"I've had this before, haven't I?" Bruce looked at the capsule in his hand. He rolled it in his palm.

Clark nodded pensively. They were standing across each other in his apartment, and the sun was setting behind them. He planned it to be a special evening. He had prepared a speech, but he wanted Bruce to remember an event before it happened. The function of the memory capsule, however... That was one thing Clark didn't want Bruce to remember. Nonetheless, God seemed to be playing with his chances.

"When I take it, I'll remember something from the past." Bruce's voice was certain and emotionally detached. Somehow, he had figured it out.

Clark supposed at some point Bruce would, for all his intelligence and perceptiveness. He just didn't want it to be this night. Still, he admitted, "Yes."

"Something tells me we've had this conversation before."

Clark locked eyes with the detective. He sighed. "Yes, we have."

"But I don't have the memory that you gave me before." Bruce's eyebrows furrowed. "I forget them." He concluded.

Clark shook his head. He felt like a criminal stuck in an interrogation. Facing Batman, no less.

"I forget them, don't I?" Bruce pressed. His voice caught onto a new urgency. "Tell me."

"Your brain cannot retain memories." Clark breathed out slowly. "It keeps a memory for a while, long enough for…" He bit his lower lip. "Then it slips. It goes… and doesn't come back."

"You said… You said I've gotten better." Bruce muttered. Disappointment marred his voice.

Clark nodded. "You have." He said carefully. Then, with a pause, he added quietly, "I never said you've fully recovered." I don't think you ever will.

Bruce seemed to have understood the unspoken. For a silent moment, he seemed to be warring with himself. Then his disappointment melted into dejected understanding. Slowly his gaze landed on the capsule. "What's in there?"

"I don't remember." Clark replied. It wasn't a lie.

"You don't remember." Bruce repeated. His eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"I… don't. No." Clark admitted. There, his secret was out.

Bruce regarded him for an odd few seconds. There was a dangerous undertone to his voice when he spoke, "This is what's been happening? You've been donating memories to me?"

"I didn't know what else to do." Clark said defensively. "It doesn't matter… What's done is done."

Bruce sat down on the couch and held his forehead silently. Those suffocating seconds strangled Clark, muting his hope for the night. He was certain that all his efforts were lost to Bruce's distrust. That fragile connection that he had strengthened in the past few days, lost in one confession.

At last, Bruce sighed. "What's done is done." He turned the capsule in his fingers, grimacing. "If you know the side-effects, I'm sure you've taken precautions." The look he sent Clark dared him to say he was dumb enough to not have done so. "You know what's in there."

"It's… an important memory." Clark answered truthfully. Regardless of everything, he smiled. His thoughts seemed to be far away. He was no longer looking at the capsule, but at Bruce. "It was the happiest day of my life. I want you to share it."

Bruce frowned. "Sharing implies that we both have it."

Clark shook his head, still stretching a wistful smile across his face. "Then that's not how the world works."

"You're an idiot." Bruce snapped. "Stop donating memories, Clark. It doesn't help either of us." He put the capsule back onto Clark's palm, and folded his hand. At Clark's protest, Bruce's glare softened. "Show me your memory. Show me how it was, where we were. We can build these new memories together."

Clark flew them to Smallville. At Bruce's questioning glance, he led them out onto the unending spans of meadows. Moonlight draped across them like satin, its touch light, smooth, and soft. Clark seemed to have memorized every turn. They found a soft patch of land that offered their backs the comfort of a mattress. They laid down in the lawn, hand in hand, shoulders touching. In the vast, undisturbed lands, it was only them, gazing up at the stars beneath the velvety night sky.

For a long while, they didn't speak. At hearing Bruce's relaxed heart beat, Clark sighed. "We should have done this right from the start."

"I'm aware of that." Bruce replied. In reluctant acknowledgement of Clark's efforts, he added, "If I had known, I would have helped. That is, if you had debriefed me on the situation, instead of trying to handle everything on your own."

"Love makes one blind." Clark smiled. He got a low grunt as an answer.

For some time they were completely immersed in the silent beauty of the night sky. Absorbed were they in the freedom and privacy that seemed so rare, and so precious. The grass was soft on their backs, with each breeze came a gentle hum that urged Clark to find his courage. Clark's hand swiped past his pocket thrice, but each time he hesitated and lowered his arm again.

At last, Bruce heaved a sigh. "You know my answer, Clark."

Clark stayed silent for a second, then with a soft chuckle, he complained, "You didn't even let me ask."

Bruce cocked an eyebrow challengingly. "Were you going to? I was waiting."

"At some point in the next three hours, I would have summoned the necessary amount of courage."

"You've asked once. Though it feels like centuries and millennia ago, you did." Bruce's voice was as certain as it was in their wedding video, when he restated his vows for the world to hear. "And for all those years combined, my answer hasn't changed."

Clark smiled. His hand went to his pocket, and he pulled out a ring. "Hold up your hand." He asked, without looking at Bruce. The man held up his hand lazily.

"Popping the question on our backs. This is relaxing." Bruce mused aloud.

"We've done it the proper way, now we're doing it the romantic way." Clark held Bruce's hand and gently slid the ring onto Bruce's finger. "It fits perfectly."

Bruce held up his hand before his eyes and stared at the ring. He scrutinized it for a moment and wagged his finger to test the weight. "You went for platinum?"

"It won't wear down this time."

Bruce turned to him. "This time it's for eternity, isn't it?"

Clark propped himself up and pressed a soft kiss on Bruce's forehead. "Every time it's for eternity, Bruce. Every time."

Clark held Bruce's hand and brushed his finger against the ring. Suddenly a vision flashed before his eyes.

That same strip of white gold, worn over time, wrapped around someone's finger. The skin was wrinkled, the flesh was cold. The ring left an ugly purple band on skin that had almost dulled to ashen. He had watched that body disappear from sight, watched a lid be placed on top of a coffin.

Clark instinctively brought up a topic that he otherwise would have avoided. Somehow, he wanted to know.

"Bruce," Clark whispered. He kept his eyes on the stars. "Do you believe in heaven?"

Bruce's reply was quick and precise. "Technically, no."

"Right." Clark chuckled. "Technically is how Batman's mind works."

"It's not how Bruce Wayne's mind works." Bruce countered nonchalantly. "If there is no afterworld, what will we strive for?"

"Say there is one…" Clark whispered, "What will you do for millennia…" while I am alive and you are gone?

"Enjoy my retirement." Bruce answered without missing a beat. At Clark's silence, he sighed, "Put on a cloak and be intimidating around other souls, I suppose. My lifelong career."

"I thought there'd be no crime in heaven for you to fight." Clark mused aloud.

"I'll probably be in hell, Clark." Bruce propped himself up. His face was serious. Clark's eyes widened as expected.

"Don't say that."

"Why not?" Bruce rolled his eyes. "In essence, I'm not a good person. I've done plenty of justified things, but I'm clinically a psychopath with violent tendencies. Just with an intelligent mind and a stubborn fixation for my own sense of justice."

Clark shook his head. "Don't say that."

"You asked. I'm just being honest." Bruce laid back down. "But if the ruler of the afterworld gave me a choice, you know what I'd be?"

"Commander of Hades's Secret Service?"

"... I'm burning all your James Bond DVDs."

"Well, tell me." Clark prompted, suddenly interested.

Bruce looked contemplative for a moment. "I'd be a raven."

"A raven?" Clark frowned. "You mean the bird?"

"Surprised?" Bruce cocked an eyebrow.

"No, not really." Clark smiled, remembering his Robins. "Why not? Your entire house is filled with flying animals, big and small." He sensed Bruce's annoyance without needing a response. When Bruce refused to continue his explanation, Clark prompted again. "Tell me why then."

"I'd be a guardian for someone." Bruce answered. There was a bittersweet quality to his explanation. "A messenger, when their time is near."

"Whose guardian?" Clark muttered. "Because if you say Dick, I'll be really-"

Bruce's lips silenced him with a soft, gentle kiss. "Who do you think?"

Clark grinned. "You're such a tease. You'd turn into a harmless flying animal for me?"

"Emphasize harmless again and you're dead."

"I'll want to be dead, when you're a free raven roaming the underworld, sending lost souls their Valentine's." Clark murmured thoughtfully. "It'll be a long wait before I get your invitation then, I suppose?"

"The longer the wait, the sweeter the kiss."

"I'll hold that against you, Bruce. If that kiss isn't as good as you've promised, we'll have to do it again and again, until I'm satisfied."

Bruce smirked. He climbed up and gave Clark another kiss, then another again, again and again. "But you're never satisfied."

Clark looked into clear blue eyes and smiled. "Exactly."