Author's Note: This is the second drabble I have written for SuperBat. I want to get more practice in as I'm hoping to write some Elseworlds AU's for them or continuative fics from the comics. Feel free to comment, critique (be kind, please ;) ), request, prompt, whatever-wherever! ;) It helps me so much to practice.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. Just the story.

Beta: Eclst; I don't post up anything she doesn't approve. And you can follow her on evawrites. Check out her blog! :D

Between Us
By EggDropSoup

"You're lucky, you know," Clark had told him one day when they were together in the Batcave. Bruce had asked Clark to help him research molecular changes in a new stream of fear anti-toxin.

"How's that?" Bruce asked, cowl removed to reveal the stern, concentrated lines of his face as he typed furiously at the keyboard. "I'm initializing introduction of the purified antitoxin genome. Tell me when you see a reaction to the toxin cells." Anyone who didn't really know him would think that the presumption of "when" rather than "if" was arrogant- but Clark had learned that it was simply just Bruce knowing.

On cue, a tumulus of white, genetic coded lettering snaked across the monitor, prompting a beep and the mechanical procedure of the machine administering a drop of methylene blue dye (not that Clark needed it, but most likely so Bruce could study the reactions of the cells later on), the rubbing of cell samples to a slide and the quick press of a slide cover before the machine presented it forward, both ends of the slide being supported on either side by steel clamps.

Clark stepped forward, eyes locking automatically onto the cells moving across slide. "That you use B as a codename. It's practical for both your Batman-guise as well as for Bruce. Both sides of you are included - There," he cut off the moment his heightened sight spotted the protein in secretion shipping through the cell wall, ripping past like vancoycin. Soon, it would attack the toxin protein, break it down and neutralize the cell entirely. "It's faster," he noted.

"I've synthesized it to be more aggressive," Bruce confirmed, sounding pleased as he documented the reaction time. "And?" he stated, prompting the other to continue.

"It's just that it's different, is all," Clark persisted, "Whereas I only have S with the League, really. Which doesn't reflect who I am or what the symbol on my family's crest represents. Just a coincidental name that was made up for me on a hunch by a reporter and public approval."

Bruce felt a prickle of annoyance at Clark's words, and thought that the other Justice League member must still be bitter over never first choosing his own hero name. But that wasn't Bruce's problem, or Batman's either- if Clark felt upset that he got shoved around by the decisions of civilians then he should have put his own foot down and not enabled it. Neither Bruce Wayne nor Batman had time to deal with the trouble of helping him figure out a personal code for himself- nor did he really want to. It was annoying and troublesome. And Bruce was just about to say so too, but when he turned around he caught Clark's expression and faltered. The snarky remark gone.

It was a lot easier to bark at someone when they didn't look so unhappy. God, he was getting soft.

"We could use K for you," he offered, words springing from his mouth before he realized it.

"K?" Clark shifted his gaze to Bruce's, eyes drawn together in confusion.

"Not the English alphabetical K," Bruce clarified. "The phonetic K, so that it can stand for the C in Clark and K in Kal. Or if you even K for Kent." He shrugged. "It can be pseudomonas for whatever you want."

"Ah." There was a blooming of surprise there in those too blue eyes, surprise and joy. "But wouldn't that be risky? I mean…they all know I go by Kal-El, sure – but would it really be okay? It won't be mistaken for Kryptonite?" he asked hopefully. Bruce noticed that the fingers on his left hand were twitching. Like they wanted to reach out and touch his shoulder in a gesture of thanks. Bruce instinctively scooted his chair a few inches further- not certain of his own intentions in doing so.

"It shouldn't," he answered, turning back around to face the monitor again. He sunk down into the chair and hunched his shoulders so as to avoid Clark's face. "So long as the only ones who know the meaning behind it are ones you can trust. Or if you're really concerned, it can remain just between us."

"Between us," Clark repeated, voice filled with wonder as if he had never said those words before. Bruce was certain that he had not, and he didn't plan to ever say them again. Not willingly anyway.

"Until you feel comfortable using it on missions or with the others, that is," Bruce clarified, swallowing hard and not making any effort to turn and face the other man.

"Yes, I – I'd like that," Clark said, voice still strangely quiet, making the stirring squeaks of the sleepy bats overhead seem loud in comparison.

"Good," Bruce replied, intent on changing the subject. "I'm done with this now. You can go back to patrolling Metropolis."

"Alright," Clark agreed, moving away from the console station and preparing to take off. "You'll let me know if you need help with anything else?" he added hesitantly, fingers still fidgeting apprehensively at his side.

"Sure thing, K."

"Ah," Bruce didn't have to turn around to know that Clark was smiling. "Thanks, B." And he was gone, zipping out of the cave in less than a millisecond.

Bruce sighed, and dropped his hands from the keyboard. Stared at the empty space where Clark had been, just moments before.

He really was getting soft. He shouldn't be so quick to indulge the blue-clad hero all the time. If he kept making a habit of it, everyone would think the big, bad bat was a complete pushover. And how was he supposed to get any work done with the League if none of the other heroes respected him?

He sighed again, remembering the way Clark's voice had gone soft with astonishment. Picturing just how that face must have lit up in happiness, smile bright enough to shine like a beacon in the gloomy dark of the cave.

This would be the last time, he told himself, ignoring the voice of denial in the back of his mind. Knowing he had told himself the same thing before.

He leaned his head back against the headrest of the chair, stared up at the hanging stalagmites and the odd movement of shadows, of the bats just above.

It was inevitable. He would give in again.

END.