Clark did keep his word to Lois. He asked the other members of the Justice League for information, Bruce had already told him he would investigate, he even consented to J'onn examining him for any lingering effects, however there was no detectable reason for his collapse, and in regards to the business man, everyone was in consensus: no one liked him, everyone would keep a look-out, but no one had anything on him.
Life moved on.
And certainly, Clark now had other matters occupying his thoughts.
Before Clark was splitting his time between the Arctic and Metropolis. Now, Gotham was his travel destination. Stopping in to the Cave, or less frequently, meeting Batman atop some wind-swept tower, the city looking so small from up high, the people so far away, with only statues of gargoyles to keep them company.
Their fierceness matched the city they watched over, and matched her self-appointed guardian, yet in those stolen moments, wrapped up in each other, he experienced another side of that guardian, and another side of Gotham herself.
Where before he saw harsh and unyielding stone, rusting bridges, litter strewn streets, chipping paint and crumbling facades, where before he had looked down on the looming, imposing Victorian architecture, the in vogue style of bygone days, now he was starting to see past that, past the lead lined walls that had so blocked his vision.
To see the bones and forms that lay underneath all that grime, hear the ethereal echoes and whispers, feel the soaring hopes and dreams of Gotham and all her citizens who had stood by her in her darkest days, just as he recognized the devilish points on her Dark Knight's mask were not truly him, that the cape and gloves distracted from his true form.
That Bruce had looked past the brutal veneer and seen beauty. Looked past the violence and the crime that marred her streets and saw a city full of people worth saving.
And standing with him, these brief moments they were together, were radiant, glorious, so far removed from the rest of their lives they felt like a dream, just as it had felt like a dream, to have Bruce show up on his doorstep and re-start this.
But when they were apart, the dream faded away. It was hard to grasp it, when he was sitting in his cubicle at work, typing away by day, and wandering the city at night, hoping he would not find any trouble yet finding it regardless.
And in that gap between worlds, his earlier thoughts came back to him. The ones he'd had alone in the Arctic. That he and Bruce were too different. That he didn't really know Bruce all that well to begin with. That he was only seeing what he wanted to see: that he was as happy as Clark was when they got to see each other; that he longed for him when they were apart.
That Bruce was falling as hard as he was.
After all, his pa had often said when something seemed too good to be true, it probably was.
Bruce didn't notice right away. Their time together was limited. Clark would usually stop by before Batman's patrols. Occasionally during, if he was on a stake-out. He did not find it to be too terrible a distraction. Two pairs of eyes were better than one. Particularly when one pair were Clark's eyes.
After patrolling he was in no mood to be seeing others. Then add his usual duties to the schedule – his business obligations, research and development meetings with Lucius, his public outings. Along with his training and research underground, the maintenance of his vehicles and equipment, he and Clark had not had a significant period of time alone since his visit to Clark's apartment.
He had assumed an opportunity would present itself eventually. That it would only be a matter of time, but when he realized that was not the case, that Clark was leaving too quickly for anything more to develop, he resolved to take matters into his own hands, for Bruce didn't make commitments like this casually.
Clark wasn't getting away that easily.
"Bruce, are you alright?" were the first words to leave his mouth. No greetings, Clark only wanted information, quickly scanning Bruce, disregarding Bruce's aversion to his x-ray vision.
Nothing. Well, that was a relief. One worry off his list. As for his others, it was nearing the end of the night. Batman would have already gone on patrol by now. Had something happened? Had he encountered unexpected trouble and wanted to go back out together? But Bruce rarely called him for help…. But then Bruce himself approached him, quieting his mind and stilling his thoughts.
"I'm fine, Clark. I just wanted to see you. I assumed you would still be awake. I didn't wake you, did I?"
It was a Saturday night. Bruce had not woken him, but he was still concerned. Had something… terribly upset Bruce this evening? Or was he working on a case and wanted a second opinion?
When he asked this, Bruce shook his head no, and repeated. "I just wanted to see you."
"...Oh." Clark responded, for lack of a better answer, and to Bruce's visible amusement.
"Oh?" He repeated, while coming ever closer, until he was right in front of him, and his hands were on Clark's hips, and then a hand was running through his hair, tilting his head down, and then lips met his, and nothing about this was making sense, but he could feel himself respond, embarrassingly and sickeningly quickly, how his cheeks began to flush, along with the backs of his ears, how his heart went aflutter, how his stomach dropped away, and he leaned in, despite all of his arguments that this was too good to be true, too unbelievable to last, this was Batman he was standing here with, still in cape and cowl Batman who was now stepping them forward, leading them he wasn't sure where, and it was so terribly easy, to be swept away by him, and he was so terribly loathe to admit it, to himself and especially to Bruce, and the most terrible thing about it was that he was sure Bruce already knew, knew how much Clark wanted this, dreamed of this, and just before his thoughts devolved into even more of a mess, they were interrupted by the backs of his legs hitting up against something, and then Bruce maneuvering him up and back, and Clark came out of his reverie enough to realize they were in front of Bruce's monitors, and that he was now sitting on the instrument panels that controlled them, and he went to stand again, but Bruce pushed him back.
"I don't want to damage anything…"
"You won't. You've seen the mayhem that inevitably ensues in my life. These are built to withstand a fraction of that, at least."
It was surreal. When he thought of Bruce and the Cave, this is where and what he pictured. Bruce sitting in that chair, his hands steepled, looking at these screens, the blue dim glow of them lighting up Bruce's face, as he plotted his next course of action.
The whole Cave felt like Bruce's home, but this felt the most personal part of it. He quickly spun his head to look behind him, only to confirm what he'd seen before. The monitors were off tonight. Only black was reflected back at them, as Bruce kicked his black leather chair further out of the way, situating himself more securely in front of him, hands on his waist, but he was looking at Clark, studying, cataloguing his reactions and expressions.
"They're going to stay off." Bruce confirmed, still amused, in his own way. A certain twinkle to his eye, before leaning in once again, and the way he kissed him wasn't urgent, there was no rush, it was dare he say sweet, as though they had all the time in the world. There was no wind howling around them from being at the top of sky scrapers, there was no wind howling outside due to storms, only the occasional chitter, the flutter of batwings, the drip drop of water further off in the Cave, far away from the equipment, that surely would had been built to handle a bit of condensation, and he could not help it, with each passing moment, his muscles eased and his tension diminished, his nerves went down and the chatter of his mind fell away, as more and more of his awareness became engulfed in the sensations around him, Bruce's infamous inability to keep up with his shaving, and the slight bristle that created rubbing along along his jaw, that scent of his, familiar and long misplaced, suddenly found, that would no doubt be clinging to him when he left this place, just as it had clung to his bedsheets after Bruce had left his apartment.
"Besides, I'd rather look at you tonight," came that silky smooth baritone, the one he'd rarely heard, and the one that despite all evidence to support it, that he was more or less on display, taking the place of those monitoring screens, he could not believe Bruce had just said that to him.
Bruce continued to call on him, and each time Clark went there, and was the recipient of such unexpected affection, the doubts that had built up in their time apart – of Clark's daily life, overhearing office romance gossip, and witnessing couples on the streets, or sometimes reuniting them, delivering them back to grateful spouses after a quick traffic or pedestrian rescue, and thinking that he and Bruce did not belong, that what they had he did not see mirrored anywhere else – were steadily and inevitably extinguished.
Bruce thought it was time. He had abstained, until Clark's nerves had eased, until his smiling was no longer forced or uneasy, until he had returned to some semblance of his usual, irritatingly happy self when they were together, even that some of their usual banter had returned, but now he thought it was high time to introduce the idea of them returning to the bedroom.
Clark really shouldn't have been surprised. It was going to come up again sooner or later, but he could privately admit he had enjoyed this time. Even at the risk of sounding terribly old-fashioned – of proving true everyone's assumptions about his values, being from the behind the times farm country – it was a chance at courting he and Bruce had not truly had.
It had reassured him this relationship was more than physical, yet this relationship was also undoubtedly physical, so when Bruce's urgent declaration, whispered right into his ear, in the midst of one of those physical moments, registered as words, he understood.
Responding was another matter entirely, for even though he should not have been surprised, that this was going to come up again sooner or later, his mind went blank and his tongue was completely tied, and he could not stop the sudden wellspring of emotion that threatened to overtake him, but he found himself nodding, and Bruce was smiling, a rather cat-like grin, and truly, Bruce's smile was as fearsome as his scowl.
"I was thinking your place. This weekend?"
And Clark found himself nodding once again, and Bruce's smile grew even wider, even more fearsome, and all Clark could think about was he would need do some grocery shopping, make sure there was a landing area for Bruce's jet, and turn up the heat, because they were not meeting in Metropolis.
On his way out, in his fluster, he could not help but feel his reaction was lacking, and he turned back. Bruce was already walking away, perhaps to go upstairs for the night, or to his monitors, and though he rarely did this, it wasn't a terribly great idea to sneak up on Bruce or try to take him unawares, he flew back and embraced him from behind, his arms around his waist, noting how for a moment in the bustle their capes lined up, red on black, before drifting apart again.
If Bruce was startled, he didn't show it, only gripped Clark's arm with one hand and waited for him, and Clark whispered something of his own to him, right in his ear, before pulling away to quickly lean around and kiss his cheek, brushing up against stubble, then flying away, right out of the Cave, up into the night sky, higher and higher until he passed up above the clouds, and he hung there, with the moon and the stars, trying to calm himself and his still racing heart, hearing first Bruce's, "I want you," and then his late, barely managed, "I'm very happy."
Echoing over and over again.