A/N: A little midweek bonus chapter, here! I wanted to see if I could manage a satisfying one-shot in under 500 words. I don't entirely love it so it won't be my weekly update.

~Quandary~

Bruce had successfully escaped the medbay.

He ached from the beating he'd taken (when would S.T.A.R. Labs learn how to keep control of their giant killer robots?) and he probably wasn't doing his sprained knee any favors. But there was no way he was going to let J'onn hold him there. He had work to do—he'd survived plenty of mild concussions and bruised ribs before, and he'd do it again.

Maybe after he caught Poison Ivy and finished analyzing the evidence from last week's double murder he would crawl into bed for a few hours' sleep with a handful of aspirin and a good number of ice packs.

He was deep in thoughts of gunshot wound angles, and nearly ran straight into Clark.

"Aren't you supposed to be asleep in the medbay?" Clark gave him a look of utter disapproval and Bruce groaned.

Bruce crossed his arms, despite his protesting bruises. "I have things to do."

Clark sighed. "Will you answer me something honestly?"

"What." Bruce was not in the mood for these games, but if it got Clark to shut up then fine.

"Who are you trying to impress?" Clark asked.

Bruce blinked at him.

"See, you've known me for eight years. I doubt you care what I think." Clark was x-raying him, he could tell. "And despite that thing you've got with Di I doubt you really worry about she thinks of you, or else you wouldn't keep stringing her on. Flash will be both awed and frightened by you no matter what you do."

"I don't know what you're getting at," Bruce said.

"Just follow along." Clark walked with him towards the teleporter room. "You and GL have camaraderie, but he'd be telling you to get some rest, too. You and Hawkgirl don't seem to care about each other one way or another."

"And," Clark continued, pointedly, "J'onn would be able to see through whatever bullshit you put up, no matter how good your telepath defenses are. Something you seem to mildly dislike him for, I might add."

Bruce stopped walking and glared at him. Clark smiled knowingly.

"So I ask you again," Clark said. "Who are you trying to impress?"

Bruce held his gaze for a good fifteen seconds before he finally let his shoulders slump. "All right. I'll go to bed. But I'm not going back to the medbay."

Clark shrugged. "Good enough for me."

It wasn't until Bruce was in his room, under the covers with lovely painkillers coursing through his system and ice against his sore ribs that he had the passing fancy that he ought to listen to Clark more often.