Justice

As sleep slipped away, the first thing he noticed was the warm body beside him. His right arm was draped across a solid torso, his hand resting on a firm stomach. As the memory of last night filled his mind, his hand started making slow, gentle circles. Lifting up on his left elbow, he stared at how the skin beneath his fingers danced. There had been people in his life for which he cared. He even thought he made love to a couple of them. Now, he knew how wrong he was.

In romantic novels, there are often references made to how two people made slow, sweet love to each other. Such clichés had always been rubbish in Bruce's mind – Frivolities best left to weaker minds. Now, he realized there was no other way to describe what they had done.

His mind raced over the drawn out kisses. His body remembered the gentle way Clark held him and the checked power behind each thrust. Finally, he recalled how, shaking like a leaf, he had collapsed beside Clark. A hint of a smile tugged his lips upward as he realized he let Clark do something last night that no one else had ever been allowed to do – Cuddle. Arms wrapped around each other. Legs intertwined. They kissed lazily until sleep claimed them.

Staring blindly forward, he came back to the present. His eyes traveled from his hand to the broad chest above, coming to rest on his lover's handsome face. There, he found open eyes. They merely stared at each other for a moment until Clark reached up and cupped Bruce's cheek. Pulling him down, they kissed slowly again and again. Pulling away, Bruce looked deeply into bright blue eyes as Clark whispered, "Good Morning."

Smiling easily, Bruce sat up and stretched. Moaning from his aching muscles, he quipped, "I feel like I've gone a couple rounds with Clayface."

"I'm not sure if I should take that as a compliment or not."

Laughing lightly, Bruce threw back the sheet and deeply inhaled. On his feet a moment later, he crossed the room and started pulling on his Bat-suit. Sitting up, Clark watched him pull on his boots. As the utility belt clicked into place, he asked, "Do you have to leave so soon?"

"I need to get back to the manor." After adjusting his gloves, he reached for his cape and cowl. "I haven't checked in since I got here. I don't like to worry Alfred. Besides, I left Dick out there by himself. I need to check on him."

"I understand."

Out of bed, Clark pulled on some boxers and followed Batman out of the room. Reaching out to grasp his shoulder, he stopped the quick exit. Looking back, Batman saw the questions in Clark's eyes. With a sigh, he squared his shoulders and asked, "Do you think it worked?"

"Yes. I can feel it. This bond feels different from the one I shared with Lois."

"Good." He saw those same questions start to bubble to the surface. Quickly, he slammed a lid down on them. "When is the funeral?"

"In three days. My parents should be here soon to help with the arrangements."

Nodding, Batman grabbed onto the hand on his shoulder. He held it tightly for a few seconds before letting go and walking toward the front door. As he disappeared from sight, he called back, "I'll see you soon, Clark."

-{()}-

"Did Bruce ever come home last night, Alfred?" asked Dick as he took the offered cup of coffee.

"I'm afraid not, Master Dick."

As luck would have it that was the very moment that they heard the grandfather clock passage open. Calmly, Dick sipped at his coffee. Quickly, Alfred was back at the counter packing sandwiches, chopped fruit and a small thermos of coffee into a lunch tote. As Bruce entered the room, they raised their eyes.

"You okay, Bruce?" asked Dick. Setting down the cup on the matching saucer, he took in the disheveled appearance. Anyone else would have seen nothing but polish. Not Dick. He saw the way Bruce's hair flipped slightly at the ends and the usual hair gel was no where to be seen. There were worry lines around his eyes that Dick couldn't recall ever seeing before.

A gruff "I'm fine" was the only response he received.

"By the way, where were you last night? I checked in twice, but you never responded?"

Slowly, Bruce pulled his chair out and sat down. "Did something go down that you couldn't handle?"

"No." Sitting up straighter, Dick took a sip from his cup. "In fact, there must have been a villain convention out-of town because God knows – nobody was on the streets last night."

"Good," growled Bruce as Alfred placed another cup and saucer on the table.

"So?"

"What?"

"Where were you?"

"It's none of your business."

"Bruce-"

"I said leave it!" he ordered. With a loud slam, his fist made contact with the tabletop, causing the coffee Alfred was pouring to spill. Immediately, Alfred had a cloth lapping up the coffee with one hand as he placed the half-empty cup in front of Bruce with the other. Glancing at the cup, Bruce glared at Alfred, but said nothing.

"Well, excuse me for caring," sneered Dick. Standing up, he kicked back his chair. "It's too early in the morning for this. I'm out of here. I need to get to school, anyway."

"Master Dick?"

The voice alone was enough to stop him in his tracks. The sympathetic eyes finished the job. Righting his chair, Dick tipped back the remains of his coffee. Placing the cup back on its saucer, he picked up the set and handed it over to Alfred. "Thanks for the coffee, Alfred."

"You're quite welcome," replied Alfred as he took the saucer. Turning around, he placed the set on the counter and reached for the lunch tote. Turning back to Dick, he handed the bag to him. "I packed a breakfast for you and Miss Gordon."

"Thanks, Alfred. You're the best. I better get out of here now. She's expecting me to meet her at the library."

After Dick's footsteps were a distant echo, Alfred turned to his charge, the man currently fleeing from the room. "Master Bruce, is there some way I might be of service?"

"No, there is not!" He took three steps after he made his outburst. Then, he came to a slow stop. The wind completely gone from his sails, he turned to Alfred and said, "Alfred. I didn't mean to yell at you. It's just been a long day, already."

"Understood, sir."

He headed for the door, but stopped short. Looking over his shoulder, he watched as Alfred placed the cups and saucers in the sink. As Alfred wiped off his hands, Bruce asked, "Alfred?"

"Yes, sir."

"I need you to clear my calendar for this Sunday."

"Do you have a prepared story for why you are otherwise occupied?"

"Tell them the truth, if you must." Shoving his hands into his pockets, he turned around. After a moment, he met Alfred's eyes. "I'll be attending Lois Lane's funeral."

"Very good, sir," he replied with only the slightest hint of surprise in his voice. His eyes displayed the eternal patience they always did. "Will you be in need of a driver?"

"I can take care of it myself, thank you, Alfred."

"Allow me to offer my services, sir." Taking a few steps forward, Alfred didn't stop until he stood mere inches away. "The drive to Metropolis will likely be complicated by gridlock and cemeteries are such unfortunate places."

Placing a hand on Alfred's arm, Bruce whispered, "That would be fine then, Alfred. Thank you."

"My pleasure, sir."

-{()}—

Per Lois' final wishes, they didn't have a viewing. Once while investigating a story involving dishonest funeral homes, she told Clark that the very thought of a viewing made her want to punch somebody. She wanted nothing to do with the practice. Burials were different. Those were practical in her mind. So, those she left behind honored her wishes as best they could.

Consequently, her burial took place one Sunday afternoon in early June under a clear, blue sky. What would normally take minutes stretched out for over an hour as people took turns eulogizing from the head of the casket. On one side of the casket, there stood her family. The other side held a couple dozen guests – they made up a hodge-podge of Lois' closest friends, her business contacts and personal acquaintances.

On the family side, her husband stood, flanked by his parents. He endured the whole affair in silence, his head bowed. Just once, he glanced from one side to the other. To his left, he saw his father and beside him the Lanes – Samuel, Elinore and Lucy. To his right, he looked down to see his mother's tear-filled eyes. As he hugged her tightly, he allowed himself to look across the casket.

Standing in the front row, Bruce stared back intensely like he'd been waiting for Clark to look at him for some time. As their eyes met, the whole world fell away. Perry White's eulogy became a garbled mess as Bruce's eyes conveyed concern and strength. Quickly, Clark gave an almost imperceptible nod that was instantly returned. Standing straighter, he took a deep breath before he ducked his head down for the remainder of the service.

Afterwards, everyone passed the Lanes and the Kents, offering their condolences. One of the first was Bruce Wayne. He quickly passed the Lanes, giving the standard line. Approaching the Kents, he slowed considerably. Walking up to Clark, he sighed loudly. Squaring his shoulders, he ran a hand through his hair. In the time it took to brush away those stray locks, the playboy stepped to the forefront. Extending his hand, he shook hands with Clark, barely giving Ma and Pa Kent a wayward glance.

"Clark, right? My condolences. Y'know... For your loss. Lois was an amazing woman."

"Thank you, Mr. Wayne."

"By the way, how long are you planning to be out of work?"

"I should be back in the office on Wednesday, but if I'm needed I'm sure I could come in sooner."

"Good. I can't have both of my star reporters being no-shows for too long." Clapping his hands together, he looked from one Kent to the other before finally nodding his head. "Well, I'll just be going. It's a long drive back to Gotham."

As he walked away, Martha Kent asked, "Who was that?"

"Ma, that was my boss, Bruce Wayne. He owns the Daily Planet."

"Oh. Well, he's just an awful man."

-{()}—

"I'll have you know that my Mom thinks you're a jerk," he said as he landed softly on a Gotham rooftop.

Not even looking up, Batman shrugged as he continued to kneel on the roof's edge, looking at the streets below.

"Were your ears burning at all yesterday? She couldn't stop ranting about you on the ride back to my apartment."

Standing up, Batman made a brief sweep of the area. Crossing the roof, he growled, "You shouldn't talk about such personal things when we're on duty."

"There's no one around. Believe me. I checked."

"Still, one can never be too careful."

"Okay." Taking a few steps forward, he invaded Batman's personal space. Bowing his head, he whispered, "I really need to talk to you about something. Something personal."

"Meet me at the bat cave in four hours," he said as he pulled out his grappling gun. Shooting out the hook, he swung away without looking back.

-{()}—

Six hours later, he pulled into the bat cave. Quickly, he parked the batmobile and jumped out. Crossing over to his computer console, he noticed the coffee mug on the desktop and the empty, crumb covered plate beside it. Spinning his chair around, he faced impatient eyes without flinching.

"What happened to 'meet me in the bat cave in four hours'?"

"Two jewelry heists, one hijacked armored truck that turned into a hostage situation and a break in at Gotham National Bank."

"Joker?"

"Penguin."

"Well, I guess I can't be too mad then." Taking the nearby mug in hand, he drank the rest of the contents. Lowering the mug, he licked his lips before he commented, "Alfred makes a mean cup of coffee."

"You had some personal issues that you needed to discuss."

"Oh yeah." Placing the mug gently down, he stood up. With his hands clasped behind his back, he walked past Batman. Turning around, he said, "My parents are very important to me. Their opinion is even more so. It bothers me that my mother thinks so poorly of you, especially when I know it was all just an act."

"She wouldn't be the first woman to think that way of me."

"She's not just any woman, Bruce. She's my Mom."

"I do have a secret identity to maintain."

"I get that. I do. I don't exactly wear black frame glasses because I'm near-sighted." Closely, he watched the white slits in the cowl narrow. "Still, you're my bondmate, now. I want you in my life when we're not in tights. That will be considerably more difficult if my parents hate you."

"And do they?"

"Do they what?"

"Hate me."

"N-No. Not yet," Clark stuttered. Looking at the masked face before him, all the old feelings of frustration washed over him again. He realized suddenly that their new connection hadn't changed the easy way Bruce threw him off balance with a few small words or a simple gesture. "My father never judges a man until he shakes his hand. He says there's a lot to be learned from a handshake. As for my Mother, she's pretty livid, right now, but I think her opinion can be salvaged. The important thing with her is to jump on these things early."

"What do you want me to do about it?"

"I'd like you to come over to my apartment tomorrow night. I'd like the three of you to meet before my parents go home. And I don't mean playboy Bruce. I want them to meet the real you."

"You mean to say…"

"You can trust them."

"You want to tell them Bruce Wayne is Batman." Turning his back on Clark, he walked over to the suit cabinet and started to disrobe. Behind him, he could hear Clark make his case.

"They're clearly trustworthy. They managed to raise an extra-terrestrial in a small town without a single rumor. If you had any experience with small towns, you'd realize how amazing that is."

The suit left behind, Bruce pulled on a pair of charcoal grey slacks and a thin, long-sleeve black shirt. Turning back to Clark, he held up his right hand. As silence filled the cave, Bruce said, "Okay."

"Really?" asked Clark just before his mouth fell open in shock.

"Yes." Despite himself, he couldn't hold back a small smile that stretched his lips. Crossing the room, he pressed the back of his fingers to Clark's chin, closing his mouth with an audible click.

-{()}-

"Are you absolutely sure about this darling?"

"For the thousandth time, Mom, he's really not as rude as he was at the cemetery. That was just his public face. It's part of his secret identity."

A firm hand patted his shoulder. Looking to his right, he saw his Father's sympathetic smile. Jonathan Kent patted his son's arm a couple times and said, "Let me have a moment alone with your Ma, son."

After Clark retreated to his bedroom, Jonathan sat down on the sofa and looked up at Martha. In her face, he saw hurt, anger and loss. Shaking his head, he patted the seat beside him. "Martha, now you just need to leave the boy alone. He explained everything this morning. He doesn't need to be repeating himself."

Sitting down on the sofa, Martha wrapped her arms around herself. She felt so cold. As tremors danced across her skin, she felt familiar arms surround her, pulling her back against a strong, secure chest. As she sank against the welcoming warmth, she couldn't keep the sob from her voice. "We only buried Lois two days ago. She hasn't even been dead a week. Now, the polished jackass who showed himself at her funeral is coming here. He's taken her place with our son and now he wants to do the same with us. I don't know if I can bear it."

"You can, Martha Clark Kent. As surely as we've borne every curveball life has ever given us, we'll get through this, too. I know you miss Lois. I miss her, too, but I can't shake just a touch of gratitude towards this Mr. Wayne for what he did for Clark. He really did save our boy's life. Try to hold onto that, tonight."

Intertwining their fingers together, Martha leaned back completely into her husband's embrace. Looking over her shoulder, her eyes met his and she smiled. "You always bring me back to my senses."

"And I always will," he whispered as he leaned in for a kiss.

A few knocks interrupted them. Instantly, Clark came out of his bedroom, heading for the front door. Taking the doorknob in his hand, he glanced back at his parents. His eyes zeroed in on his mom until she nodded. With a deep breath, he opened the door.

Arms hanging at his sides, Bruce stood in the doorway. He wore a tailored, dark blue suit, a matching silk tie and a pair of black loafers. His hair was perfectly combed and, for a second, Clark worried that this was the playboy and not the real Bruce Wayne. A theory quickly dispelled when Bruce looked at him and smiled.

Looking past Clark, Bruce's eyes fell on Martha and Jonathan Kent. As they got off the coach, he watched Martha smooth out her skirt and fiddle with her hair before glancing at Jonathan and the casual way he stood beside her. Turning his eyes back to the man at the door, Bruce smiled again and asked, "Can I come in?"

"Of course," Clark replied as he waved his right arm out. "Sorry. I guess I just got distracted."

Something between a smile and a smirk crossed Bruce's face as he walked in and waited for the door to close. Once inside, he wasted no time in crossing the room. As he approached the Kents, he extended his hand, looked Martha straight in the eye and said, "It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Mrs. Kent. Clark's told me so much about you, I feel as if we've already met."

Embarrassed by the red she felt filling her cheeks, she placed her hand in his. She marveled at the roughness of the callused skin on an otherwise refined man. Her attention caught up in his icy blue eyes, she limply allowed her hand to be lifted to his lips. As he brushed a light kiss on the back of her hand, the red in her cheeks deepened. All at once, she felt the loss of his touch as he straightened up and pulled away.

Turning to Jonathan Kent, Bruce frowned at the suspicious look in the man's eyes. Extending his hand, he found Jonathan met him halfway. The handshake was firm but not tense. Their clasped hands nudged back and forth casually. Their eyes locked on each other, quietly assessing each other. In the end, they pulled away at the same moment as if they practiced it that way.

Watching from the front door, Clark marveled at the scene unfolding before him. The measured movements and even motions. Even Bruce's heartbeat was completely stable and unflinching. Did Bruce ever get nervous? Now, he just wasn't sure. The man was just as confident and unwavering while charming his parents as he was when he faced down the Joker. Shaking his head, he pushed off the door and joined them in the living room.

The layout had changed. Now, the sofa faced the small couch from the bedroom instead of the TV. The four shifted until Bruce and Clark were in front of the sofa and the Kents were in front of the couch. Together, they sat down. Looking back and forth, an uncomfortable silence fell. Finally, Martha coughed once. With all eyes on her, she looked back at Bruce and said, "Tell us something about you, Mr. Wayne."

"What do you want to know?"

"You could explain some of the things I've seen in the news."

"What exactly would those things be?"

Sitting back, she brushed her arm against Jonathan. Placing her clasped hands in her lap, she sighed loudly before she said, "I remember reading about your parent's death. I remember Clark was about your age at the time. It made me realize that our advanced age put us at risk of doing much the same to him. The whole incident compelled us to finally go and get life insurance and buy exercise equipment. Do you remember that, Jonathan? Oh of course, you do. Don't shake your head that way."

Glancing over at Bruce, Clark watched as his jaw started to set. He saw his lips press together until they left only a thin line. Jumping into the conversation, he asked, "Mom, is this going anywhere?"

"Oh yes. What happened to you, after that? There wasn't much about you in the news after their deaths. Then suddenly, you were a grown man and being voted People's Sexiest Man of the Year."

Silently, Bruce sat on the sofa. Recalling that dark time, he could see the ghost of his younger self. Nine years old and alone in the world, he fell to his knees at Alfred's feet. He could still feel the coarse fabric of the tweed overcoat; how it scratched at his skin. His hands clutched into fists at the memory of how he clutched at that jacket, digging his fingers in as he begged the man to stay. As the memory of Alfred's comforting arms encircled him, Bruce felt a soothing hand wrap around his fist. Focusing on the warmth surrounding him, he answered, "I was raised by one of my Father's employees."

"That's unusual," added Martha.

"I suppose."

"Was there no family who could take you?"

"I had some distant relation in Europe, but I didn't know them very well. I still don't know them terribly well."

"I see," replied Martha. Pursing her lips, she returned the elbow in her side. Undeterred, she pursued her prey. "I read recently – I don't remember where – that you have two sons. I haven't heard anything about a Mrs. Wayne, though."

"There never was a Mrs. Wayne," answered Bruce as he shifted in his seat. Glancing at Clark, he saw the apology there and it made him sigh. "My sons are not my biological children. They're adopted."

Instantly, Martha perked up. She smiled widely as she sat forward, "Really? What are their names? How old are they? What do they do?"

First, Bruce paused to cough. As he lowered his fist, he snuck in a glare at Clark. "My oldest son's name is Richard. He just finished his sophomore year at Gotham University."

"As for my younger son, Jason, he died last year."

Immediately, Martha's left hand grabbed onto Jonathan's knee as her right hand fluttered up to her chest. "I'm so very sorry to hear that."

For his part, Bruce stared at the floor and refused to look up. Even when the hand covering his squeezed, he concentrated on the basic, beige Berber – His mind filled with the memory of a broken body cradled in his arms. Finally, he felt Clark place a firm hand on his shoulder. As he lifted his eyes to Clark, he heard Clark say, "Mom. Dad. Did I ever tell you that Bruce was one of the founding members of the Justice League?"

Finally finding his voice, Jonathan replied, "No, son. You haven't. That's very interesting. Isn't that interesting, Martha?"

"Yes. Very interesting. Do you two work together a lot?"

"Yes, we do," answered Bruce, pushing away dark thoughts with a shake of his head.

"Do you remember, Bruce, that time you were kidnapped by Lex Luthor and that villain squad?"

"Yes."

"You never did tell me how you got out of that. By the time the League got there, you were already loose and knocking out the Joker."

"As I told the Joker, I could have escaped anytime."

"How is that?"

"The titanium body shackles they put on me were WayneTech military grade special issue. I was personally involved in the product's development. I knew everything there was to know about it."

"There were seven of them. The greatest criminal threat of our time. I still don't know how you managed to come out of that without so much as a scratch."

"Well, Clark, as you and J'onn like to remind me – I'm only human, the only founding member of the league without powers. I can't fly and bullets don't bounce off of me. So, I used what I had – cunning and gentle manipulation. The only one who ever concerned me was the Joker. Luckily, Luthor kept him in check. Lex was far too focused on trying to kill you. In fact, he barely noticed I was there. Sapphire and Shade had no intention of doing anything they weren't paid to do and they weren't hired to kill me. Grundy was easily manipulated with greed and doubt. Ultrahumanite could be reasonable and bought for the right price. As for Cheetah, well, she's not an unattractive woman and I can be charming when I want to be."

"Well, we've seen that first hand," quipped Martha. "You poured on the charm when you arrived here."

"I had to make up for that lousy first impression."

"I can assure you, Mr. Wayne. That first impression is water under the bridge."

Conversation flowed easily between them after that. For an hour, they spoke about anything, everything and nothing at all. Clark played the good host, serving drinks when requested. Martha managed to get Bruce to laugh with a story about Clark's awkward stage. After that, Bruce loosened his tie and spread his legs out. As always, Jonathan remained the quiet calm in the eye of the storm.

For her part, Martha kept watching Bruce and Clark. She noticed the way her son faltered ever so slightly every time Bruce smiled at him. She followed Clark's eyes and usually found them latched onto Bruce. During a recount of one of the Justice League's recent cases, she watched her son inch closer to the man seated beside him.

In front of her very eyes, her magnificent son mumbled awkwardly, a hitch in his voice that she was sure only she could hear. Tilting her head, she rested her chin on her fist. She fought the urge to shake her head as she watched him stumble as he handed Bruce a glass of wine. Sitting back, she rolled until she pressed up against her husband's side. She slowly tugged on his hand until he wordlessly raised it, letting her wriggle against his chest. Relaxing against the drumbeat of his heart, she acknowledged the emotions she saw dancing in her son's eyes. Closing her own eyes, she sent up a prayer for Bruce Wayne to be gentle.

Two hours later, the evening came to an abrupt end. A soft snore mixed with a loud intake of air. Looking over at the couch, Bruce and Clark chuckled lightly at the sight of the pair curled up fast asleep. It was only then that they realized they were the only ones talking for the past hour.

Bruce was the first to stand. With a finger to his lips, he pointed at the front door. One short nod later, they made their way out to the hallway where Clark waited until he pulled the door completely closed before he spoke.

"Thank you for tonight."

"It was my pleasure," replied Bruce. He lips stretched into a wide smile as he continued, "It was at one point the most fun I've had in a long time and at other times more uncomfortable than being in a room alone with Poison Ivy."

"Well, I'm glad it wasn't all bad. I should probably apologize for some of my mom's questions. I didn't realize she'd go so far as to-"

"Don't," whispered Bruce. Pressing two fingers against Clark's lips, he paused when he felt a soft kiss against his fingertips. Meeting Clark's gaze, he let his fingers glide down past a chiseled chin.

Leaning forward, Clark softly pressed a kiss against Bruce's lips. He watched Bruce's eyes close before he deepened the kiss. Drawing the moment out, Clark stilled when he felt feather light touches on his chin. Pulling back, he met the intense eyes before him. Swallowing hard, he said, "I want you in my life. I want more moments like this one."

Instantly, Bruce's eyes narrowed.

"There just has to be a way."

"You do know that Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent have no logical reason to ever be in the same room, don't you? You work at a newspaper owned by Wayne Enterprises. You live in a building I sort of own through an affiliate. That's it. That's all. We don't even live in the same city."

The quiet way Clark took a step back was his only response. Biting his lip, Bruce weighed his options. He could offer pipedreams. He could make promises he never intended to keep. Instead, he looked into eyes of the most amazing blue and whispered, "Let me roll the idea around for a bit. I might be able to come up with something."

A warm smile became his only reward. As he turned and walked toward the elevator, Bruce decided it was reason enough to try.