days. Instead he had just wiped them out clean.
Bruce stared momentarily at the blank screen and cursed under his breath. His double knew he was going to check those clips. It was an open challenge. Bruce resorted to backups but found another empty folder, despite the multiple-layer security protocols in place.
Clark refused to tell him the whole story. He did release bits and pieces. The mundane everyday matter he claimed he had disclosed made Bruce's mission no easier. Clark was a terrible liar.
What was worse was returning to the Batcave, only to discover that the machine was gone. His doppelgänger had outwitted him a second time by taking the machine and hiding it elsewhere. And keeping it completely untraceable, because that's what all Batmans do best.
Which meant he was coming back.
Bruce wouldn't know when, or where. He knew whom, and at least he knew who that whom was seeing. Which he didn't like. The fact that Clark, honest-to-a-fault Boy Scout, had managed to not disclose the truth, was maddening. How could it be that another world's Bruce was so worthy of Clark's protection?
Bruce hated himself, hated the other world's Bruce Waynes and Batmans altogether.
"You came." Clark looked up in awe.
"I did remember promising something of the sort." Bruce lowered himself into the office chair next to Clark. Dorky reporter Clark Kent. He was wearing his thick-rimmed glasses and his hair was styled differently. Bruce surveyed the empty chairs around him. There was no one left in the Daily Planet, except the concierge at the reception downstairs. He, and the super-powered alien in an over-sized jacket, who looked like he had just received an early birthday present. It was only a week since Bruce's last departure. "Looks like I've come at the right time."
"There isn't much going on lately." Clark explained, waving at his more or less empty desktop. A fountain pen rolled off at his gesture, and Bruce caught it before it fell to the ground. He smirked at Clark's apparent clumsiness. Clark continued distractedly, "Superman wasn't needed... much. I'm less busy when he's less busy."
"How's he?" Bruce cocked his head to one side, studying Clark's facial expression.
"Pissed, I think." Clark shrugged for a sign of indifference, but he couldn't maintain it. His smile fell into an involuntary grimace. "Mostly because I wouldn't tell him what you said to me last time."
Bruce seemed pleased. "I didn't think you could hold out for so long."
"I think..." Clark paused, looking cautiously over Bruce's shoulder as if his billionaire boss might show up any minute. "He was confident that he would find what he wanted without my help."
There was rich amusement in Bruce's demeanor. "Go on."
Clark shrugged. "Judging from your presence, he wasn't able to stop you from doing... whatever it is that you do to get here."
"I had more time, and I'm very driven." The corner of Bruce's lips twitched. "That luxury marks my success from other versions of me with comparable intellect."
Clark nodded slowly. "Or, he just isn't that interested in the matter."
Bruce snorted. "I sincerely doubt that."
"We're friends in this universe." Clark emphasized. "Nothing more."
"Do I detect a hint of regret?"
Clark shook his head. "Mind you, I was quite content."
Bruce leaned forward and brushed his cheek, just a soft lingering touch. "Then why are you using past tense?"
Clark turned away, facing his screen. The blankness of the monitor blinked back at him. "I don't know. I didn't think anything beyond platonic could ever develop between me and him. He's never shown any interest."
"If he has, you wouldn't still be here, would you?" Bruce asked quietly.
Clark opened his mouth to counter, but found that his argument was stuck on the tip of his tongue. At last he shook his head.
"I gathered as much." There was a painful dejectedness in Bruce's voice that made Clark wince. Then he was back to being Brucie Wayne, proud owner of the Daily Planet. He raised his eyebrows suggestively as he leaned in. "I don't suppose Mr. Kent can invite me to his apartment for a movie marathon?" He purred, his voice low and seductive.
"Are you sure?" Clark rubbed the back of his neck uncertainly. "He must be looking for you."
"He won't find me." Bruce tugged on his tie and pulled him closer. His warm breath brushed against Clark's earlobe as he spoke. "Trust me, I'm always one step ahead."
The anomalies in the force field were enough to alert Batman of the unwelcome intruder. He glanced at his screen. Energy levels were rising, rippling through space in the unique manner of cross-dimensional matter transfer.
It was half-past eight. Clark would have gone home already, be sitting on his couch watching TV like any other single white-collar American of his age. That's just what Kansas farm boys do.
With or without a lazy Bruce Wayne draped across his lap.
Batman scanned the city's surveillance cameras quickly to determine that his patrol could wait. Then he slipped the cowl on and treaded determinedly towards the Batplane.
He was going to teach Bruce Wayne a lesson.
Metropolis was quiet where Batman landed. Unlike Gotham, the city slept at dusk and woke at dawn, like it had its own healthy body clock. He kept stealth mode on in his plane, exited it and stalked up to Clark's building. Looking down from the neighboring rooftop, he could see that the lights were on in Clark's apartment.
But the person closest to the kitchen window was definitely not Clark.
One grappling hook sent him soundlessly across the alleyway. Batman landed on the balustrade of the balcony, with the grace of a trained acrobat on a string. The only indication of his arrival was the soft creak as the flimsy metal bar sank with his added weight.
"You don't belong here." Batman growled menacingly.
Bruce didn't even turn to face him. He measured out a cup of water and poured it into the saucepan. "It's Clark's invitation to give. You ought to get one too," he chided lightly.
"You don't belong in this universe." Batman whirled Bruce around. A few strands of dry spaghetti rolled off the kitchen counter. "You should know better."
"Nice outfit." Bruce commented offhandedly, gesturing at the Batsuit.
"Where is the machine?" Batman demanded.
"You know, I'd usually have lowered myself to a few punches at this point." Bruce peered at the Bat with narrowed eyes.
"You better not force my hand."
Bruce cocked an eyebrow at him. "Your world's villains must have it easy."
"Bruce?" Clark's unsuspecting voice rang across the corridor. "Which episode do you want to watch? I've got seasons one to three…" He waved his DVDs as he strolled through the doorway.
His voice echoed in the empty kitchen. "Bruce?"
"Where is it?" Batman flung Bruce against the concrete wall of Clark's building. He was aware that the man was only human, but the smug smile on his own face was annoying him to no end. Batman made a mental note to dim down that infuriating smile during Brucie's conferences.
Bruce picked himself up with ease. He flexed his arm as if that wall-shattering shove was merely an ache in his muscle. "That's more like it."
"You're a disgrace." Batman growled with disdain. To resort to violence in facing his own person, he was certainly hitting a new low.
"At least I'm not a coward." Bruce spat, falling into a defence posture.
Another punch made its way onto the unarmored man's stomach, and Bruce bit back any sign of weakness.
Batman grunted in realization, followed by a hint of disappointment. "You're out of training."
"A little slow on the uptake, aren't you?"
"You want fast, I'll give you fast." Batman clenched his gloves into a fist, drew back and punched the man in the guts, repeatedly at the same spot. Bruce managed to avert his first and second blow, but Batman held him up against the wall and took advantage of their positions. A few punches more, and Bruce spat out a mouthful of blood.
"Ready to talk?" Batman held his bleeding self by the neck and crunched the side of his jaw against the solid wall.
"Getting desperate?" The corners of Bruce's lips twisted into a lopsided smirk. "Why don't you-"
Batman dragged him by the neck and shoved him against the wall, earning him a painful grunt from Bruce. More blood streamed out from the corner of his mouth. A crimson print from a wound at the back of Bruce's head was marked onto the wall behind him. Slowly it formed into a thick vertical line as the man collapsed onto the rubble beneath him.
Batman scowled at the sight of himself, so wounded and weak. There was blood on his black gloves. The red was not immediately visible against the dark fabric, but it was sticky and uncomfortable. He took comfort, or at least, satisfaction, in hurting this version of himself. Such ill-founded satisfaction.
He turned, ready to leave, when a sound of disbelief stopped him dead in his tracks. His fingers stayed frozen on the grappling hook hanging from his utility belt.
"Bruce?"
It was Clark, standing in the alleyway, his expression frozen in shock. Slowly his eyes traveled from Batman to the unconscious, battered body lying in the rubble, then back to Batman.
Batman felt strangely exposed under his scrutiny.
Then Clark moved towards them, and Batman flinched, wanting to intercept. Except Clark never even looked in his direction. He ignored Batman altogether, passing him by without the slightest glance. His only acknowledgement of Batman's presence was the distance he kept from where the masked vigilante stood.
The air had never felt so cold on Batman's exposed jaw. He clenched his teeth together and ignored the heated jealousy flooding through his veins.
"Bruce," Clark whispered tenderly. He placed his hand underneath Bruce's cheek to support his head as it lolled weakly to the side. "I've got you."
Gently Clark dug into the rubble and lifted Bruce from the ground. He was careful not to injure him further with his super strength. Bruce's body flinched at the contact. For a second Clark didn't dare move, until Bruce eased into his touch and lowered his head on Clark's chest.
Clark rose with Bruce's weight heavy on his arms. He straightened his back and turned around. Knowing Batman, he wasn't expecting to see him still waiting in the shadows. One quick scan around his surroundings confirmed his assumptions.
"Let's get you home." Clark hovered steadily above the ground and rose into the air, until he was on the same balcony Batman was perched on moments ago. He slid open the door, walked to his bed, and lowered Bruce's wounded body onto the mattress. The man winced with pain but didn't open his eyes.
Clark went back to shut all his curtains and lock all his windows. He did not like sensing the possibility of Batman's intrusion any more than he already did.
Clark watched the first sign of wakefulness dawn on Bruce's face. There was a scar on the side of his neck where Batman's gauntlet had scratched his skin, but it was one of his less pressing injuries. Bruce opened his eyes and the rare affectionate smile was almost immediate.
"I could get used to this." Bruce's sight shifted from Clark to the closed curtains. A thin line of light streamed in from beyond. Slowly he captured the vast whiteness of the ceiling and the familiar furniture.
"Everything except your wounds." Clark countered. He propped himself up on his elbow to have a better look at Bruce. He had treated the worst of Bruce's injuries himself, and the rest was just waiting to heal.
For hours, Clark had stared at Bruce's sleeping form. His eyes read the damage but his mind remained uncomprehending. What could have pushed Batman so far across the line that he would inflict such injuries upon his alternate self? Batman didn't make permanent damages to Bruce's body, but the sight of blood, bruises, and open wounds everywhere was enough to keep Clark up all night.
Bruce raised his hand to his line of sight and inspected the bandage wrapped around his wrist with clinical detachment. He clenched and unclenched his fingers, noting the soreness on his knuckles where he had punched against kevlar. "Thanks," he said finally.
"You should rest. I'll make you breakfast." Clark flipped his side of the covers and walked around the bed. He was still watching Bruce cautiously as he did.
"What," Bruce gave him a sly smile. "I'm not going to leave while you're at it."
Clark shrugged. "Normally you would."
That drew the humor out of Bruce, as the slyness disappeared and was promptly replaced by a grimace. "I suppose so."
Realizing his mistake, Clark mentally cursed himself and walked back to Bruce's bedside. "When I bought that couch in the living room, I made sure that I can stretch on it without my legs hanging off the side. You're going to make good use of that."
He lifted Bruce into his arms, swiftly but carefully, and heard the low chuckle that was amusement and appreciation in one. "Since when did you get so smooth?" Bruce teased.
"I'm learning from the best."
Clark lowered Bruce onto the couch and watched him stretch himself across its length with feline finesse. "Make yourself comfortable," he said, handing Bruce the remote control.
Bruce's hand shot up, ignoring the remote control, and gripped the collar of Clark's shirt. "You've forgotten something." Then he propped himself up and kissed Clark with as much fervor as an injured man could afford, using the back of the couch as leverage. Clark hesitated for a moment before returning the kiss. It was no secret to both of them that Clark remained passive, compared to Bruce's enthusiasm.
When Bruce had finally let go, Clark straightened his back immediately. "Standard English breakfast? That's what I do best."
There was a noticeable crack on Bruce's facade, in the form of a smile stretched too tautly and eyes too sharp to appear loving. "That would be wonderful," he replied, his voice suddenly tight.
Clark gave him a small, almost polite smile as he turned towards the kitchen. He didn't look back again.
The next few weeks went by in a blur.
Batman stopped crime at twice the rate he did before. Every morning, Commissioner Gordon found a different assortment of criminals bound Chinese dumpling style, lined up on the front porch. Anyone from serial killers to thieves to hit-and-run drivers. It was Christmas at the GCPD and pandemonium in the criminal underworld.
The new rule in the League was no contacting Batman, unless there was a global crisis that the rest of the universe's superheroes could not handle.
Apparently that was not as rare of a situation as it should be. Diana's voice streamed through the comm link despite the zero disturbance protocol. "Batman. Luthor and the Joker have set up a bomb in Metropolis CBD. Half of the team are off world and we're short on people."
J'onn's telepathic wavelengths reached him half a second later. "Some tactical advice would be greatly appreciated, Batman."
Batman was about to reply in the affirmative when a system override occurred and a familiar voice spoke into the link. "On it, Princess." There was a short pause that allowed Batman to process his own voice barking commands. "Get GL out of the building. Flash, create a smoke screen. Diana, you stay on Luthor. Heat sensor says he's in the basement. The primary detonator is with one of his guards. J'onn, find out whom. Superman and I will get the Joker."
Batman stared long and hard at the monitor, watching the Leaguers move into position. Then another Batman was on the battlefield, wearing his own version of the Batsuit. He leaped into action, and though he was not at top physical form by Batman's standards, he was more than capable of holding his own against the Joker.
Bruce pulled off his cowl and watched dispassionately as the battle drew on. He was suddenly feeling very out of place, being the one sitting idly in the Batcave.
It was finally down to the World's Finest to corner the clown and disable the second detonator in his pocket. Batman hurled the Joker over his shoulder into the metal containers behind him. There was an audible cracking of bones as the Joker groaned in pain. In that instant Superman ripped the detonator out of the lunatic's hands, and peace was again restored in Metropolis.
As the tracking devices on Superman and Batman drew close enough on the map to look like it was merging on screen, Bruce flicked the power button and shut the screen off.
If the League's congratulatory cheers playing in the background was any indication, Bruce was quickly not matching up to his replacement.
Clark shut his eyes and filtered out the telltale heartbeat. They were in Batman's private quarters on the Watchtower. There he was kissing Bruce, tasting Bruce, feeling his firm chest against his and pulling that weight against himself. He gripped fistfuls of Bruce's black undershirt, then his hand wandered down to cup Bruce's groin. His precum was soaking through the thin fabric. Bruce moaned and arched into his touch. His fingers were clawing strongly enough on Clark's back to draw visible red lines on his invulnerable skin.
It should feel like the most wonderful thing in the world. The eventual fulfilment of a long-established yearning in his heart.
Yet it felt wrong, all wrong. He felt unfaithful, unclean.
"I love you," Bruce murmured into his neck.
I love you too. Clark answered in his mind. But then we'd both be lying.
He suddenly felt very uncomfortable.
"Uh, I need some fresh air," he said lamely, pulling away. Not that any pocket of air on the Watchtower could be any more fresh than carbon dioxide filtered and recycled, with the occasional addition of liquid oxygen.
Bruce frowned. "What's wrong?"
Your heartbeat. Clark thought. Your heartbeat is steady and even. A snail's crawl, even in bed. You don't want this and neither do I.
"I might have inhaled something during today's fight. I'm feeling a little dizzy." He lied.
Bruce didn't glare at him like Clark expected him to. There was a sense of dejected understanding in his eyes. He shrugged carelessly and gestured to the door. "Suit yourself."
"Sorry," Clark said apologetically. He knew he handled it poorly, but he was desperate to leave the room. Bruce's presence was suffocating. Clark shut the door behind him and sighed.
"Hey big guy. Why the long face?" Dick was walking in his direction, holding a bunch of League paperwork. "Thought I'd drop in and get Bruce to sign a few updates for me. Maybe sneak in a few more showers with massage spray shower heads and whatnot."
"I don't think now's a good time." Clark glanced guiltily at the door.
"Oh, okay. I'll come back later then." Dick's hand holding all the paperwork dropped to his side. "Seriously, you all right? I've never seen you so blue."
Clark pretended to stretch his forearm muscles. "Long day."
"Great fight though." Dick grinned encouragingly. "It gave people plenty of gossip material."
Clark sent him a dumbfounded look. "About what?"
"The usual," Dick jabbed a thumb in the general direction of the cafeteria. "How you and the stubborn old Bat finally got your acts together after dancing around the issue for so long. It's one form of congratulations."
Clark was inclined to turn various shades of red and green, until his face settled for something in between. "They've got it wrong," he lowered his voice a fraction, aware that the room he just came out of was only two feet away.
"Like we're all blind and stupid." Dick rolled his eyes.
"Can we find somewhere else and sit down?" Clark stole another glimpse at Bruce's door, this time activating his x-ray vision. Bruce was sitting on the edge of his bed, absently stroking the silver ring on his finger.
"If you'll authorize the technical upgrades." Dick waved the paperwork in front of him.
Clark's shoulders dropped in defeat. "Please let me have this conversation elsewhere." He all but begged.
"Okay, okay," Dick raised his hands in mock surrender. "No massaging shower heads. Got it."
"So you're telling me," Dick's mind seemed to be whirling at super speed. He pointed at the corridor leading to the chambers, "That that Bruce is not… Christ. You guys are really messed up."
"You don't have to rub it in." Clark pinched the bridge of his nose and blinked hard, as if to get rid of the weariness that had been growing exponentially in the past month.
"Honestly, I have no words for this. Except you need to whack yourself with an oversized pineapple and beg for his forgiveness. Then maybe instead of a fully-powered Kryptonite-laced Bat-cannon, you'll get just the Batarangs."
"Wait, how exactly is this affair my fault?"
Dick gave him a meaningful glare that reminded Clark of his mentor. "Look who's thrown out of the king-sized double bed. Sure, poor Bruce who didn't even get laid gets the blame."
"Fine. But we were never in a relationship," he pointed out defensively. "We didn't have this issue of sexual fidelity."
"Oh please, you're not in a relationship." Dick chirped mockingly in Clark's defensive tone. "Bruce would kill to be in your bed. Everyone in the League can see that."
Clark shook his head. It was hard to believe. "If there was even that one-millionth chance that he wants me… sexually, or romantically... why hasn't he said anything before?"
Dick rolled his eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Honestly, Clark. When has Bruce ever told us what he wants? Hell, he probably doesn't even know what he wants until someone comes snatching it out of his hands."
Clark buried his face in his hands for a moment. Trust Dick to give sound advice. "This consolation session is quickly turning into an hour-long harangue."
"Look big guy, it's not entirely your fault." Dick patted him sympathetically on his shoulder. "It's just that I'm lecturing you right now, and I prefer to do things one at a time."
"So, according to you, does Bruce need to whack himself with a pineapple?"
"No," Dick shook his head resolutely. "I'm buying him a durian."
Batman strolled wearily back into the Batcave. It was four in the morning, and he had just had the most frustrating, unprofessional, and personal conversation with Nightwing. After about twenty six pleas of "please talk to Clark" and slamming down on "I'll get your evil doppelgänger for you, Bruce" until his neck got numb from shaking his head so much, he was finally back to embrace his peaceful isolation.
Life had a way of proving him wrong.
"I figure I'm not welcome here."
The last person Batman wanted to see had materialized in front of his computer. He was dressed in Brucie's office attire. The grey Armani suit appeared exceptionally bright against the omnipresent shades of black in the cave.
Bruce Wayne whirled around in his chair and Batman saw a bowl of homemade chocolate chip cookies that was previously hidden from view.
"Courtesy of Alfred," Bruce gestured at the bowl. "Couldn't fool him with just the exact same biological constitution. He's sharp as always."
Batman glowered at him. "You're not. Coming here alone and unarmed."
"You have been out of contact for several weeks now." Bruce said absently. "According to Superman."
"Really."
"I didn't come here to destroy your relationship with him."
"How convincing."
Bruce cocked his head to the side in a way that was painfully reminiscent of his brainless alter ego. "Can we for once have a proper, civilized conversation?"
"I'm listening."
Bruce shrugged. "You're not the first dimension that I've tried. There were others before you. Batmans who weren't as hesitant to use the tech. Batmans whose tech was activated by someone else. Any form of reality that granted access for cross-dimensional travel."
"You treat the possible destruction of the space-time continuum too lightly."
Bruce smiled wryly. "What can I say? I have nothing to lose."
"What happened in your world?"
"A fight," Bruce shrugged, treading on lightheartedly. "Nigh invulnerable aliens pretending they're unbeatable. Ancient killing machines from similar origins. Sounds like a comic book event." He was looking beyond Batman now, his eyes slipping just a shade into vacancy. "I still have a ring to prove I said 'I do' before the lightning struck," he chuckled, but his throat was dry. "Good times."
Batman lowered his gaze, and for the first time he noticed the wedding ring on Bruce's finger. A simple, silver ring, etched too tightly around the flesh of a man who held on too tightly to his past.
"I'm sorry." Batman said finally, earnestly. The Bruce Wayne in front of him suddenly appeared more pitiful than he thought was possible.
"I've had this conversation several times." Bruce explained with faint amusement. "It more or less garners the same reaction."
"Doesn't make it easier."
"No, it doesn't." Bruce admitted. He drew a breath long and hard. "I'm hardly doing the right thing. He'd probably be mad at me. Boy scouts, they have a much clearer sense of moral justice." Bruce absently touched the ring again, a reminder of what was lost. "You're right, I don't belong here. It's ironic. Everywhere I go, I seem to be playing matchmaker."
Batman stared back grimly. "Superman is smitten with you. Don't break his heart over your melodramatic existential crisis."
"So far, you're the blindest of all my doppelgängers." Bruce raised his eyebrow wearily. "Clark finds in me what he couldn't find in you. After years of denial and suppression, I'm an outlet for unresolved sexual frustration. I'm a shadow of you. That's the most I can be."
A small sign lit up at the corner of the screen, with Superman's symbol followed by a notification. It blinked several times before settling into a dimmed permanent display.
Bruce flicked a map onto the screen and marked a coordinate with the ease and familiarity of Batman. "Your machine. I've reactivated the GPS."
Batman swallowed. "You're going back?"
For a long while Bruce stared at the corner of the screen, his eyes fixed on the House of El crest. Then he pulled his eyes away. "I might as well."
The silence on Batman's part seemed to be prompting something more. Bruce continued in a hopeful voice, "I'm going to keep searching, Bruce. In one of these universes, there'll be a Clark Kent who loves me more than his Dark Knight. I'm going to find that world."
Batman's even stare was unfaltering. "Your Clark wouldn't want your past to bound you to an unceasing fruitless search."
Bruce hesitated for a moment, before settling for a sigh. "No, he wouldn't. But an illusion of want, a semblance of a connection, a superficial declaration of love… anything is better than nothing at all. My world is a never-ending stretch of darkness, because the light that once was had dimmed into nothing. You don't understand, because you've never once lost that light. And that... I would never wish upon you."
He stood up from his seat, looking thoughtful, then he smiled at Batman. "I shouldn't have barged in like that, but Alfred would scold me for leaving without saying goodbye."
"I will shut down the dimension travel machine permanently." Batman warned sternly.
Bruce threw back his head and laughed, in a loud, coarse burst of hilarity. "You better," he said at last. The glimmer in his eyes was of wistfulness. "Or I'd come back and take what you're not ready to have."
There should be an instructions book detailing what to do when one was saddled with two Batmans. Especially when one was clingy, seductive, and a stranger until a month ago, whereas the other one was distant, cold, his best friend, and the oblivious subject of his unrequited love.
If no one had ever written that book, Clark might as well get started. Humanity might benefit from that knowledge one day.
He was not suspecting the shadow near the curtains to move when he got home after a long day at work.
"Bruce… Good evening." Clark smiled weakly. He was getting used to this… or not. Not really.
"I bought Chinese takeout." Bruce waved at the tall white boxes on Clark's dining table. His voice was just a touch colder than usual.
The sweet and sour pork smelled good. Clark swallowed. "Thanks."
"There's also wine on the counter."
Clark rubbed his forehead slightly, feeling the onset of a headache. This was what happened every other night recently. Bruce would show up uninvited, at places and times that Clark least suspected, and dump a million and one things into the forefront of his mind. Clark would forget what he meant to say a month ago, and continue on with the act.
It was, undeniably, an enjoyable act. Part enjoyable and part torturous.
This whole Chinese takeout for dinner thing was new though. His unofficial friend with benefits preferred taking him to expensive restaurants and showering him with extravagant presents.
But Bruce wasn't pressing him for romantic declarations. He wasn't pining after him for sex either, which was essentially what happened every time they met. Bruce was just standing there, his body still, his breathing soft. Quiet. For once, listening.
Clark grasped at the opportunity to make his stance clear.
"There's something I ought to have said four weeks ago, when this first happened." He began uneasily.
Bruce didn't respond, so Clark took it as silent authorization.
The speech he had rehearsed a thousand times in his mind was a lot harder to churn out when the audience was standing less than ten feet in front of him. Bruce's face was hidden from the light, so he might as well be completely expressionless.
"I can't love you the way you want me to." Clark gulped.
He waited for some form of rebuttal, but the silence drew on. Bruce did not even move a muscle.
At last, Bruce replied quietly, "I know. It's nothing new."
"No," Clark argued quickly. "It's new… to me. It's a realization that has just dawned on me. You can call me dumb and slow but the reality is I've just known… why I couldn't put my heart into this relationship. My heart… belongs to someone else."
Bruce nodded, slowly and despondently.
"You were everything I've wanted. Everything." Clark trailed off with a heavy sigh. "But I don't know you. All this time I've never known you. I've never lo-" He paused, debating whether to phrase his sentence with the intended weight. Then he smiled wryly. "In all fairness, you've never loved me either."
Whatever rebuttal that was welling up to the top of Bruce's throat was cut off by Clark's unspoken confession and his final accusation. He allowed himself a few seconds reorienting himself to the world around him, ignoring the furniture swimming in his peripheral sight, before digging into his utility belt.
Clark braced himself momentarily, expecting green light to swarm the apartment. Except Bruce only took out an envelope. It was curled up in the small compartment, so Bruce flattened it with a curl in the opposite direction. He discarded it onto the dining table standing between them. Clark watched the envelope, blank on the cover, land lightly on the wooden surface.
"I came to deliver his farewell letter."
His? Whatever assuagement that was building in Clark's mind came to an immediate halt. A letter of farewell. From Bruce. The one he knew. The one he wanted all along. And he had ruined it. He had succumbed to momentary comfort, to disguised reciprocation.
"Suffice it to say, our time has also come to an end." Bruce ground out between clenched teeth. "Goodbye, Clark."
Clark nodded numbly as he stared at the envelope on the table. He didn't want to read it. For a long while he had tuned out all his super senses, until he looked up again.
The blank space where Bruce stood glared back at him. The moonlight flooding between the curtains was now sharp and distinct.
Clark sat himself down on a chair and pulled the takeout boxes to his front. The food smelled delicious, but his stomach was knotted in more ways than one. Eventually he shoved them into his fridge and popped the wine open instead. The alcohol couldn't affect his alien physiology, but enough cultural conditioning allowed him to imagine himself drunk with a bit of self-hypnosis.
The astringency on his tongue was refreshing. Clark settled more snugly into his chair and stretched towards the envelope lazily, pulling it by the corner to himself. Eventually he pried it open.
The content was neatly folded in half, corner to corner. The small indentation near the fold stirred the image of Bruce sharpening it by pressing his trimmed fingernail across the crease, applying pressure in his ever precise manner. The paper was thick, card-like, and subtly lined with gold. Ironically, it was exactly the sort that Clark imagined Bruce would use for wedding invitations.
Or other special occasions.
Like farewell. Goodbye. Twenty years of partnership, gone. Poof. Just like that. He downed another shot.
The letter felt heavy on his palm. Clark flipped it from front to back and back to front, knowing that once he opened it, his life would be altered forever.
He should have anticipated this when he first welcomed that familiar touch on his lips.
After half an hour of empty staring, he finally mustered enough courage to flip the folded paper open. The page was filled with Bruce's elegant script.
Dear Clark,
I hope this letter finds you well. I have spared you the pain of articulating your long-rehearsed rejection, and spared myself the pain of listening.
When you read this letter, I will have gone back to where I belong. There, my search continues. Perhaps, someday, it will end. Perfectly, or tragically. In the meantime, I will roam the universes for another replacement. You may say I am warped beyond repair, but I am only as lonely as the next man. I simply resort to measures no other human can afford.
I told Bruce to invite you to dinner, but I suspect he will order takeout. The wine is my idea to salvage your meal. Your Bruce is somewhat of a jerk with violent tendencies, so I wouldn't put it past him to completely screw up his visit. You will find him at 26.358298,127.78389 within the hour.
I wish you best of luck.
Bruce
Clark stood up abruptly from his seat, his hands trembling as he gripped the side of his dining table. Suddenly he was hyper aware of Bruce's uncharacteristic silence, his grim acceptance. The way Bruce hid in the shadows, the way he recoiled at Clark's words.
I've never loved you. He had almost said, to the Bruce that proved that sentence most untrue. In all fairness, you've never loved me either.
The memory of Bruce's impassive voice when he bid him goodbye sent anger and frustration down Clark's spine. And a bucketful of distress.
He had little more than ten minutes, counting from the moment Bruce had left his place. He located the coordinates on a map and ripped Clark Kent's clothes off to reveal Superman's suit. Then he flew out the window like a speeding bullet.
Clark landed at the entrance of a natural cave in the rural outskirts of Gotham. There were a few computers set up, and a Batmobile was hidden underneath a piece of cloth. Bruce was watching the screens intently, selectively erasing the data on his hard drives. He was wearing the Batsuit, his gloves discarded next to the keyboards. Three passports were laid out on the side, two boarding passes clamped beneath them. The names were fake, but Bruce's disguised face was on all of them. His cowl was pulled back to reveal sun-starved skin and sullen eyes.
"Going somewhere?" Clark asked. No doubt Bruce noticed his presence when he crossed the enhanced motion sensors at the perimeters. The man hardly flinched at his voice. "What's going to become of Gotham if you were to leave?"
"Dick is more than capable of taking on Batman's mantle." Bruce said coldly. His eyes never left the monitors.
"He's hardly grim enough to take your place." Clark countered. That was almost the truest statement that had left his mouth the entire evening, he thought. "Where are you going? To renew your membership with the League of Assassins?" He cast one sidelong glance at the katana wrapped in Batman's luggage.
"You talk too much." Bruce grunted.
"Maybe because you wouldn't listen." Clark snapped defiantly.
"I'm done listening." The temperature in Bruce's voice was steadily dropping. "You've made your stance very clear."
"It was a misunderstanding."
"Must be, since you're here and not somewhere else."
Clark bit down his irritation. He was here to clarify his thoughts, not to make their argument worse. "Where else would I be?"
"I wouldn't know, I didn't read the invitation." Bruce sneered.
"It wasn't an invitation." Clark countered steadily. "It was, as you said, a farewell letter."
"Of course." Bruce snorted with obvious disbelief. "No last minute kisses?"
"He told me to come find you."
"Highly unlikely."
"I'm living proof." Clark stood his ground. "I'm only here and not scanning the skies for a Batplane because someone generously gave me the coordinates to this place."
"Charming."
"Bruce," Clark gripped his arm in exasperation, earning himself a lowering glare. "Please hear me out. I thought you were him."
That got him Bruce's full attention. He whirled around and for a second his face was as blank as Batman with his cowl off could manage. Then his eyebrows furrowed in confusion and annoyance. "What?"
Clark scratched his head apologetically. "I wasn't expecting you'd talk to me, after a month of ignoring me. Surprise dinners in civilian clothes, that's usually his thing, not yours."
Bruce shushed him with a glare. "You thought I was the other Bruce Wayne, from another dimension, delivering a farewell letter from me."
Embarrassment came easily with the way Bruce phrased his assumption. "Yes," Clark stuttered.
There followed a moment of silence. Clark almost watched the enlightenment flourish in Bruce's head as he replayed past events with the new knowledge in mind. Then Bruce scowled again and muttered, "You're an idiot."
Clark opened his mouth defensively, but Bruce pressed on anyway. "You're the dumbest, most ridiculous, and most impossible person I have ever met. You can process base-seven Kryptonian numeral systems, but you can't distinguish me from the next Bruce Wayne. I don't believe you."
Clark huffed. "In my own defence, you all look the same."
"You have x-ray vision. One scan of his organs would have sufficed." Bruce snapped. "Even Alfred offered him cookies as a guest."
"Look, I was preoccupied. I came rehearsed."
"And performed to the wrong person entirely."
"No one walks into a room and scans the internal organs of its occupants. That's just sick." Clark grumbled in frustration. "I know it sounds stupid now, but I meant what I said."
"Which part?"
Clark shut his mouth, reluctant to spell it out. "You really are impossible, aren't you?"
"Which part?" Bruce demanded again, his voice monotonous.
"The part where I said I can't enter into a relationship with him, because my heart belongs to someone else." At Bruce's unimpressed expression, Clark sighed. "You. I'm in love with you. Happy?"
"Flattered."
Clark rolled his eyes. "That is hands down the worst reaction I've ever gotten for a confession-"
His complaint was cut off by a rough tug of his uniform and a pull so strong that he almost stumbled along with the force. Then his lips were on Bruce's and they were warm and soft. Bruce was tasting the alcohol on Clark's tongue, savoring it as if the kiss was a wine tasting contest.
"You're an idiot, but I suppose you can be taught." Bruce pulled away, his expression just a tad bit smug.
"You could have done that from the start," Clark muttered.
"If I were that damn forgiving, I wouldn't be Batman." Bruce walked over to the other side of the cave and unveiled the Batmobile. Then he glared at Clark impatiently. "Get in."
"Where are we going?" Clark looked back in confusion. He clarified, just as a precaution, "I'm not climbing the Paektu Mountains with you."
"How romantic," Bruce retorted sarcastically. "Back to the Manor. I'm tired, and I want a good night's sleep." Bruce settled into the driver's seat and revved up the engines. "You're welcome to join me."
Clark shut the door uncertainly. "That was an incredibly fast change of demeanor. I'm not sure I'm picking this up correctly."
Bruce yanked his uniform in frustration and kissed him again, this time putting in a little more effort at emphasizing what he wanted. Bruce's mouth was hot and demanding. His entire weight was crushing onto Clark, despite their awkward positions. There was a rhythmic series of sounds escalating in speed, drumming at the back of Clark's mind. The kiss ended sloppy and they were panting like teenagers, both uncomfortably hard against their uniforms.
"There, proof enough?" Bruce tugged on his cowl and stepped on the gas. The vehicle shot out of the cave, all his other equipment abandoned and forgotten.
In that momentary silence as they drove onto the road, Clark heard it again. The reverberating thunks of Bruce's fast-beating heart. They were followed by a matching set as Clark felt his own heart beating furiously, full of desire and anticipation.
This feeling was what he didn't share with the other Bruce.
"I've known for a while." Bruce said grudgingly after a while, as if he was forced to admit to a weakness. Then again, being emotionally vulnerable would always be considered a weakness by the master of control. "My gossip queen of a son and my supremely garrulous doppelgänger have lectured me enough on the subject."
"Tell me how long 'a while' is."
"Half a month." Bruce snorted.
Clark smiled. He looked away, out the window at Gotham's skyline. The city where he had first met the lunatic dressed in an animal themed costume. "Twenty years."
There was stunned silence on the other side of the car. Clark chuckled pensively to himself. "I've known for twenty years." He stole a glance at Bruce. He looked both frustrated and annoyed, even a touch of being adorably shy, behind the safety of his cowl. "Looks like the other Bruce's visit has cut my waiting short."
Bruce grunted, refusing to show any appreciation. "You said the other Bruce was everything you've wanted."
"Was." Clark rubbed his hands together nervously, then thoughtfully. "Then I realized... that sharing the same DNA didn't mean sharing the same history, memories, personality, preferences, conversations, or actions. And those were the things that made you different."
"Hm."
"He's at best your clone. A great person on his own," Clark clarified quickly. "But never comparable. The difference is as vast as that between Kal-El and Kon-El. I hope you wouldn't say you'd fall into Conner's arms the moment he invites you."
Bruce grumbled something inaudible under his breath.
"There, you have it." Clark chuckled. "That's exactly how I feel. Now you remember that."
Bruce rolled his eyes behind the white lenses, but his lips were curving involuntarily into a smile.
The warmth spreading in his chest spoke of satisfaction and promise.