Clark Isn't Spying

When Clark saw Robin again, it was like the first time ma and pa took him into the city to watch the circus. All the colors and the lights and magic. He was starstruck and slack-jawed.

Robin was amazing.

A slight swivel of his hips and some inexplicable trick with his leg, and a thug's shotgun went flying through the air. And before Clark even fully processed that there was a giant of a man with a mean-looking stick rampaging toward the boy, Robin was suddenly already above him, with his delicate, little, green-gloved hands on his massive shoulders and his pixie-booted feet in the air. Then Robin defied all the physics behind the conservation of momentum (or at least, what little Clark remembered from his years in school) by flipping his legs backwards and causing the 200 pound man to lose his balance and slam head-first into the gravel underneath.

Robin landed on his feet so lightly it was hard to believe he really couldn't fly. And it was even harder to believe he didn't have super-speed or the magical ability to allow bullets to pass through his body without causing him any harm. Three times Clark could have sworn a bullet's trajectory would pierce straight through his skull. But it didn't. Of course it didn't.

Apparently, Superman's help had never been needed here. His idea of an excuse to check on them was quickly becoming more and more silly. What was he thinking? He never came to Gotham to help Batman out before. Maybe except that one time, in the very beginning when he first heard about the black-clad vigilante, which also became the last when it became quite clear to his younger, more naïve self that he wasn't quite as welcome in Gotham. Then what was he expecting this time? Although Robin seemed quite nice and-

"So, that was the last of them." Robin was suddenly beside him. Really. He was suddenly beside Clark.

"Yes it was." And suddenly Batman was beside him too. In fact, he was suddenly right beside him. This was not his night.

"What brought you to Gotham, Superman?" Robin grinned at him.

"Oh, I…" He cleared his throat, "just decided to drop by."

Robin seemed curious and opened his mouth to say something, but he glanced at Batman and thought better of it. Instead, he reached out and touched Clark's red, billowing cape.

"What's it feel like to fly? Were you always able to?"

"No, when I was younger I couldn't fly. It only came to me when I was about eighteen."

"How was it like? For the first time?"

"Confusing and… not very pleasant, actually."

"What? Really? Why not?"

"He used to be afraid of heights." Batman answered, "The only reason why he ever did attempt to fly was by pure accident when he fell from the top of his barn."

It was true. It was not a secret, but he could not recall ever telling Batman or any of the leaguers about this.

"How do you-"

"Really?" Robin smiled, easy and happy and not at all unkind. "I always wanted to fly," He said to Batman.

"Yes I know."

"Can I fly the batwing today? I remember everything you told me."

"I know you do, but not today. It's getting late."

Robin looked mildly disappointed, "Can we fly it tomorrow then? For practice?"

"We'll see."

The little smile on Dick's lips spoke of some delight beyond of just getting what he wanted. Clark didn't understand it, but apparently Batman did.

"Come."

"Okay. Bye Superman, see ya' around."

And Clark watched them disappear into the shadows.

A couple of days later, Clark was passing through Gotham. It was the shortest way there was. Really. He didn't come to spy on Batman or Robin or anything. Really, he didn't. He would never overstay his welcome in Batman's city. And he certainly wasn't flying slower than usual because he was listening. No, that would be absurd.

Besides, it was quiet tonight. He couldn't find Batman and Robin even if he tried (which he wasn't doing). So when he heard a familiar voice that he heard often enough on T.V., radio, interviews and basically everything that could be called 'publicity', Clark couldn't say he was disappointed.

"Don't make me repeat myself, Dick."

"I can help, Bruce."

"No. You're staying here."

"Why not?"

"Because I said so."

And for a second, Clark thought Bruce Wayne sounded awfully like somebody else.

"Bruce, don't leave!"

Clark heard the sound of footsteps on rock that echoed from all directions, as if somebody was running through a tunnel. Then there was an array of very confusing noises, followed by a heavy thud.

"Ow." It was the boy. He had been hurt. And when Clark strained, he could hear the sickening sound of blood oozing out of tender tissue.

Did Wayne hit the boy? Did he hurt him? Clark quickly felt dread rise in him again. He was about to do something. He didn't exactly have a plan, but he had to-

"Dick," And Clark never quite heard such raw emotions in a single syllable.

A small groan, "It's a cut from… you know. It's nothing. It's just a healing scar."

Wait, what? Scars? Cuts?

"Strip."

Clark focused and heard the sound of fabric sliding off skin, quickly followed by the whisper of skin against skin. Then a slick, wet sound.

He heard Dick whimper slightly. More slickness.

"Don't do that again, Dick."

At this point, Clark's head was spinning with what in the world was going on? He no longer cared that he promised not to spy on Bruce Wayne again, this was just too weird.

He used his supervision to see past the Manor's walls and quickly found the place where the voices were coming from. They were in some sort of huge basement, and Bruce Wayne was-

What the hell. (He didn't care that ma would probably chastise him for cursing.)

Bruce Wayne was wearing Batman's suit, and Batman's gauntlets and Batman's car was inexplicably beside him. It was clearly Bruce Wayne. He had his cowl pulled back, so Clark didn't even have to peek to see that it was Bruce Wayne.

"My suit is designed to electrocute any unwanted advances, Dick." Wayne-in-a-Batman-costume drenched a cotton ball in a liquid that appeared to be alcohol. "So don't try jumping on my back again."

"But as Robin?"

"The Robin costume has an infused chip that my suit recognizes. It won't happen when you're wearing it, but that doesn't mean you should be trying to do it again."

"Oh."

What? Robin costume? Electrocution?

Wayne pressed the cotton ball into the bloody stitches. The boy winced and Wayne's whole body seemed to tense for a split second.

"I'm okay, Bruce. Really."

"You're not. Your stitches were reopened when the jolt pushed you into the cave wall. The wound has to be closed again."

"M' Sorry, Bruce."

Then it hit Clark like a smack in the face. Stitches. Scars. Suits. Bruce Wayne was-

Good lord in heaven almighty.

And he might have just said that out loud. Really loudly. Because Bruce Wayne- no- Batman (it really was him) turned around to look at something and stalked off. But Clark reassured himself that he couldn't possibly have heard him. Bruce Wayne- Batman didn't have superhearing and there was no way-

"What. Are. You. Doing?"

To his credit, Clark didn't scream like a little girl.

"Batman! I mean, Mr. Way- Uh! Batman," Clark swallowed once, then again, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to spy. I just thought I'd… heard something."

"What did you hear, Clark Kent?"

Clark felt pointedly horrified, "Y- you knew?"

Of course he did.

"I asked you a question."

"I heard somebody uh… fall down." That was a lie. They both knew it. "Really, Batman, I didn't mean to-"

"Quiet." And God, was he pissed, "What do you think you're doing in Gotham?"

"I was uh- passing through."

"Leave." Clark flinched. If he ever thought Batman's white lenses were terrifying, then he was dead wrong. The burning hostility in Bruce Wayne's icy blue eyes was so much worse.

"Alright, I'm going. I'm really sorr-"

"Just. Go."

Clark flew away as fast as he could. That was one thing he would never want to go through again. Ever.