A/N: I hope you like this chapter. Please read and review! Also, thanks for bearing with me as I slowly update. School; what can you do?
"I'm going to kill you, Kent," he groused, staring out the taxi window. The man next to him grinned, thought the other, like an idiot. He turned to face his friend, serious demeanor not lessened by the dapper black suit and tie characteristic of his social side. "I've got a little green buddy in my pocket and you know I'm not afraid to use him," he vowed.
"I dunno if that's normal, Bruce," said Clark Kent jovially, feigning concern. He'd long since grown used to the precautionary measure Bruce remained prepared to take, found himself thankful for it even. Unwilling to pass up the opportunity to tease the severe man, he continued. "Maybe you should get that looked at." Bruce merely stared at him stonily as the grin split Clark's boyish face once more. The larger man started laughing, snorting just a bit as his booming mirth quieted to a chortle. "Aw, come on, Bruce. Lighten up. It's boys' night out." He good-naturedly and unconsciously clamped a large hand on Bruce's shoulder a little too forcefully, but the latter refused to flinch.
"John and Wally do just fine on their little escapades without our company," Bruce noted gravely as Clark lowered his arm. "I don't see why they need us."
"But they don't need us," Clark said happily. "They want us along. Isn't that great?" He straightened his dark blue pinstriped lapels and red tie. "I don't know about you, but I feel pretty honored." Proceeding to adjust his glasses, he peered out his own left side window hopefully, looking for the classy corner drinkery. "We've never been invited before."
"Why did I let you talk me into this?"
"Aside from Wally's puppy eyes?" Clark joked. "It was a combination of threat and the promise of information."
Bruce's eyes darkened and he turned to look out the right-facing window again, actually dreading the evening to come more than the previous evening's social façade, a movie premiere, "Seriously? 'The Softspoken'? Who wrote this stuff?" he'd wondered. He'd been forced to socialize with at least one hundred different people at the post-premiere party, and the blonde on his arm, as always, had a way of reminding him of his past.
"A drinkery doesn't seem the usual hang out for John and Wally," Bruce added in the present. "It's not the place to pick up the kind of women they're usually into."
"They classed it up for Bruce Wayne," Clark chuckled. "We both know you wouldn't have agreed to go to 49th Street. You can't be seen just anywhere."
Bruce said nothing as the taxi pulled aside their destination, but plastered a playboy smile on his face the moment he exited the cab, paying the driver and providing a handsome tip despite Clark's insistences that they should split the fee. Clark, as Bruce's go-to reporter on serious business, had spent a fair amount of time in Bruce's company outside of their patrols, various missions, and now the Watchtower, but this would be the first time they'd embarked on an excursion for pleasure, and Clark was still mildly in awe of how well Bruce comported himself in public under constant scrutiny. Even now, he noted, several passersby on the wide sidewalks rubber-necked the debonair millionaire, and Clark by extension.
"And to think, we took a cab to deter attention," Clark mentioned mildly, smiling as he watched Bruce's social charade. "With the notice you're drawing, we could have just taken the limo."
Bruce just smiled and laughed confidently, causing a few model-esque women in short skirts and stilettos to giggle and bat their eyes as they passed by. Bruce winked and the pretty ladies giggled louder, near swooning, Clark thought. The blonde one threw him an interested look, and he blushed.
"Well, come on, Kent," Bruce encouraged boldly. He patted the larger fellow on the shoulder, a devilishly handsome grin splitting his face ear to ear. "We can't keep John and Wally waiting. It's boy's night."
Following as Bruce swaggered confidently into the drinkery, Clark mentally prepared himself for the razzing sure to come from his friends this night for being the shyest member of their small party. With Bruce keeping up his playboy arrogance, John boasting Marine confidence, and Wally sporting his innocent yet wildly flirtatious persona, quiet Kansas-raised farm boy Clark Kent was sure to be the most mild. Truthfully, he wasn't even sure that he wanted to attract womanly attention. Almost everyone except the coworker in question knew that he had, for the past seven years now, only had eyes for a certain hard-hitting female reporter on staff with him at the Daily Planet…
"Hey, guys!" came a voice from across the masculine, modern pub. Wally's red hair was hard to miss even if the direction of his vocal origin had been compromised. Clark waved a large hand and Bruce smiled assuredly as the men made their way through the respectably sized crowd to their friends. Wally and John sat across from each other in the northern most booth, looking cheerful.
Bruce surreptitiously took inventory of his surroundings. Large class windows encased the eastern and southern walls of the drinkery. Sleek, dark wood booths with padded leather seats paralleled these walls while a west facing glass and metal bar—behind which were mounted floor to ceiling mirrors and all manner of drinks on wooden shelves—stood opposite the seating arrangements. Through an open doorway into a back room, Bruce could see at least one pool table surrounded mostly by men. A fair, brunette woman in black sat perched on a high stool to its left. A man had a blonde women pressed against a west wall, and they looked like they were thoroughly enjoying themselves with flirtatious suggestion. The walls he could see, with the exception of that behind the bar, sported dark wood paneling on their lower halves and an attractive brown paint on their uppers. The crown molding was as impressive as the hardwood floors beneath his feet. All in all, Bruce thought as he noticed a leggy red-head making a new selection at the drinkery's modern equivalent of a juke box on the north wall by the bar, a seemingly reputable, fashionable place.
"John, Wally," greeted Bruce warmly, not breaking stride when they looked at him as though he'd grown two heads. "Okay, so let's get something clear here, we're starting a tab, and I'm buying!" He grinned handsomely. "If you'll excuse me for a second, I've seen something I like and I need to make an acquisition." He winked and walked toward the blonde in the next room, and his friends watched in awe as he stole her attention away from the other man like he hadn't had her pressed up against the paneling only moments before.
"So THIS is Bruce-y in his down time," Wally murmured. The man forsaken by the blonde walked right past their table, looking disgruntled. "I know I knew it, but billionaire playboy Bats just doesn't compute…"
John elbowed the younger man as he scooted over to allow Clark to sit.
"Watch it, Wally," John admonished. In many ways, he thought of the youth as his younger brother. "I didn't think I needed to tell you not to bring up that sensitive information in public." His glowing green eyes looked reprimanding for a moment before turning to scope out the scene. He wore a brown leather jacket and handsome camouflage dress shirt with brown slacks in which he felt most confident he'd attract the eyes of the fairer sex.
Wally looked crestfallen with the realization that he'd only known the Batman's identity for a few months and already he could have potentially exposed it, but he cheered readily when a curvy woman with a killer smile winked at him from near the bar. He scuffed a green converse shoe into the hardwood under the table.
"Sometimes it's hard to wrap your head around," Clark said. "I've known him for most of my career, and I'm still getting used to it. He's an actor."
Just as Clark said this, the actor returned with not only the blonde women on his arm, but also the fair brunette. The former he introduced as Brittany and the latter as Rebecca. It didn't take long for Clark to realize that Bruce intended Rebecca for him, not that this stopped Wally from hitting on her. Her eyes, however, were only for Clark, no matter how uncomfortable it made him. A gorgeous woman named Monique with a feisty personality befitting the unruly curls brushing her mocha cheeks eventually took up residence near Wally, and John had no trouble convincing the leggy red-head, Claudia, to share a few drinks with him.
A few hours and many drinks later, John and Wally decided to take a cab to their respective homes. The hour was late into the early morning but, despite their offers to share the ride, Bruce and Clark—noticeably less intoxicated—remained behind, content instead to walk the five miles back to Clark's apartment where Bruce, strangely enough, had agreed to spend the rest of the night rather than take the long return trip to Gotham. As they walked, Bruce suffered the chilly night air. Clark, not feeling the cold, only noticed with the contraction of Bruce's fists as the latter stuffed them into his pockets.
"Dick covering for you?" he asked noncommittally over the blare of a car horn. Metropolis traffic never rested just as downtown never slept.
Bruce nodded mutely, turning his face up toward the faded stars barely visible over the city's nightly glow.
"He's a good kid," said Clark, venturing to break the quiet again. "You should be proud of him."
"I am," replied Bruce briefly. Again they lapsed into silence. Bruce knew that he had to ask his questions, and Clark guessed just what information his friend sought. However, knowing Clark was reluctant to break Diana's confidence in any way, Bruce, who respected the woman but had fewer qualms about violating others' privacy than did his friend, negotiated the territory slowly.
Bruce laid a hand on Clark's arm and halted him under the glow of a street light. Around them, dinners served their wears and a club remained in full swing. He unconsciously backed ever so slightly into Clark's shadow. "I won't waste words," he began. "I could find out other ways, but I thought this the least evasive." He made direct, unabashed eye contact with his friend and again unconsciously spoke in the low, dark voice of the Batman. "I've gathered Diana is seeing a Col. Steve Trevor. I need some information on him."
If Bruce hadn't been so deadly serious, Clark would have laughed to see his friend take such serious interest in a woman. His envy was palpable. However, as long as said interest was directed at Diana, rather than Lois—as it had once been—or Selina—the woman he knew had broken Bruce's heart—he supposed it could be good for Bruce to take a sincere romantic risk again. Diana was a confident, no-fuss woman, and Clark knew she was strong enough not to be mulled over by the hard-headed Dark Knight.
"He's in the Air Force, strong, determined, sincere." Clark rubbed his chin contemplatively. "He's brave, I know, and he's seen a lot of action, but Diana says he's maintained a good sense of humor. He's very considerate of her, almost to the point that she's bothered by his chivalry. She's too independent a woman for that kind of thing."
"Amazonian pride," Bruce reiterated. "Is he a security threat?"
"Not that I'm aware of. He's dating her as Wonder Woman and Diana Prince."
Bruce stood hushed for a moment, then turned and continued walking toward Clark's apartment as though nothing had happened, but Clark sensed the conversation wasn't over. Tense silence reigned, but the night swallowed the clutter Clark's emotions, leaving him with a deep feeling of comradery. He was also relieved that he'd needed not reveal anything about Diana's private life that she'd not feel comfortable revealing herself. In fact, if Bruce could get over his pride and let his feelings for the Amazonian be scrutinized, he and his princess—Clark would never let him know that Diana loved Batman's nickname for her—were close enough friends that he could find out any information he needed from her. Bruce, in contrast to Clark, felt the night darkening his brooding apprehensions about his princess's relationship.
As they reached the door to Clark's apartment, Bruce asked a final question, the look in his eyes strangely vulnerable. "Is she sleeping with him?"
Clark, momentarily shocked, stared at his friend wide eyed. "Isn't that kind of hypocritical, Bruce?" His mouth out sped his common courtesy, so shocked was he. "You sleep with everybody."
Bruce nailed him with a stare sharp enough to pin him like an insect to the wall. "Not for me," he nearly growled. "Not for purity or piety or anything you want to attach to it." Suddenly, he looked down, refusing to meet Clark's gaze. How strange, the latter thought.
"A woman can get into trouble that way," mumbled Bruce, clearing his throat. He looked at Clark sternly again. "I'm concerned for a teammate unused to our world and customs. Her exposure to men is limited. How much can she know about sex?" he challenged.
Clark looked at him with an abiding sense of pity. If only he could tell him. There was something about Diana that no one else knew. "It's not an issue," Clark continued. "Amazons love freely, but Diana isn't interested in a physical relationship right now."
Bruce exhaled, relived but remaining expressionless. Clark put a hand on his shoulder and opened the door. "Come on," he said, "I'll get the sofa bed ready."
Someday she'll have to tell you, Clark thought as he closed the door; he could swear of course to nothing, but somehow he knew the spark between his friends would develop, naturally. Someday, you'll have to know.