Sorry this chapter took so long. After you read, you'll know why.

Chapter 4

It was cloudy in Gotham. The overbearing storm that had rolled in earlier that week was beginning to dissipate, but at the moment it still hung over the streets, threatening to follow the mist from last night with another. The air was charged with the promise of rain; the fresh yet ominous smell of ozone drifted by with every gentle gust of wind. The absence of the sun made it impossible to even guess what time it was, forcing Clark to check his watch. One-thirteen. He had made good time.

The clouds had offered him sufficient cover almost all the way from Metropolis, which was fortunate, because he'd made the flight in his business suit. Though he didn't like using his powers in the open he had done it often enough to know how to get away with it. When covering long distances flying was really the only way to go.

"We'll go down Ella" a rough Brooklyn voice addressed him. "Less traffic that way."

"That's fine."

He clenched his teeth and braced himself as the cab he was riding in gave a violent lurch to the left, sending it ducking down a shadowy side street. Clark had transferred to a taxi a few miles outside of the city where it was safer to land without anyone seeing him. Riding in cars with other passengers always made him nervous, especially when someone else was at the wheel. Unlike most taxi cab patrons it wasn't the fear of crashing that led him to avoid using the service whenever possible. It was that if they did crash, he'd have some very uncomfortable questions to answer when he emerged from the wreckage unscathed. Of course Clark assumed that risk whenever he used public transportation—which was why he didn't take it often—but today he had no choice. The only time he'd ever been to the Wayne building was at night when he could fly directly to the roof. He didn't know Gotham's labyrinth of confusing streets well enough to be able to navigate them on foot, and he couldn't just fly through the center of the city in the middle of the day.

The cab made another swerve, this time accompanied by a string of colorful obscenities from the driver. Clark was forced to fling his arm out to brace himself against the side of the car. It took all of his concentration just to hold himself steady without bending the metal frame with his inhuman strength.

He was beginning to think coming at night would have been easier. After his conversation with Diana yesterday, that had been his initial plan; but the more he had thought about it the more he had realized it probably wouldn't work. Even under normal circumstances you usually didn't find Batman, he found you, and Bruce seemed to be extremely intent on guarding his activities as of late. Personally, Superman had his own string of theories regarding the suspicious behavior. What he'd said to Diana yesterday was no exaggeration. He knew when the Joker was involved there were almost no lengths Batman wouldn't go to in order to restore some shred of safety to the world.

There were very few people who would have understood it. Most heroes took one look at a villain like the Joker, whose only weapon was his own insanity, and immediately underestimated what he was capable of. Supernatural abilities had become so prevalent in the crime fighting world that hardly anyone thought an individual without them could pose a significant threat. Superman was one of the few who knew better than to make that mistake.

Clark had never known what it was like to live without the burden of responsibility. Having lived on Earth almost his entire life, he had never felt estranged from his adopted race, but there had been occasions—especially growing up—where the differences between them had been made more obvious than others. Though he had always made an effort to fit into the humans' world, he'd never lost or forgotten his own unique heritage. Part of this was because of a personal choice. The other was out of necessity.

As a child Clark Kent had never been able to run at full speed or try out for the football team or do any one of a thousand things normal children could. He wasn't allowed to lose his temper. He wasn't allowed to lose control in any way. Like walking in a house of glass, he wasn't able to ever properly release the tension that built up in his body and mind from keeping his powerful abilities locked away. He'd never told this to anyone, but while he did fight crime to aid the greater good, he also did it to satisfy a power inside of him that needed release. And in working so hard to protect other people from himself and others, Clark had come to understand human beings both as a foreign race and as his own. As such, he had a great deal of respect for the power of the human spirit.

Any species that could create someone like Adolf Hitler was not one to be taken lightly.

This was not to say Superman wasn't guilty of overlooking such a fact at times. His first encounter with Batman was a good example. He'd been prepared for a dozen reactions when they had first met in a seedy bar on the underbelly of Metropolis several years ago. Being judo-thrown into a table wasn't one of them. After returning the blow with one of his own, Superman had decided to use his x-ray powers to gain an advantage over his opponent. That was how he had learned of Bruce Wayne's dark secret.

To this day Clark still wasn't sure what made him do it. It wasn't in his nature to use his powers to tread on the privacy of others, much less other heroes. Though not all crime fighters saw eye to eye they did share a common unspoken code that governed their interactions—the foremost rule of which was that secret identities were to be respected. It was a professional courtesy so universal it bordered on sacred law; but somehow, when dealing with Batman, upholding those morals just didn't seem as important. That night Clark had stepped over them without a second thought. His advantage, however, had not come without a price. For all his experience with people, knowing the name behind the mask had led him to immediately misjudge his opponent. A skillfully planted tracer was all it took for that mistake to cost him his own identity.

His relationship with Batman had changed little since then. To say they were friends may have been going a bit far, but over the years they'd developed an understanding between them that led to the evolution of a unique respect—a mutual agree to disagree. From the initial few hours of knowing one another they had met on equal ground. That night in the bar was the first time Superman had ever been thrown by a mere human. It was also the first time he'd flattened one into a wall without exactly holding back. Working with Batman over the years had given him an insight into a different breed of criminal that he hadn't known existed—one more subtle and sometimes more dangerous than a metahuman threatening to blow up the Earth. And just as Batman wasn't well-equipped to fight Braniac, Superman knew to leave certain criminals up to the Dark Knight's expertise...which brought him back to the Joker and the situation at hand.

Clark's brows furrowed as his gaze drifted to look out the window of the taxi cab.

Whatever the Joker was up to, it must have been gravely serious to arrest Bruce's attention like this. Clark wasn't exactly sure why he had chosen to cease all contact with the League, but he knew Bruce had a history of being finicky when it came to his own territory. Either way, Batman's time was about up. Everyone had been willing to give him his own space but there was only so long they could drag it out. Wonder Woman was right. Someone needed to find out what was going on. Someone needed to talk to Bruce.

In the end, Superman figured Diana's method was best: surprise him at work. His first effort to track Batman down had already met with failure. He had no reason to believe a second nighttime search would end any differently. But during the day there were only so many places Bruce Wayne could be. He'd be much easier to find...to say nothing of the fact that a confrontation in public had its own set of advantages. For one, the encounter would have to remain calm and controlled for the benefit of the public eye. Bruce wouldn't be able to assume his darker demeanor with hundreds of people watching. He also wouldn't be able to brush the issue aside. With his alter ego miles away he'd be forced to deal with the situation civilly.

"I hope" Clark muttered. Unfortunately, that meant he was also restraining himself to the same rules.

The Wayne building loomed in the distance, its dark exterior perfectly at home amidst the shadows and gargoyles that pervaded Gotham city even in the light.

This was going to be interesting.

------------

"Excuse me?"

Laura Stayler glanced up briefly over her nails. Before her stretched the generous entryway of the Wayne building's forty-second floor. The long pseudo-lobby extended for approximately sixty feet in front of her desk before it ended at the elevators on the opposite side of the room.

Six hallways branched off from the area—four in front of her desk and two behind. Each corridor wound its way past countless offices, leading to the larger cubicle farms on either side of the symmetrical floor. The tan carpeting covering the entire entryway was colored several different shades in a subtle tactic to control traffic onto the floor. A long, dark strip led directly from the elevators to Ms. Stayler's desk, leading first-time visitors to unconsciously head in her direction. Around the strip the color lightened as it branched off into each of the hallways. The man that was now standing over her with a warm smile on his face had, undoubtedly, fallen for the suggestion just as he was supposed to.

Laura didn't give him much of a look. Though surprised he was able to make it past security, she wasn't overly concerned. Other than being fairly tall he didn't look to be anything out of the ordinary—black hair, black tie, gray suit—just another tight-ass businessman who'd probably gotten lost. The college-aged secretary didn't bother to try and hide the nail polish bottle sitting on her desk, much as she didn't try to hide the boredom in her voice. "Can I help you?"

The man nodded to an enormous set of mahogany doors situated directly behind her. "I'd like to see Mr. Wayne, please."

Laura did not look up. "And what did you say your name was again?"

"Clark Kent."

"Well Mr. Kent" she said. "Unless you have an appointment—" her eyes flicked up, "which I doubt—Mr. Wayne is out of his office and is not accepting visitors."

The man nodded and leaned casually on the desk, reaching a hand into the left side of his coat. "That's too bad" he said. A press badge from the Daily Planet emerged from the folds of his jacket. "Because, you see, my boss really sent me here to write a story on Mr. Wayne." He glanced down poignantly at her nails. "I'd hate to have to take one back on how hardworking his employees are instead. Your name's Laura, right?"

Clark fought back a smug smile as the girl gave him her full attention now, the nail polish bottle completely forgotten. Within seconds he could tell he was going to win this battle of wills flat out. The girl was unable to keep herself from biting her lip as she tried to think of what to do. He felt a little guilty for putting her in this position. He made a mental note to speak highly of her later so she wouldn't get into too much trouble.

He didn't have long to wait before a broad smile burst forth on the girl's features. Within seconds an innocent glow replaced the bored frown she had been wearing only moments before. Clark was shocked at how suddenly she was able to suppress her horrible attitude beneath a pleasing façade. He wondered a little uneasily if all women were capable of doing that.

"If you'll just have a seat right over there" Laura directed sweetly, "I'll see what I can do." She gestured gracefully with one finely-manicured hand to a miniature lounging area off to Clark's left. He tucked his press badge back into his coat, sheathing his weapon, and gave her his best smile.

"Thank you. I appreciate it."

As he made his way towards a large three-person couch set against the left wall between two of the hallways, Clark kept a careful ear on the secretary's motions behind him. He heard her lift the receiver on her desk and place a quick call. A subsequent series of unanswered rings from deep inside Bruce's office told Clark the CEO wasn't there. He didn't bother to pay attention to any more of Laura's activity after that. He just wanted to make sure she wasn't planning on calling security once his back was turned.

As he sat to wait, he idly picked up a newspaper from a nearby coffee table and began thumbing through it. Though the Daily Planet was a national newspaper and Gotham's was local, it was always a good idea to check up on the competition now and again. He settled upon reading an article about the recent rise in Gotham crime written by, in his professional opinion, a competent journalist. He had just read the last sentence when he heard the secretary move from her chair. He glanced up just in time to meet her vexed look before she disappeared down the hallway on the left side of Wayne's office. It was then that he heard the conversation.

The nice thing about Superman's hearing was that, unlike J'onn's, it could be directed at will. The human brain—or as close as a Kryptonian's is to one—has the ability to filter information with amazing accuracy. A person can be standing in a crowded room filled with three hundred talking voices and still be able to hold a conversation simply due to the mind's ability to distinguish sound patterns. But even though Superman's hearing was subject to his own control, it was never turned off. His subconscious mind was always scanning the atmosphere, seeking out audible flags it had learned to recognize over time. The sound of a strained voice fighting to keep itself low usually merited a little attention.

The speaker was an older woman, one who commanded a large amount of respect from the sound of it. There was a certain strength and bravado to it that projected an air of expertise. At the moment she sounded frustrated, almost as if the conversation she was currently in was neither new nor going anywhere constructive. Clark already had half an idea as to who she was talking to.

"I'll be honest with you, Bruce—"

"I expect you to be."

"—this is not looking good."

Clark's eyes drifted through the paper in his hands, seeing but not reading the text. "I have faith in you, Jessica" he heard Bruce reply. He could almost hear the woman's jaw tightening in response.

"It has nothing to do with faith. It has to do with my ability to combat the DA which, by the way, is exceedingly hard to do when he seems to have so much more information than I do."

"I've given you everything I know."

"Pardon my French, but bull shit. I've been your lawyer for a long time, Mr. Wayne, and I have never questioned you or your methods, but you have got to work with me. This is not a petty lawsuit. This is an investigation that could potentially lead to criminal charges. I need to know who that child is, where you both were that night, and why the commissioner seems to be so intent on stalling his own department. Yes, I've noticed. And so will a hundred other conspiracy theorists."

"I can only guess as to the commissioner's intentions. And as far as your other questions are concerned, I've already answered those. I don't appreciate having my integrity questioned."

"You're paying me to be on your side. Bare minimum: I'm just doing my job. But I think there's much more to this than you're telling me." She paused for a moment. "I get the feeling your actions weren't criminal, but they are suspicious. And as much as I'd like to help you, unless you explain yourself, there's not much I'm going to be able to do."

"Trust me" Bruce said earnestly. "You have everything you need."

"That's not the only issue at hand...Frankly, I'm not sure how long I'm going to be able to keep this under lock and key. The press has a nasty habit of smelling blood in the water with cases like these. Usually my main concern is with leaks from those close to you—coworkers, employees, etcetera. Obviously since this happened away from work we're covered in that area. But the doctors, the lawyers, all the hands this is changing in between...they're becoming increasingly difficult to track."

"Don't worry about those, Jessica" Bruce said. Even through the walls Clark could hear his voice take a distinctively darker tone. "Leave containment to me."

Kent pulled away as their talk skipped on to more menial matters. His mind raced quickly over the information again. Had he heard all that correctly? The DA? Criminal charges? Containment?

His first thought was a scandal. Being relatively low on the corporate ladder, he had little experience in office politics, but he did know that big businesses were falling under increased scrutiny by the public eye. Enron and Arthur Andersen had been more than enough to stir up fear in the economic market. At the same time, there was a foreboding undertone to the conversation he'd just heard that Clark felt but couldn't precisely pin down. It certainly explained why Bruce hadn't been showing up at the tower, but it didn't explain anything about the Joker or the crime waves extending out from Gotham. Were they connected? Or merely coincidence?

He didn't have time to contemplate the answer. The question had no sooner left his mind when he saw Wayne and the lawyer emerge into the lobby on the opposite side of the room. They were still so engaged in conversation that neither of them seemed to see him.

Clark noticed the limp immediately. Bruce was trying hard to hide it. His pants were a size larger than normal to cover up the bulge from the wrap on his thigh. He carried his back a little straighter and walked a little slower, but Clark could see his body instinctively reacting to the injury with every step he took.

Everything about him seemed tired.

His voice was strained, his eyes were dull, even his body looked as if it would have rather not been carrying him upright. It was unlikely anyone else would have noticed it. Even on a good day Bruce's range of emotions was offset from that of most other people's. With him a hesitant hand movement or a misplaced syllable was as telling as a smile or frown on someone else. For the most part the aspects of his persona were fabricated through precise training and control, which made it difficult to discern what was under the surface. But for those who knew what to look for it was possible to find small traces of Batman in Bruce Wayne and vice versa. They shared an inner strength that one came to recognize over time by its feel. Mention a gun around either of them and their reaction was the same. Superman had known them both for a long time, but he had never seen either of them like this.

"We'll talk about the stockholders later" Jessica was saying. A manila folder changed hands. "I take it you'll have that memorized by my next visit."

Wayne opened the file, perusing it with shadowed eyes. "Don't I always?"

She gave him a half-smile and then seemed to soften. "You'll let me know if there's anything else you need..."

"Yes" Bruce replied curtly. "Thank you Ms. Taelson."

The woman nodded and then left, heading briskly for the elevators. At that exact moment the secretary reemerged into the lobby and locked terrified eyes on her employer. Bruce shot her the smallest of glares and then returned his attention to the report in his hands as he moved towards his office. "What are you doing here."

Clark knew instantly the coarse words were directed at him. He should have known Bruce could survey a room without looking up. He glanced to the secretary in silent apology but her eyes were on the floor as she slunk back to her desk. Not bothering to wait for an invitation he knew wouldn't come, Clark followed through the mahogany doors.

The inside of Bruce's office never ceased to amaze him. It was easily the size of a large living room, nearly six times as big as the small desk he worked at every day. Books and manuals of various sorts covered the chestnut shelves lining the room's walls. Though each ledge was stacked to its fullest, nothing looked overflowing or even remotely out of place. It was as if each volume had been carefully selected and placed in order to allow for the maximum space. The walls themselves were decorated with a number of maps containing all types of colored lines and diagrams showing various areas of the United States. A few framed, glass-encased degrees reflected his image back at him as he stopped just inside the room. Mechanical Engineering and Chemistry were two of the names he caught.

"Relax" Kent said reassuringly. He took a moment to shut the doors discretely behind him. "It's just Clark." The statement was a subtle signal. From one alter ego to another he knew the importance of stipulating which level he wanted to interact at. Each name carried its own separate set of rules.

"What do you want?" Bruce asked impatiently.

He shrugged in response, trying to keep the mood light. "I came to see if you wanted to have lunch."

"From four cities away?"

"I have a lot of frequent flier miles."

His attempt at levity was lost before it ever left his lips. "I already ate."

There was a beat of silence. "You knew one of us was going to come eventually, Bruce. You're just trying to get rid of me."

"Then take the hint."

Clark crossed his arms. "All right, look. I came here to talk and I was nice enough to come in plainclothes. Now you can either have lunch with me" he changed his voice, "or you can have lunch with a friend of mine."

He knew that would get some attention. As much as he hated being cross, sometimes force was the only thing Batman understood.

For the first time the papers stopped flipping. Bruce glanced up, eyeing him intensely. "Or I could have you escorted from the building."

"Do you really want to know how that will pan out?" Clark set his jaw. "I'm not leaving. You can ignore me for as long as you want—I can wait all day—but the faster you talk to me, the faster I'll leave." He raised his right hand, the corner of his mouth turning up into a wry smile. "Scout's honor."

There was silence while Bruce searched his face, possibly looking for any signs of a bluff. Apparently he didn't find any. His hand moved to press a button on his nearby phone. "Laura?"

A familiar feminine voice responded over the speaker. "Yes, Mr. Wayne?"

"Cancel that meeting at three o'clock." Stiffly, the CEO stood from his desk and brushed past Clark. He didn't make eye contact as he passed. "We'll go downtown."

------------

Clark wasn't sure how Bruce did it, but by the time they got downstairs a black limousine was already waiting for them on the curb. Alfred was standing towards the back holding the door open.

There was a sorrow to him that was much easier to grasp. The emotions suppressed on Bruce's face played out freely upon Alfred's, particularly in his eyes. As Clark nodded to the butler and received a greeting in return, he couldn't shake the feeling he was descending into something far deeper than what he'd originally anticipated.

The smell of leather was prevalent inside the car. Clark sunk awkwardly into the black sofa-seats lining the interior. As Superman, he'd mingled with the most prestigious people in the world and had been treated to nearly every finery imaginable. But throughout it all there had always been the humble heart of a country boy deep within. Luxury made him uncomfortable. He didn't like the falsity of the rich life and he didn't like being waited on.

Bruce said nothing as he slid into his respective side of the car, facing opposite Clark. Within seconds the doors were closed and the limo eased itself into traffic. Clark noticed Bruce left the glass separating them from the driver closed. It struck him as a little strange that Bruce would leave his butler out of their conversation. Unknown to him, Alfred would hear everything of what was to follow by way of a cleverly disguised series of microphones snaking from the back of the car to the front. The glass was closed not to keep Alfred from hearing, but to keep prying eyes from seeing into the back of the limo through the front windshield.

Everyone knew the lunch routine had merely been a front to get Bruce out of his office. Clark doubted they were driving to anywhere in particular.

"I wouldn't be too hard on your secretary" he ventured after a few moments of silence. "I had to tell a couple of lies to keep her from driving me off. She's probably sitting up there right now thinking you're going to fire her."

"I'll worry about the secretary."

The reply didn't give him much to build on. Bruce may have refrained from killing people, but he was great at killing conversation. It was when Clark caught himself about to comment on the weather that he decided to just get to the point. He wasn't fooling anyone, anyway. "Why haven't you been reporting in?"

"If you've come to chastise me about my participation, I'm not in the mood."

"Believe it or not, that's not why I'm here. I'm actually doing you a favor. If it wasn't for me you'd be dealing with Diana right now. I was, however, hoping for some sort of an explanation. Three months is a long time to go without contact, Bruce—even for you. It either means something's wrong, or you've quit."

"It's neither."

"Then why the cold shoulder?"

"Call it a temporary leave of absence."

Clark's gaze shifted to the window for a moment as a person running frantically along the sidewalk caught his eye. He relaxed when he saw it was just a woman chasing after her child. "I gotta tell you, Bruce, I'm getting tired of dragging you through all this. I'm almost to the point now where if you wanted to leave I wouldn't try to stop you—though I still think it'd be a big mistake. But if you're going to do it I wish you'd make it clear so we can at least anticipate when we're not going to have your help anymore."

He turned his eyes back to meet Bruce's own. They hadn't moved or wavered an inch. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you of the recent crime wave that's gripped the northeast lately. Apparently you've been driving Gotham's criminals into the ground so hard they'd rather take their business elsewhere. That's not exactly an easy situation for the League to handle with one-seventh of the equation missing. I gotta hand it to you: I didn't think it was possible, but you cleaned up Gotham all by yourself in one fail swoop. What I can't understand is why you'd do that and then leave the other cities to fend for themselves."

No answer.

Clark sighed. This was like trying to drag a kid to the dentist. "All right, fine. We'll play this your way, then...I know about the Joker."

"Do you."

The words startled him into a brief silence. He hadn't been expecting what he'd felt in Bruce's voice. There was a bitter depth to it that he had never heard before, not even from Batman. Within seconds of uttering the name a shadow passed over Bruce's face, hardening his eyes. This wasn't the calm persona Clark had come here expecting to deal with. Bruce was controlled enough on the surface, but underneath there seemed to be something volatile slipping through the cracks.

He studied Bruce for a moment and then continued, moving more cautiously now. "I know you've been preoccupied. I think that's why we haven't been hearing from you, and I think he's the reason. I just need to know why."

"I must have missed the part where I was required to explain myself to you."

"You don't. But you do have to explain yourself to the team."

"Yet you're here on their behalf."

"I'm here because Gotham's problems suddenly aren't Gotham's anymore. You can't force the criminals out of your territory to wreak havoc on others and expect not to explain yourself. We had Flash vomiting up goo for a half hour after a battle with Clayface. If you were going to clean Gotham out, you should have at least warned us."

Bruce relaxed his voice, silently resigning to the point. "What's been going on with the criminal activity has nothing to do with any direct efforts on my part. Had I the leisure, I would have pursued them, but they weren't a primary concern."

"Was it that pressing that you couldn't have spared a five-minute call to the Tower?"

"Yes."

Clark didn't like how Bruce said the word. Another weight seemed to stack itself onto the already heavy conversation.

"Cleaning the criminals out wasn't my intent in the first place" Bruce continued. "If anything, I'd rather have them here, in Gotham, where I can keep an eye on them. But unfortunately, sometimes things require a balance. In this case, it was either them or the Joker."

"The Joker was worth all those criminals? All that damage?"

"...Yes..."

Again Clark's insides twisted at the word. He hated to think Wonder Woman's paranoia was rubbing off on him, but something obviously was not right. He almost didn't want to ask.

"Bruce...What did the Joker do?"

Another pause stretched between them, but this one was different. Bruce was weighing his options, calculating how much he should say...how much he wanted to say. Finally, he spoke.

"For a long time I didn't know. It was a large-scale operation just trying to uncover his intent. In order to get the information I needed I had to penetrate several of Gotham's crime rings at once—every one he had ever touched. It took a significant amount of time and resources to accomplish. When I finally caught up to him...he wasn't up to what I had been anticipating..."

"It didn't go well."

"No. It didn't."

Clark nodded. The reality of life was a little-considered fact when most people thought of crime fighting. Yes, most of the time confrontations resulted in victory, in the wrong being righted and justice served, but even the cleanest of fights very rarely took place without a price.

Buildings were destroyed. People were hurt. Not everything went according to plan all the time. The aftermath of a battle was often the most overlooked aspect of a hero's career—when they carried themselves home to tend to their wounds and worried over all the people they had hurt in trying to help. It was a lesson learned hard and quickly when entering into the trade. And so Superman nodded and understood without any further explanation.

He began reviewing the events of the last few weeks in his mind. Things were starting to fall into place. If the Joker had a plot underway that Batman wasn't aware of—a potentially dangerous one from the sound of it—it would make sense that he'd spare nothing to figure it out. Gotham's villains were not a bunch to be taken lightly to begin with, but an unpredictable Joker dwarfed most of them as far as being a threat was concerned. Superman still wasn't sure it excused the attitude towards the League, but he understood the reason behind the behavior, if not the behavior itself.

"I'm assuming, then that most of this conversation is moot?" he asked. "Everything's over and taken care of?"

"More than you know. He's dead."

There it was. The axe Clark had been waiting to drop since he first set foot into the car. Had he been prepared for it, the information may have been easier to digest. But hearing it so casually spoken was almost as difficult as imagining a world without the Joker in the first place. He felt his mouth fall open. This is an investigation that could potentially lead to criminal charges.

"...Bruce...You didn't..."

"No. He was a victim of his own...devices. But he did enough damage to make for a messy cleanup."

"The lawyer..."

Clark was too lost in thought to notice the annoyed look Bruce gave him. Taelson had spoken about the DA...Bruce must have been forced to go to the commissioner and that's why the case was stalling. When did it happen? How much had he been forced to tell? Everything? Maybe not. It didn't seem as if Bruce was willing to tell his own lawyer much. She'd been fairly frustrated about his secrecy.

Clark's head then came up as he realized something else. "She was talking about a child...The Joker wouldn't have been interested in just anyone." His stomach suddenly clenched in horror.

"It's Tim...Isn't it?"

The silence told him everything. Clark ran a hand through his hair as he forced his mind to stay clear. "My God, Bruce. Is he—"

He was cut off before he could form the words. "He's alive."

"Why didn't you tell us?"

Bruce scowled as he immediately went on the defensive. "Because it's taken care of."

"Taken care of! What exactly are we talking about here!"

He couldn't think. He couldn't wrap his mind around this. Clark knew he was losing control of the conversation but he had stopped caring. Bruce sounded like he was referring to a thing rather than a person.

The car suddenly came to a halt, prompting him to glance out the window. He noticed angrily that while Bruce had agreed to talk with him, they had driven straight to the Gotham subway. Clark made no move to get out of the car even as his door was opened. Instead, he leaned forward, his voice pressing as he fought to keep himself in check. "I know you don't like to ask for help, Bruce, but please listen to me. Maybe it's time to think about it. You have six people who are all willing to take something off your shoulders. All you have to do is say the word and we'll—"

The reply was much less gracious this time. Bruce had finally lost his patience. "I said it was taken care of" he growled. "And you can tell the others that in your report." His eyes narrowed. "You know the way out."

It took all of Clark's willpower to straighten back up in his seat. He wanted to say a thousand things. He knew none of them would make a difference.

"Fine."

He got out of the car and made a show of adjusting his jacket and tie as he stood. "But I hope for Tim's sake that you know what you're doing" he said idly. With an almost biting edge to his voice, he glared disappointedly at his friend. "We'll just be here when you need us."

With that, Clark Kent gave one last tug at his coat and descended the subway stairs into the turnstiles below.

I always know I've done a good chapter when it sucks the life out of me. I have literally no energy to write anything down here.