Looking back, Clark supposed that was the first blazing clue. The sign he had missed. That something was amiss. Though, he could not truly blame himself. For even now, he could not quite say what that feeling was, could not pinpoint its location, its source within himself, or its message to him, though he recognized its presence, that next morning, as it did indeed continue to trouble him then.

As it continued to trouble him now, though now it had morphed into something much more complicated, and somehow even more unknown, despite having more information. His instinct that morning had been if he could see Bruce again, he could further unravel the mystery. In some ways, Clark still had the instinct, however futile it was. Bruce had made his opinion known, that this subject was not open for further discussion.

If only he'd known then what he knew now. Seeing Bruce again would not untangle the threads, it would only sink him deeper in mystery, deeper into unclarity,

or, if he was being honest with himself, deeper into heartache, for he knew that much. That is where this feeling sat, his chest, his heart, the same location the kryptonite bullets had sat, the ones that had inadvertently led him to Wayne Manor in the first place.

Both hurt. In different ways.

The bullets had been a fierce blast; this was a slow burn. Or a slow chill perhaps. Even a slow enveloping, and taking much longer to recover from. And as long as it took the kryptonite that had been in his system to run its course, this feeling was taking longer. Lingering. Inhabiting.

His instincts had been wrong twice now, actually. Not only in seeing Bruce again then, but as to how to gain clarity on this now. Looking to the past was not helping. For while all of this indeed explained the why and how of Clark staying at Wayne Manor, and specifically occupying that bed, none of it explained how Bruce came to occupy that bed with him, and while he did not truly believe it would help, did not truly believe any answers would be forthcoming, he decided to look and search further back.

After all, it was possible. Possible there was something he had missed, and this growth in his chest demanded something, and at present, he had no better ideas of what to give it. So, he would go all the way back to the beginning.

To when he first met Batman.

They got off on the wrong foot.

Batman was suspicious of him. Gotham had a darkness Metropolis lacked. He was less trusting, of Superman, and his powers, and did not seem to fall for, or be put at ease, by his uncovered face, his smile, or his bright colors. He had a small supply of kryptonite on him. As a safeguard.

Bruce always had safeguards, Clark would come to learn.

Clark could see through Batman's mask, and was shocked to see it was Bruce Wayne who hid behind it. He had not expected Batman to be anyone he would recognize, but in that instant of recognition, it made sense. Who else would have the resources, the funds, the freedom.

Clark intended to keep that information to himself, did not even say it aloud to Batman, but it showed on his face, and he could see Batman's dismay.

"Cheating, I see."

He should have known that Batman – for even though Clark knew then he was Bruce Wayne, he still thought of him as Batman, and continued to do so for some time – would not let the score stand in Clark's favor for long, and it wasn't long, after that he received a letter at the Daily Planet, in a plain white envelope, with a name he did not recognize on the front. Inside was an unsigned letter, typed, not handwritten. Nothing linking this to Wayne Enterprises or Bruce Wayne himself, but Clark knew it was him, and he expressed that while he had enjoyed their meeting the other night, he was ashamed to say he had not caught Clark's name, and that had now been rectified.

In hindsight, Clark realized some may have found that to be a threatening letter. It was certainly not friendly, but he had not. Somehow knew that this, by Batman's standards, actually was friendly, or at least civil: there was no threat to expose him or his life; no messages about those he cared about. In fact, Batman didn't have to let Clark know he knew who he was, and he didn't have to let Clark know that his alter ego, his day life was no longer in the dark.

Bruce was actually the first one to ever know, outside of his parents. That Clark Kent and Superman were one and the same.

They continued to run in to each other. Their work often led them down the same paths. And Clark was not sure what possessed him to keep trying, maybe it was naive, some expression of his country upbringing, his small town values, relying and trusting your neighbors, but in a strange way, Batman was a neighbor, a kindred spirit, someone else who had felt the need to don a cape and run off into the night to fight whatever lurked there. And there was something about how surly, how serious he was, that made Clark want to see him laugh or at least crack a smile.

Soon they were joined on those same paths by other superheroes, members of the soon to be formed Justice League. Their presence, and their allegiance to each other, helped wear down some of Batman's rougher edges. Or perhaps it made Clark's company seem less intolerable in comparison, or the sheer, continued act of fighting together, trusting each other in combat, Batman's rare but always appreciated proffered hand up of the ground, after a particularly grueling battle, or even when he would go out of his way to share relevant information with Clark about the goings on in Metropolis.

Still, it was many years before Clark personally saw the man behind the mask, face to face. It was strange though, seeing Bruce Wayne during that time, on the covers of newspapers and gossip magazines alike, photographed at this charity ball or that fundraising gala extravaganza, and of course there was recognition – just as there had been recognition that very first night, even with the distortion of x-ray vision - when he did finally see Bruce's true face with his true-to-color eyes.

Clark sometimes forgot, the power of costume, despite wearing one himself. And he wondered if to someone else, it would be equally shocking, for Clark to be seen out of his costume, for Batman looked like a completely different man. In fact, Batman was revealed to be the facade, the illusion, that he actually was, with mask, lying inanimate on the desk in front of him. And even though Clark had been calling him by that name, he could see that Batman wasn't a real person.

Bruce Wayne was real. And so was his base of operations underneath Wayne Manor, and his trusted butler, Alfred, who kept the home fires burning while he was away. These had been revealed to Clark before Bruce's face, and yet that reveal was under fairly mundane circumstances. A late night, when Clark had stopped by, with no pressing business to discuss, simply to check in, under more casual circumstances than the Tower provided, and found Batman at his desk, eyes searching his many monitors.

Clark could tell he had been at it awhile, had not found what he was looking for, from the sigh he let out, after Clark greeted him, the way he leaned forward, then backward in his chair, before spinning around. Clark had not even noticed his mask was already set aside for the night, had not even conceived the idea that he would see Batman without it.

Bruce would have had time, to put it back on, if he had so chosen, had sensors and alarms in place – no one truly entered the Manor or the cave below it without permission – yet he had chosen not to, and whether that was decided upon by the amount of time they'd known each other or fatigue, Clark could not say.

It was a show, but it also felt like a test, the way Bruce's eyes, still sharp, despite the dark circles under his eyes, watched for Clark's reaction, and Clark was sure he saw one, a widening of Clark's eyes, and the slight opening of his mouth, the growing small smile that was threatening to erupt into something larger, that Clark fought to keep in check, knew that Bruce would not want a big deal made of this.

That was challenging though, when Bruce made another joust, for an equal exchange, removing one of Superman's layers for one of Batman's.

"Good evening, Clark. What brings you here at this hour?"

And that was that. Batman had willingly and physically taken off the cowl, and Clark saw the same fair skin, jet black hair, startling electric blue eyes, not captured and recreated with print and colored inks, but in the flesh, and heard his name, the one given to him by the couple who raised him, the couple who had given him food and shelter, given him a home, spoken in that voice.

Bruce was still watching him, even more intently than before, if possible, and waiting, to see what Clark would do with this, and Clark fumbled for a response, knowing that Bruce would want this to be casual too, and maybe it was hearing the name Clark, that made him fall back to the way he spoke in his daily life. Cheerful, yet rather opaque.

"Oh, nothing in particular, Bruce. Just stopping by."

Bruce raised an eyebrow, but then smiled, and it was a difficult smile to describe. It wasn't happy, at this unexpected turn of events, like the one Clark was trying to suppress. There was something knowing about it, and amused, as though Bruce had planned this, and maybe he had, and it had gone according to plan, Clark's reaction as well, and he replied, simply.

"I see."

Clark asked him what he was researching, and Bruce entertained the request, reported that he was watching the harbor, the Penguin was waiting on a weapons shipment that Bruce wanted to intercept before it became a problem rather than after, meanwhile Alfred came down with food and refreshments, and Clark wondered if he would pause at this strange scene, but if Alfred found it equally strange, he made no sign of it. In fact, master and servant were, as always, amazingly in sync with each other, as Alfred greeted him.

"A pleasure to see you this evening, Mister Kent."

It seemed Superman was a name that would no longer be used in this house, and though Bruce continued to call him that name in public, as Clark continued to call him Batman in public, in Clark's mind, he was now Bruce.

Even after, that was a rare event. To see Batman's true face. However, Clark did continue to see his pictures, as Bruce Wayne continued to attend those charity balls and fundraising extravaganzas, sometimes even heard a flamboyant speech or pledge of support for some project or another of his on the radio. Also continued to see him in the halls of the Tower, or its docking bay, even stopping in to say hello when Bruce was on duty for the night, as well as his continuing visits to the Manor.

He noticed, the pull to go there, to see Bruce but there was nothing that struck him as odd about it at the time. The same as how nothing struck him as odd about looking out for Bruce during battles, if they were together. He assumed it was because they were friends. Even got to meet him once through work, however Bruce was a skilled actor: there was no trace, nothing to give away the fact that they knew each other.

Maybe Clark should have paid more attention to those acting abilities of his. Maybe he became too arrogant, in his observations, in his ability to read Bruce's thoughts and moods, when in fact he had plenty of evidence to the contrary.

Yet at that time he had confidence in his observations, and he continued to observe Bruce's dealings with the other members of the Justice League. The Flash seemed to have the same reaction Clark had, wanting to see Batman crack a smile, though perhaps that was simply the Flash's way with everyone he met. The Green Lantern mostly let Batman keep to himself, though when the two of them spoke, it was practically and efficiently, and the same with Hawkgirl. Though every now and then, Hawkgirl enjoyed flirting and rebelling, as she was wont to do. Similar but not quite the same as the Flash, she enjoyed shaking things up, ruffling feathers every now and then. And though Batman was a loner, Clark knew he appreciated J'onn's keen mind, detective skills, and his respect for privacy, despite his telepathy that gave him access to it all.

Though, Batman and Wonder Woman's interactions were the most dramatic. Clark even thought there might be some mutual interest, yet Clark would never know for certain if anything actually transpired between the two of them.

He also did not consider it within his rights to know or ask, however, Clark did notice he took more interest in Bruce's romantic life after that. Again, not to any degree that seemed strange to him, but he took note of the spectacularly glamorous women Bruce Wayne was often photographed in the company of, and the rumors that inevitably spread around town.

Continued to add to his own list of suspicions, when Clark happened to be present when Catwoman made an appearance. He watched she and Batman's banter in fascination, and heard the fondness in Bruce's voice, after she left, when he commented.

"We have a lot in common, her and I."

Clark also had the opportunity to see a more paternal side of Bruce when Dick was in attendance, whether in his red and green garb as Robin, or relaxing around the Manor in sweatpants and a t-shirt. There was no dramatic reveal, as to Robin's identity. When the press reported Bruce Wayne had adopted a young boy from a circus family and then he saw Batman out with Robin, performing amazing acrobatics, it was easy to put two and two together.

He saw some of Bruce's harder edges soften, but also knew him well enough at that point to understand that matters concerning Dick were deeply personal to him, even by Bruce's standards of secrecy. Still, Clark enjoyed the times he saw Dick. He was fascinated by how one so small managed to light up that entire gothic estate, that had no lack of shadows.

There was nothing here, that he didn't already know. Only that Clark had not been expecting to become one of those many shadows, lingering at Wayne Manor.

Or perhaps, he was the only one who felt like that.

Perhaps, when Bruce looked there, he saw nothing he had not already seen before. That his was a trivial shadow, compared to the ones left by Bruce's parents, and by Dick, when he left for Bludhaven.

So perhaps, it would be better to go back, to that next morning in his recuperation. He had woken up under the same mahogany colored bed spread, to the same verdant green walls and the same oil paintings of forests, hearing the same chirping calls of birdsong, seeing the same sunlight peeking around the floor length drapes. He took the same route, padding over to the windows on the same feet, looking out onto the same exquisitely maintained courtyard. Except, unlike the previous morning there was no abiding sense of peace and gratitude.

In its place was the same nervousness he had felt when he first heard about coming to the Manor, the same unease he had felt during the flight here, in addition to the off-kilter surprise from the night before. That there was something off and askew, in these otherwise beautiful surroundings, just as there had been something off and askew in what was otherwise a normal exchange with Bruce.

Fittingly, the rest of the day progressed in much the same way the previous one. Alfred collected him for breakfast and lunch, with Clark resting in between, but unlike the previous day, the rest did him little good. He was not so tired as to rest easily, yet he was too fatigued to rise and roam, the halls and grounds, as his longed to do.

He could not still his thoughts – also unusual for him – from analyzing what about his current location was causing him such misgivings. Nor could he redirect his focus from his current condition, when he looked around his bedroom at all the earthly shades of green, he could not help being reminded of another shade of green. Fluorescent, sickly, alien, the green haze of kryptonite, the same kryptonite that kept him mostly bed ridden here in the first place.

Clark was relieved, when Alfred came to fetch him for another walk through the grounds, and at least this felt as it should: Alfred's voice, calm and collected, the breeze and the clouds rolling across the sky.

Clark was also relieved when Alfred announced that not only would Master Bruce not be joining them for dinner, he would not be making an appearance at all this evening. Still, Alfred lit the fire, after they had dined, and Clark remained there for a time, alone, in that shadowy space, watching the flames, while Alfred took care of the dishes, until he eventually came back to wheel Clark upstairs.