|3|

"You know, he's not as bad as you two make him out to be." Clark strode into his kitchen freshly showered and dressed in jeans and a blue t-shirt. "Hey Oliver," he added, spotting the new arrival already pouring three cups of coffee.

"Who?" Bruce glanced up at Clark before fixing his eyes back on the computer screen before him while Oliver made a sound that resembled a stifled laugh.

They were gathered in Clark's tiny apartment, waiting for Bruce's uplink to the Bat Cave to finish transferring footage of the latest kryptonite-based attack. Bruce shifted in the kitchen chair and Clark could tell from his posture that he wasn't entirely comfortable in their current environment.

"Lex," he clarified. "I'll admit he's made his share of mistakes before, but he's left me alone since I moved to Metropolis." Bruce cleared his throat discreetly at his statement.

"Ok, so he's left Clark Kent alone," he amended.

"The latest string of attacks-"

"May or may not be him," Clark interrupted Oliver sternly. "Lex used to be my best friend. I know him better than most people."

"You're saying you don't think he's behind all this?" Bruce looked at him, disbelief written across his features.

"I'm saying I am not ruling out the possibility that it isn't him."

Bruce looked poised to respond, but a ding from his computer drew his attention away. "Damn it, Clark, how do you live with this internet connection? The transfer timed out again."

"I'll fly you back to Gotham."

This time Oliver didn't hold back his laughter. "You barely made it back here, and now you're ready to fly to Gotham? I don't think so, Boy Scout. I'd say you're grounded until the effects of this attack wear off. Come on, I brought the car over. Now that you've cleaned up, let's get Bruce to a better net connection before his head explodes." Oliver took a long swig of his drink before dumping the remainder in the sink, missing the glare Bruce shot at his back. Clark shook his head with a wry smile and followed the two men from his apartment.

o o o o

"Master Wayne?"

"Over here, Alfred."

"Will you be coming up to eat, or shall I arrange for intravenous feeding?"

Bruce hid a small smile, his back still turned to the man. "No need to go to such great lengths. I'll be up shortly."

"That's what you said at lunch time. Dinner is ready now, Master Wayne."

He could hear the stern affection in Alfred's voice. Several keystrokes later, he turned the chair and stood. "Alright. I can see you're going to stand behind me until I have something. Lead the way, old man. I wouldn't want to be responsible for you keeling over from exhaustion."

Alfred's left eyebrow quirked upward slightly. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that."

Settled in the dining room several minutes later, Bruce stopped Alfred from leaving with a hand on his arm. "Sit a minute?" He waited until Alfred had sunk into a chair across from him. "Have you noticed a decline in Superman's performance recently?"

If he was startled by Bruce's question, he didn't let on. "Nothing out of the ordinary." Alfred watched a flicker of emotion move across Bruce's face before his expression smoothed out again. "Is there cause for concern?"

"I'm not sure." Bruce picked up his fork and placed it back down again an instant later. "It strikes me that he has been a little slower, a little more… rough in form."

"And?"

"I believe that it started with the bullet." At this mention, Alfred looked pointedly at Bruce's arm, sans sling again. Bruce ignored it. "The bullet and the attacks that followed right after it. I was watching him today, and he couldn't keep up with Impulse. Impulse has always been a little bit faster, but this was a pronounced difference in speed."

"Perhaps you should be speaking to Master Clark about this."

"He'll brush it off. Damn fool thinks he can handle nearly everything by himself, and the things he can't, he pretends not to see."

Alfred cleared his throat politely. "Sounds like someone else I know."

"You can lecture me later, Alfred. Except regarding the sling. My shoulder feels significantly better already. In fact it's, " Bruce's pause was nearly imperceptible. "Almost completely healed." He stood abruptly, chair skidding across the hardwood floor behind him, his meal untouched.

"Master Wayne?"

"Dinner can wait, Alfred."

"At least take your food with you," Alfred called after him uselessly. Bruce was already moving at a jog towards the Bat Cave.

Several hours later, Bruce pushed back from the computer console and snatched up his phone. "I need to see you," he said abruptly when Clark answered.

"I'm about to go into an interview. Senator Macy wants to talk about the sexual assault charges being brought against her. Can it wait an hour?"

Bruce scowled, eyes tracking over the information compiling on his computer screen. The Senator had been declining to comment on he charges since the story broke three weeks before. "No, but I suppose it will have to. Don't stop for anything along the way. Anything. Call the League if something comes up and keep moving. An hour, Clark. This is important."

"See you then."

Bruce slipped his cell phone back into his pocket, a cold feeling of unease settling in his stomach. Behind him he could hear the soft tread of Alfred's steps as he approached, bringing with him the smell of coffee and peanut butter.

"I'm not eight anymore. You do realize that?"

Alfred set down a plate containing two peanut butter and jam sandwiches followed by coffee. "Of course, Master Wayne. That's why I chose to forgo the glass of milk."

Bruce chuckled grimly. "A wise choice."

"Dinner was unfortunately too far gone to salvage, and I doubt you would have eaten it even if that were not the case. This seemed an appropriate alternative." Alfred's eyes were drawn to the monitor. "Is everything alright?"

"Someone is trying to kill Clark. I'd lay money on Lex Luthor." Bruce picked up the sandwich, neatly tearing off a corner and chewing. "My shoulder has been healing much faster than it should be, Alfred. I'd thought at first it was because the wound was relatively minor all things considered, but when I started to think about how little time has actually passed, I realized that the process was progressing too swiftly. A blood sample revealed trace amounts of kryptonite in my system."

"From the bullet that passed through Master Clark and into you."

"There must still be traces in his system. Combined with the presence of the meteorite during these recent incidents, I suspect that is the reason for the minute decline in Clark's abilities."

"You know this for certain?"

"No. I'll need samples fro Clark to find out anything concrete. I've spoken to him already; he'll be here soon. This isn't something that should be discussed over the phone."

Alfred turned towards the elevator. "I'll prepare a guest suite. I suspect he will be staying few days?"

Bruce's attention was already focused back on the data. "However long it takes to figure out what this is doing to him and how to reverse it."

o o o o

Lex leaned against a bank of tall filing cabinets in Dr. Teison's laboratory, arms crossed over his chest, waiting while the doctor cued up footage of that days attack. He'd seen most of it already, but Teison had gathered archive material to compare it with, and Lex was curious to know if what he suspected was accurate.

"Ah, here we go." The doctor turned his head to Lex, gesturing back at the monitors they sat in front of. "The screen on the left shows video captured approximately six months ago, while the one on the right is from today. I've slowed the playback down enough that we can follow." He tapped a button on the control panel.

"The individual speeds of Impulse and Superman match for the first 2.4 seconds, but after that Superman's starts to drop in comparison to what it was six months ago. The decline continues. In fact, Superman's speed finally levels out at a full 12.3 miles per hour less than before. From the beginning to that point, 7.9 seconds have passed. This is a significant shrinkage over previous events and indicates our predictions have turned out to be quite accurate."

Lex slipped his hands into his pockets, crossing one leg over the other as his eyes fixed on the footage playing in slow motion. "Begin preparations. I want him in my possession within 48 hours from now."

"Yes sir. We're nearly ready to go. The holding cell is complete, and the groundwork for the final attack is in place."