Past Imperfect

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/343211.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types, Smallville
Relationship: Batman/Superman, Bruce/Clark
Character: Batman, Superman, Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Lex Luthor, Alfred
Pennyworth
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2012-02-19 Words: 24398

Past Imperfect
by kungfunurse

Summary

Gotham City is terrorized by a series of mysterious and gruesome murders. Even the Dark
Knight, Gotham's nighttime protector, needs help unraveling the mystery. Reluctantly, he
turns to his ally, Superman, for help. What they find is a web of suspicious facts that bring
to light unfinished business from Clark's boyhood in Smallville. When the evidence begins
to point to Lex Luthor -- Clark's onetime friend and Metropolis' unacknowledged crime lord
-- tensions mount. The fragile truce that the two heroes have forged begins to crack under
the strain. Bruce struggles against his growing attraction to Clark, while Clark must find a
way to reconcile the shadows in his past in order to have any future at all.

Notes

I'm in the company of some excellent writers and authors who've recently created stuff for a
fanzine that doesn't look like it's quite gonna come together. So I thought I'd post them
here. Hope you guys enjoy!

--"Imperfect" comes from the Latin imperfectus "unfinished" because the imperfect
expresses an ongoing, uncompleted action. - wikipedia

"What is that stuff?" Gotham Police Department Detective Bullock asked, spitting his chew just
outside the taped off crime scene. "It looks like someone hawked a loogie right in the middle of
that guy's chest."

"You'd know," Detective Renee Montoya muttered, leaning over the body to get another crime
scene photo. She coughed and swore in Spanish, inhaling some of the fumes gassing off of the vic's
chest. The gelatinous mass was slowly eating its way through the body and Mother Mary only
knew if the floor would stop it afterwards. "Yo Harvey! Stop scratching your balls and go
downstairs. See if there's anyone we need to evacuate from the building. Comprende?"

Bullock grunted and spat again, heaving his food stained bulk up and towards the door. "Freaking
psychos with acid spit. Like this town doesn't have enough freaks." He glared meaningfully
towards the ceiling.

"Forget the rooftop, Harv. That's not our problem. People getting soaked by falling acid spit will
be, though. Date prisa!"

"Yeah, hurry up my ass," he said, retreating down the hall. "You ain't the boss of me, Montoya! I
got more years on the force-"

"And more fat in your belly!"

"Yeah, yeah. You ain't my wife either. I swear..." his muttering was cut off by the stairwell
doorway.

"Madre de Dios, whatever you two are talking about up there, I hope it's good news." Montoya
crossed herself quickly, tossing a look of her own towards the ceiling and the meeting they all
knew was happening on the roof.

*_*_*

"Have you ever seen anything like this? Ever?" Commissioner Gordon stared straight ahead. He
adjusted his glasses on his face and watched the shining spectacle of Gotham at night, waiting. He
always waited for his friend to take the first step forward, and tonight was no exception.

"Not... as such. No."

"What does that mean?" Wind gusted past the fifth story rooftop, blowing his tie in his face and
causing a billowing, flapping sound from the man behind him.

"It means that I haven't personally seen it, but I have an associate in these matters. One who might
be more experienced with this sort of problem."

"Great!" Call him and ask him if he's missing one of his rogues."

"How do you know my associate is a 'he'?"

"Are you saying it's a woman?"

"No." A shadow of humor lurked in the word.

Gordon grinned, enjoying the casual banter. He liked to give his friend a little taste of normalcy. A
touch of human contact. For all he did for this city it was the least Gordon could do for him.

"So, call him."

"It's not that simple. He... doesn't come to Gotham."

Gordon snorted. "Scared of the local wildlife?"

An echoing, amused snort from behind. "No. He's not allowed. My orders."
Gordon nearly sprained his neck trying not to turn and stare. "Well, hell. If he's the only one who
can tell us what this thing is, I mean, surely you can keep him in hand?"

"No one can. You'll see."

And with that his visitor was gone, leaving Gordon alone and cold on the rooftop. Irritated, tired,
with a whisper of hope to leaven the dread. Just another night in Gotham.

*_*_*

Superman hovered just outside the LexCorp building, penthouse floor, and glared. He'd spent the
past week hunting down confused, angry, and downright schizophrenic monster-people. Not all of
them were out to cause murder and mayhem. Some just didn't have the first clue how to control
what they were. But all of them had the same MO. Normal, quiet lives suddenly turned inside out
as a result of developing monstrous powers.

Frankly, it felt like old home week.

Clark had left Smallville years ago, finally realizing he had to give up the Kent farm and make his
own way in the world. Unfortunately, he wasn't the only one to settle in Metropolis. Lex Luthor
had made Metropolis his base of operations, and where Luthor went, trouble followed. Clark felt
that old grief stir in his chest. Lex had been a friend. A good man. He was sure of it, and yet... well.
Here they were. Lex Luthor, the criminal mastermind to a hundred different scourges on his city,
and Clark's own personal penance.

Where had it gone wrong? What could he have changed? Should he have come clean about his
powers, trusted Lex when he was a teen? Should he have seen the seeds of greed and darkness in
him and done something?

Clark shook his head. He had power. More than he'd ever dreamed anyone could have. More than
he felt comfortable admitting, even to himself. But whatever else he could or should have done, he
was no fortune teller. Thank God he was spared that, at least.

And so he stared into Lex Luthor's private office, a single pool of light from the desk lamp
illuminating the man who had consumed and destroyed his best friend.

A quiet beep sounded from his wrist, interrupting his thoughts. The Justice League comm that
Ollie had set up was useful, but Clark wasn't on call tonight or in the mood for distractions. He
ignored it until it beeped again. And again. Damn it.

"Superman, here," he spoke softly, holding the wrist comm near his mouth. The mike was sensitive
enough to pick up his voice and sort out ambient noise while he flew, but he didn't see any need to
let Lex know it. As surely as he was watching Lex, he knew the man was aware of him.

"You didn't answer."

Clark rolled his eyes and kicked off to a higher altitude. No way he could deal with both Lex and
the Batman at once - not after the week he'd been having.

"I did answer, B," he responded in what he felt was a very reasonable tone. "Just now, in fact."

"A delay like that could be crucial in battle. You never think about these things."

"I'm not in battle right now. Are you?" he gritted out. He could hear the anger start to darken his
voice. How Batman could get under his skin so fast was a mystery. Clark knew himself to be an
easy-going kind of guy, but just hearing Batman's voice sent shivers of... of irritation sparking
through him. The man got to him, made his heart pound faster and his whole body feel alert and
restless. Clark couldn't even have said why. Definitely irritating.

"That's hardly the point," Bruce replied. Clark rolled his eyes. As usual, the only point with any
relevance was Bruce's.

"Then what is the point?" Clark snapped, his voice dropping lower. "Look, it's been a pretty tough
week over here. I haven't had more than two, maybe three hours of sleep in days, and even I need a
little more than that. So if this is just a social call-"

"If you'd stop pontificating for two minutes-"

"Me? You're the one who called and-"

"I did call, and you should be grateful I even-"

"Even what? Took time out of your night to tell me one more thing I've done wrong that you would
have done oh so much better-"

"You know, you have a real problem with your temper, and, yeah, if I had your-"

"Oh, here it comes."

"- your power I'd-"

"Tell me, B! Tell me how the great Batman would-"

"-I'd sure as hell put a little more thought behind-"

"Oh, because you never-"

"Just, just stop! This is NOT-" Batman interrupted himself and they both hung on the connection,
breathing hard.

"Look," Batman grated out. "I called to ask for help."

Clark stared in open shock at the wrist comm.

"Don't tell me you're going to refuse to help out of some childish fit of spite."

"Um, no, not at all. Sorry." He cleared his throat, feeling the anger drain out of him. "Really, I'm
sorry I went off like that. It's just been-"

"A bad week. I know." He could hear the unspoken apology in Bruce's voice.

Clark smiled at that, inexplicably pleased, and rubbed his face with a hand. "Look, are you ever
going to let me finish a sentence, here?"

"Maybe."

That startled a laugh out of him. He couldn't help it. He could hear the humor lurking in Bruce's
dark voice, and it always surprised him. Batman just did that. He'd get Clark so riled one minute
that he wanted to punch a building, and the next, that sly sense of humor would have Clark
grinning. There was no understanding the man.
"Fine. I'll meet you in the Tower at-"

"No. I need you here. In Gotham."

"Erm, I'm sorry. I thought I heard you say-"

"I did. Tonight."

Clark looked at the sky, false dawn already on the horizon. So much for sleep. "I expect coffee
when I get there."

An odd silence followed, then, almost as if he couldn't help it, "Really? Does caffeine even... you
know. Help?"

Clark smirked and oriented himself in the sky. He was tired. But Gotham was due West, and Bruce
was waiting. "No, but hey, it's the thought that counts. Be there in ten."

*_*_*

Batman crouched on the rooftop ledge of the Merciene building, the first echoes of dawn throwing
his cowled face into shadow.

"Well, at least there's no body at this one. I'm counting that as a win," Commissioner Gordon
offered.

Bruce grunted, not willing to comment. The goo left behind at this scene was markedly different
than at the previous two. No way to tell without detailed analysis whether it was from the same
creature or if he had two mutant spitting... things... running around Gotham. Fortunately, detailed
analysis was approximately two minutes and closing.

A companionable pause, then, "I'm sure whoever your consultant is, between yourself and the
GPD, we'll be able to keep an eye on him."

Bruce ignored Gordon's attempts to reassure him, as he always did. Jim meant well but you just
couldn't explain... ah. There he was. Forty-five seconds early. Must have caught a tailwind across
the Lakes.

"Holy mother of God..." Jim swore, looking at the descending man with awe. He wasn't alone. The
entire GPD squad was staring, open-mouthed at the tall, gorgeously-muscled man slowly floating
down from the sky. His red cape billowed and skirled around him, and his devastatingly blue eyes
smiled quietly at the officers.

"See?" Bruce gestured. "It's already started."

"... What?" Jim asked, clearly distracted.

"Him! He shows up and people's brains go offline. Look at them. The finest GPD has to offer, and
they can't even string two words together."

Superman was unfairly handsome. Bruce had always thought so, and too charismatic by half. He
took in Clark's tired but sincere smile and pleasant, rumbling voice and bit his lip while Superman
shook hands all around. The man obviously needed to be at the center of attention wherever he
went. Take now, for instance. Was he ignoring him on purpose? Bruce suppressed the urge to go
over there and make Clark deal with him.

"He causes brain damage just being in the vicinity, I swear," Bruce muttered.

Jim cleared his throat, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Ah, I've heard his hearing is pretty good.
Do you think he..."

Bruce scowled as Superman turned towards them, finally, amusement clear on his face. "Oh, he
hears just fine."

"Commissioner Gordon?" Superman asked, hand extended for introductions. "It's an honor to meet
you. I've heard good things."

"Likewise," Jim beamed, shaking that huge hand with enthusiasm. "An honor. Truly."

Superman turned and finally looked at Bruce. And damn it, Bruce knew he looked rough. It had
been days and days with nothing but the Suit and tracking down criminals, meals snatched on the
go and sleep in the rare moments in between. His cape was torn from a knife fight earlier in the
night, and his face was dirty and stubbled. Hardly his best look, and why in the world did he even
care?

"Superman," he greeted him, determined to be cool and professional.

"B," Clark nodded back. "What've you got for me?"

"I've told you not to call me that," he snapped, then closed his eyes, irritated. Clark's smile burst
forth, bright enough to stun any mortal in a five-foot radius.

"Sorry," Clark amended. "Batman." But Bruce already knew he'd lost the first round and gave it up
as a bad job. "Fine, over here," he waved, flowing off the ledge and leading the way to the center
of the police tape. "Let's get this over with before a giant robot comes looking for you and flattens
my city in the process."

"Brain damage, really?" Clark whispered as they crouched down next to the goo.

"You've got brain damage if you-"

"Working here," Clark sing-songed, focusing his strange eyesight and seeing God only knew what.
What Bruce wouldn't give to be able to see, to feel, to know... well. He had his own set of perfectly
good senses. He reached one black-gloved hand to touch the goo and nearly jumped when a warm
hand grabbed his, stopping him mid-reach.

"Don't touch it!" Superman ordered.

Bruce felt something hot and distracting bloom in his belly. He wanted to pull his hand away. He
wanted to grab Clark's hand and show him what it felt like to be restrained. He wanted to shout, to
shove, to-

"Where did you find this?" Clark asked, tension radiating from him.

"Right here," Bruce drawled, tugging on his trapped hand. "See the police tape? The effort to
preserve-"

"Who else has touched this?"

"Don't start barking orders at me. Just because-"

"Batman," Clark interrupted, and now Bruce saw the urgency in his eyes. "There's no time. Who
else has come in contact with this?"

"Just the forensic team. They collected a few samples. I assure you they were using proper
protection..."

"Rao," Clark swore, "there is no proper protection. This stuff is highly permeable. It wicks through
gloves like wet tissue paper."

"Jim!" Bruce barked, watching as the man broke into a trot towards them. "We need names and
times of everyone who's collected or handled samples of this stuff."

"They need to get to the nearest hospital, ASAP," Superman added. "This stuff can't be contained.
It causes central nervous system problems, seizures, nerve damage, leading to coma and death. If I
hadn't, if you'd touched it..." he trailed off, turning Bruce's black-gloved hand over and staring at
the fingertips.

"Superman," Bruce said gently, surprising himself. "I haven't. It's fine." He squeezed Clark's hand
to reassure him. "See?"

Clark gave him a vulnerable look. "I'm pretty sure I know what caused this. I think," he ducked his
head, his voice almost too quiet to hear. "I think it's my fault."

"Nonsense," Bruce said, his voice crisp. "Did you leave two bodies in my city tonight? No. And
did you not just send medical attention to the officers involved?"

"Yes, but-"

"But nothing. You're not the problem; you're part of the solution."

Clark gave him a faint smile. It was a much better look on him. And Bruce should not be noticing
that, damn it.

"But you said-" Clark began.

"Forget what I said, listen to what I'm saying. And give me my hand back."

Clark blushed, God help him, Bruce thought, the man blushed. That hot bloom of sensation hit his
gut again and he almost lost his balance when his hand was suddenly released.

"Ahem," Gordon cleared his throat. "What instructions should I give the medical teams when my
people get to the hospital?"

Superman stood, all business again. "The initial problem will be excess serum potassium as their
bodies try to break down the toxins. Tell them to administer a mixture of calcium gluconate in 20-
80% saline solution, with an insulin and dextrose infusion to drive the potassium intracellularly.
That should decrease the toxicity and help to keep them out of cardiogenic shock. In the meantime,
I'll get the rest of what we need from my own stores to counteract the neurotoxins. Hopefully we
can interrupt the second cycle, which causes seizures that lead to a coma."

And death, Bruce added silently.

Gordon looked a little dazed at the sudden info dump, so Bruce just slipped the notes he'd scribbled
into Jim's hand. "And tell them to hurry," Bruce added. If Superman says it's urgent..."

"Right," Jim nodded, reading over the list. "Montoya, call this in!"

"I have to get to my Fortress," Clark said, pulling Bruce aside. "I'll be back in an hour or two."

"Wait, this isn't all of it. There was acid spit earlier, eats through damn near anything." Bruce was
annoyed that he'd let himself get sidetracked from the important details at hand.

"I know. It starts with acid spit, then it changes into this." He gestured at the sludge. "The next
stage is even worse. At that point, even I have trouble when I get exposed to it. Get the word out B,
don't let anyone come in contact with this stuff. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Then you know what this is. You know where it's coming from." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah." He looked wounded. "It's from Smallville."

*_*_*

Bruce slouched in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to stave off a headache.

"You wouldn't be getting a headache if you'd eat," Clark said, pointing his own fork at Bruce. The
two of them were in civilian clothes, Clark's borrowed shirt just a bit tight across his chest and
biceps. For some reason Bruce was having a hard time ignoring Clark's forearms. They were
muscular and well made. His hands were big but his fingers as he held the silverware were nimble.
Strong but gentle.

"Stay out of my head," Bruce said, feeling thoroughly distracted.

"I'm not in your head."

"Then stay out of my, my metabolic system!"

"Can I help it if I can smell the ketones all the way over here?"

"Gentlemen," an urbane voice interrupted them. "More tea, Master Bruce?"

"For me, yes," he sighed, automatically sitting up straighter. Alfred always made him feel like he
was six, again. "Clark will take coffee. Black."

"Maybe I wanted-"

"Do you?" Bruce winged an eyebrow upward.

".... No." Clark admitted with a smile.

"Fine then. That'll be all, Alfred."

"Thanks, Alfred," Clark grinned, his thousand watt smile dimmed but still powerful. Alfred,
predictably, thought Clark was "utterly charming" and "a very good influence for certain people".
Bruce just knew he'd be getting that lecture sooner or later.

Two hours earlier Batman and Superman had been standing shoulder-to-shoulder in the corner of
the Emergency room. Superman had been rubbing his face, exhaustion and grief making his
normally sun-kissed skin look gray. Bruce knew he himself could use a shower and at least a day
of sleep. Honestly, he wasn't sure he'd even be upright without Clark's shoulder pressed firmly
against his. All around them, grieving cops cried or swore, hugging surviving family members and
muttering about "bringing that freak down."

"You did all you could," he'd rasped finally, his voice starting to give out.

Clark barely looked at him. "They all died, B. I couldn't save even one of them!" The hint of
hysteria creeping into his voice had scared Bruce more than anything else that morning. Bruce
grabbed Clark's bicep, squeezing hard.

"You can't save all of them. Sometimes you can't save any of them," he'd growled, his face inches
from Clark's. "Now we focus on what we can do. We stop him from killing again." He nodded
towards the waiting room. "Look, they're practically ready to form a mob. We need to stay
professional. Focus, Clark."

"On what?"

"Tell me about Smallville."

"Not here." Clark had shaken his head. "Too many people."

Which was how they'd ended up at Bruce's breakfast table, Alfred feeding them enough food for an
army, or just enough for two overworked superheroes. "It's nice of you to invite me back here,"
Clark said, finishing off an omelette. "I've never seen your home before. Usually you want me
gone as soon as possible."

"You cause trouble, or it follows you," Bruce grunted, laying into his own eggs. "But this is the
most efficient way to debrief you on the pertinent facts." Plus, Bruce had felt an annoying wrench
in his gut, thinking about Clark flying away, alone and exhausted. "So give."

Clark sighed and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Right. You know I grew up in Smallville-"

"Where you lived a bucolic existence surrounded by hayfields and loving parents. Moving on."

"Hey, am I telling this or are you?"

Bruce held his hands up in surrender. It wasn't fair to keep winding Clark up, but, at times, he
couldn't seem to help himself.

"It wasn't, I mean, yes. There were hayfields and Ma and Pa did love me. A lot. But it wasn't
bucolic as in 'ideal'. The creche that brought me to Earth had a fair amount of rock and other debris
from Krypton caught in its gravitational pull. When we all hit Earth, Kryptonite, well, it's
radioactive and turns out it changes people. Hurts them."

"Go on," Bruce frowned. This was new intel and patently dangerous. Why hadn't Clark shared this
before?

"So, that's part of it. I started being aware of the effects during my first year in high school, when
my powers really started kicking off. Before that, I had this vague, itchy feeling of things around
me that were... not right. It was the Kryptonite, you see, but as I got stronger, I got more sensitive to
it. And then, it seemed like everything exploded at once."

"Let me guess," Bruce said. "You were a teen- just hitting puberty on a massive scale." God,
Superman as a teen. He'd probably been just as gorgeous and easy with people then as he was now.
Or maybe, he'd actually been a little more human, a little more like Bruce. And what did it matter?
He needled Clark in irritation. "People started changing, and as a teen you started being aware of
the outside world at the same time. You naturally assumed that because of your differences you
were responsible for everything else, too."

Clark ducked his head. "The rocks came from my home planet. With me."

"So, now you're responsible for the laws of nature and gravity?"

"No, listen, that's not all of it. I mean, then there was Lex."

"As in Lex Luthor?" Bruce's cup hit the saucer with a sharp crack.

"Yeah," Clark said, tracing a random pattern on the tabletop. "I saved his life and we were friends.
At least I thought-"

"Friends," Bruce interrupted, putting a mean spin on the word.

"Friends," Clark insisted, staring Bruce down. "I mean, he was older, but he seemed to like me,
and I saved his life, and yeah. We were friends."

"Of all the stupid, narcissistic... he's Lex Luthor. Whatever you thought, he was never your friend.
He was obviously using you." Bruce shoved his chair back and started pacing. "Luthor, in
Smallville. No wonder the two of you are so obsessed with each other. You were young,
impressionable, as a teen you were probably even worse at hiding what you were than you are
now. He saw power that he could own-"

"He was a good man," Clark said, standing up to face Bruce. "The Kryptonite, his father, it all
changed him. He was struggling against his demons and I could have seen it. I should have done
something!"

"You were infatuated with him! Exactly how friendly did you get?" Bruce spat, moving into
Clark's space, trying to intimidate him into seeing reason. Good God, Lex Luthor. Bruce was
appalled that he'd never known about this connection. Clark needed to be reasoned with, to be
protected from his childish ideas.

"It wasn't like that," Clark rumbled, more than ready to push back, chest-to-chest with Bruce. "The
Kryptonite hurt people and made them crazy. It-"

"And now it's in my city," Bruce countered, not backing down an inch, needing Clark to see. "How
did it get here, Clark?"

Bruce watched as Clark blinked, then dropped his eyes. "It's in Metropolis, too. I think Lex is
harvesting the Kryptonite, experimenting with it, maybe trying to create something that can kill
me."

"Nice friend," Bruce heard himself sneer, and Clark's head snapped up as though he'd been
punched. But he couldn't stop, it was just too much. "Your old boyfriend is trying to impress you.
If he can't have you, he'll kill you." Clark was shaking his head, over what, Bruce couldn't fathom.
Luthor didn't--had never deserved Clark's trust. After years of cautious partnerships even Bruce
barely felt as though he had it. But Lex Luthor had been granted something Bruce might never get?
It made Bruce even more furious.

"Well, maybe you're just fine with that," Bruce said. "Maybe you'd like an excuse to stop fighting
him."

"He doesn't know that I'm Superman! And I would never stop fighting him, not after everything
he's done. How dare you question my commitment? What kind of man do you think I am?"

"You're not a man. You're an alien! How should I know what makes you tick?" Bruce waved his
hands. "You're potentially more dangerous than any Kryptonite-enhanced mutant-"

"Careful," Clark warned, gathering Bruce's shirtfront in a fist, pulling him up and in. Their faces
were just inches apart and Bruce was aware of Clark with his whole body.

But Bruce was exhausted, angry, and Clark was so damned clueless! Didn't he see the kind of
power he had? How dangerous his past with Luthor was? "You're a fool for ever trusting him. For
all I know, you're still primed to run right back to him."

For a second Bruce could actually see Clark's pupils changing, could see the fascinating, deadly
transformation pulling and shifting in the irises and feel the heat start to curl up between them.
Then Clark slammed his eyes shut and turned his body away. Bruce's heart was beating overtime.
He was aware that he was panting, sweating from the heat and, and anger. Certainly anger. He took
another breath. "What did I tell you about your temper? You need training-"

"Go to hell!" Clark shouted, and of all things why that was the comment that that broke Clark's
compsure, Bruce couldn't guess. Clark strode angrily out of the breakfast room, forcing Bruce to
jog after him.

"We're not done here," he snarled, grabbing Clark's arm.

"Yes, we are. I thought when you invited me here into your home that it meant something. But
now I see..." he trailed off, shaking his head. "If you're right that Lex wasn't my friend, that he only
ever wanted to use me for my power, then I guess he's not the only one."

Bruce felt gut-punched. "That's not, I didn't-" except he had. The only reason he'd asked Clark here
was to use him for a case. Which was fine, it was for the Mission. Except he felt dirty, somehow.

Clark stood straight, staring down his nose at Bruce. "Go find that poor man and stop him from
hurting anyone else." Clark was disappointed in him and Bruce tried to ignore how that made him
feel.

"And you'll be?" Bruce countered, trying to find his footing.

"I'm going back to Luthor, of course." Clark's smile was grim. "I'm going to stop him, once and..."
He trailed off, distracted, his head tipped in a listening manner.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I hear him. The Kryptonite mutant. I have to contain him, he's on the move."

"You? This is my city-" Bruce started, his mind already spinning away from the argument to bring
up battle plans.

"You're not coming. That sludge he's shedding isn't just spit anymore. He's going to be leaking it
everywhere. If any of it gets on you-"

"You said you're just as vulnerable as I am in the late stages," Bruce said, chopping the air with his
hand. "Plus you don't know the tunnels and alleys in this city. He does. How do you think he's
eluded me for so long? You'll never catch him without help."

"I can hear him, Bruce, he's shouting for Batman. I can track his voice-"
"No!" Bruce insisted. "You have no idea where the safe areas are. You'll drive him into a crowd
and endanger more lives. We do this together, or you're leaving."

The two of them stared at each other for another moment. Bruce was still hanging onto Clark's
arm, their faces inches apart, both of them angry and determined. "Fine," Clark surrendered. "How
fast can you suit up?"

"Fast enough," Bruce said, breaking for the Cave. "You get out there and get eyes on him. Feed me
exact coordinates and keep the civilians out of the area. Do not approach him. He's probably a
ticking time bomb just waiting for you."

In a rush of red and blue, Clark changed and leaped for the sky. "That makes no sense, B. He's
shouting for you, not me."

"Just because you can't see the trap doesn't mean it's not there," Batman countered, throwing
himself into his car and revving the engine. "And don't think we're finished with our discussion
from earlier," he added.

"Fight now, talk later," Superman parried.

"Now, later, like we ever do anything else." Bruce sighed.

*_*_*

Clark arrowed across Gotham, his cape streaming behind him. The shouting was coming from an
abandoned warehouse, the type Gotham seemed to have far too many of. He was heading into a
fight with a mutant who'd already killed two civilians on purpose and five officers exposed to his
toxins. It was important to stay focused, to keep his mind clear.

Except he couldn't stop thinking about how hurt and childish he'd been. Bruce was right, damn it.
He'd lost his temper. Again. Had he actually been trying to justify his friendship with Lex? Where
was his head?

"S, what's your 20?"

"Just wondering that myself, actually," he said.

"What?"

"Nothing. I'm about ten second and closing from the East Side Trading Co, warehouse fourteen."

"Civilians?"

"Multiple. I'll start clearing the area. ETA?"

".... five minutes. Just don't do anything reckless until I get there."

"No promises," he said, scooping up two construction workers and depositing them a good mile
away. ("Sorry for the inconvenience folks - there's a murderer in the area.")

"You'd better wait," Bruce said, under his breath. "Be very sure before you just..."

"B, you must be breaking up, I didn't catch that last."

".... nothing. Three minutes and closing. Where's our suspect?"

"Stairwell, heading for the roof. You know, Gotham would have a lot less crime if you didn't have
so many flat roofed buildings around here." Two more construction workers and a jogger deposited
safely.

"I'll tell the city planners you said so," Bruce deadpanned. "Status report."

"Area cleared of civilians, I'm heading in."

"Like hell you are, not without me."

"Then where are-"

"Here."

Clark whirled midair, spotting Batman crouched on the neighboring building's rooftop, binoculars
to his face. "How in the world did you..." Bruce just gave him a flat look. "Right. Never mind. So,
plan?"

"He's still shouting for Batman?"

"Yes." Clark was angry at the senseless murders, but he couldn't help but feel pity, too. "At this
point, it's actually more of a gurgle. His whole body's starting to liquify. He's in the final stages."

Bruce lowered the binoculars, his face a careful blank. "Is it always like that?" His voice held just a
tremor of horror.

"No, but certain types of Kryptonite have specific effects on people. I've seen this one before, is
all." Clark took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was coming. "I assume you plan to use
yourself as bait? Lure him somewhere?"

"Maybe later," Bruce mused. "First, I'd like to see what he wants. Stay back until I give you the
signal." He folded and tucked the binoculars into an impossibly small pouch on his belt, then shot
a grappling hook as the roof doors in the distance opened. Bruce threw Clark a strange, fierce grin
before swinging across to the next building.

Clark flew under the roofline and swung around to flank the mutant from behind. "Baattmaannn!"
he heard in a terrible gurgle, and knew that Bruce was in position. Clark floated higher to keep both
of them in view.

"I'm here," he heard Batman say. "Come to kill me?"

The creature breathed heavily, toxic sludge spattering around him as it slid off his skin, hitting the
rooftop in drops. "Kkilll. Meeee."

"That's what I said," Batman replied. Clark wondered how he could be so calm. Just looking at
what the Kryptonite had done to this man made Clark's skin crawl.

"B, remember that little chat we had about not doing anything rash?" Clark whispered into the
comm. Bruce, predictably, ignored him.

"Mmmmmeeee. Kkkkillllll..." the man broke off, coughing liquid onto the roof.

"He wants you to kill him?" Clark wondered. What was happening, here? Had the man killed
people deliberately to provoke Batman? Was he ready to give himself up? No, this was a trap, it
had to be. And Bruce was only feet away from it now.
"Why me?" Bruce asked, crouching down to stay at eye level with the man, his voice oddly gentle.

A manic light appeared in the dead man's eyes, and Clark felt his heartbeat kick into high gear. The
man said with surprising clarity, "So you'll know how to kill the rest of us." And he threw himself
forward, arms grabbing ahold of-

Nothing. Quick as thought, Batman had thrown himself aside, rolling and coming to his feet. "I
won't kill you," he growled. "I don't take lives."

"You will. If you don't, it'll be worse, so much worse!" The man flailed and threw himself after
Batman. Bruce vaulted back and landed in a crouch, inches away from the ledge.

"I won't kill you, but I will stop you," Batman menaced. "Don't make me hurt you." The man
charged and Batman leaped over him, twisting in mid-air to land behind. It was obvious the man
was no fighter, but with every motion he spattered toxic sludge and Batman couldn't touch him, his
hand-to-hand expertise useless.

"B, let me step in," Clark urged.

"No," Bruce snarled, backing away from the mutant. "He wants me. If you show he'll spook. We'll
never get any intel from him!"

"He's got you cornered," Clark argued. "I won't just sit here and-"

"Stand down!" Bruce insisted, dodging again and leaping towards the center of the roof. Now his
back was to the stairwell, trapped against the brick wall.

"You've run out of room," the man said, sludge running like sweat down his face. "Time for one of
us to die."

"Tell me how this happened to you," Batman coaxed. His black gloved hands were splayed behind
him on the wall where he'd caught his balance. "Did someone do this to you?"

"Not... just me," the man panted.

"There's more?" Batman probed, his left hand sliding to his belt.

"My fault, it's my fault!" the man sobbed. He charged the wall, and Batman's arm shot up. A
grappling line arced to the sky and Clark grabbed it, yanking Bruce upwards just as the man
collided with the brick.

"No!" the man screamed. "We're not done here!"

"He's right," Bruce growled. Clark held him suspended twenty feet above the roof while Bruce
quickly reset his grapple. "Get me back down there. I need to know-"

"Are you insane?" Clark interrupted. "You can't get near him. Let me-"

"You can't either. At least if I-"

Clark yelled, sudden, searing, agony exploded on his back and drowned out everything else.

"Behind you!" Bruce shouted, twisting in Clark's grasp. "There's another one!"

"You think?" Clark gasped.

"Drop me, damn it. You can't protect yourself holding onto me. Let me go!"

Clark grunted as a second impact ripped at him. Bruce twisted in his grip and he dropped Bruce, oh
God he dropped him. His back was an agony of pain. He opened his eyes in time to see Bruce hit
the roof and roll, the mutant already after him.

He felt a third, semi-liquid mass hit his back and he nearly blacked out. He spun out and dropped,
jarred awake again when he hit the roof. He rolled over to face his new opponent; a woman, or it
used to be. She was shedding sludge too, acid spit dripping from her mouth. "You should let
Batman kill us," she said, stumbling towards him.

"You were hiding... in... stairwell," Clark gasped at her. "Smart. Shows... shows you c'n plan.
Ahead." The pain was deafening. He could barely think or move. "Talk to me," he pleaded with
her. "Let me... help you."

"I tried to help, and look what happened!" she giggled. "You can't help. Collins says the Bat can,
but not you."

Clark felt like the pain was eroding his sanity. He struggled to his knees. "Yes, tell me. How can
Batman..." no, his back, he couldn't...

"He'll help us die," she sobbed. "He'll kill us, and then it stops. It will all stop!"

"He won't. He doesn't kill." he gasped.

"Then we kill him," she said, standing over Clark and dripping acid pain on his back.

"No. Please no!" he begged, dragging a hand up to his neck to tear at his cape. "He's a good... a
good man. A friend." His eyesight was swimming and he swayed, balanced on his knees and one
hand, still tugging weakly at his cape.

"I had a friend," she said, bending low over him, dripping hot, hellish torment with every word.
"See what they did to him?"

"Then you know what it means to have one," Clark whispered. "I... he's mine. My friend." He
struggled to lift his head and met her eyes for the first time. She was crying, hot acid tears scoring
the rooftop next to his hand. He thought he saw a flicker of sanity or compassion in her strange
eyes. "I don't have many," he pressed, hardly knowing what he was saying anymore. "Please don't
take him... I need all the..." The agony was prising him apart. "I need him. Please!"

He thought she might have closed her eyes, might have nodded. Through a haze he saw the woman
stand up and sob a horrible, choked sound, and run towards the fight. "No!" he shouted. "Batman!"

She dashed across the roof, swerved around Batman where he was trapped by a circle of sludge,
and tore into Collins. Clark lost his balance and fell over as they gurgled and screamed, the frantic
thrashing sounds slowly dying down.

"Superman, Superman!" Bruce was shouting, and Clark came back enough from the pain to
register that Bruce was on his knees next to him. Collins and the woman weren't moving.

"I can't hear their heartbeats," he unclenched his jaw to whisper. "I'm afraid to move, it's all over
me. Did any of it, oh God B-" he gasped.

"No, I'm fine," Bruce said. "Clark, I'm fine. You shielded me from all of it. Look, I'm clean."
"Good that's... ngh," he grunted, the pain stealing his voice. "Bruce, I can't hear them! I couldn't
save them."

"Yes," Bruce growled, his eyes boring straight into Clark's. "You did save them. At least one of
them. You gave her back the most important piece of herself."

Clark nodded mesmerized by Bruce's eyes, drawing strength from the conviction in his voice.
"Okay. Get out of here," he rasped, tearing at his comm, his shirt, everything. The sludge was
scoring his skin, leaving acid and nerve damage behind. God it was unbearable.

"What about you?" Bruce asked, not moving an inch.

"I have to burn it. It's the only way. Get out! Move!" With that he focused his heat vision and set
himself and the building ablaze.

*_*_*

Batman lurked just outside the cordoned off area. The inferno above raged without hope of being
extinguished. The firefighters were doing their level best just to keep it contained from the other
buildings.

Gordon walked over to him, sipping coffee and pointedly looking up at the blaze, at the emergency
crews, anywhere but at him. "Thanks for calling this in, old friend. Any clue where he...?"

"No," Bruce grated out. Not a single goddamn sign that Superman didn't die in that blaze. In his
weakened state that building could very well be his death pyre. He imagined Clark's body crashing
through burnt floorboards, battered and broken as it fell. Bruce felt tortured just thinking it.

He'd accused Clark of wanting to take the easy, corrupt path that Luthor offered him. Meanwhile
Clark had gone and, and... Bruce whirled and punched the brick wall. Unbearable, he thought,
staring at his empty hands. I can't bear this.

A sudden chill of silence made him frown and look up. The fire crews were staring, shocked and
transfixed by a man-shaped figure staggering out of the smoke.

Bruce sucked in a huge breath and surged forward, running flat out towards that shambling figure.
He reached out and caught him just before he collapsed. Filthy from head to foot, naked from the
fire and bleeding from the wounds on his back, Superman looked worse than dead. "Car," Bruce
snarled into his cowl and pulled his cape off to cover Superman. He felt a desperate hope bloom in
his chest.

"Shoulda... known," Clark rasped, a tiny smile on his lips. "Set myself... on fire for you. All you
c'n think about... your car."

"You're delirious," Bruce snapped, hoping the Batmobile wouldn't damage the city vehicles en
route. It was programmed for moderate to heavy resistance.

"...'m sorry," Clark whispered.

"For setting my city on fire?" Bruce asked. "I'll think about it."

"No... earlier..."

"You've got nothing to apologize for," Bruce interrupted, cradling Clark's head. "I shouldn't have
said what I did. That's an end to it now. Do you hear me? Superman!"
Clark had stopped breathing. Surely this was bad. Hell, even Superman needed to breath. Bruce
had watched him doing it, had watched him smile, laugh in his home just an hour ago.

"No," he snarled. "This is not how it ends." He reached with his left hand to his belt and pulled out
a black disc. He pushed a button, heard the steady whine as it powered up, then yelled behind him
"Cover your eyes, damn it!" And he slapped the disc on Superman's chest.

The power discharged with an intense, burning light and a "whump" of energy. He threw the burnt
out disc aside, useless now. Hell, he still wasn't breathing. With his right hand he pulled out a
second disc and did the same. There were now large, red burns across Superman's front, but he still
wasn't breathing.

"C'mon, c'mon, you stubborn bastard," he coaxed, pulling the last disc from his belt. "You've got to
live. You're too noble to die in a Gotham alley. Live, damn you!" He slapped the last disc on,
discharged the energy, then waited.

One eternity. Two.

Superman coughed, shaking with it, and the crowd screamed in relief just as the Batmobile pulled
alongside them.

"What were those things?' Gordon asked, hurrying forward to help haul Superman's unconscious
body into the car.

"Concentrated full-spectrum light emitters," Batman grunted, swinging Clark's feet in and closing
the door.

"Sunlight," Gordon breathed in awe.

"Essentially, yes." He slid behind the wheel and peeled out of the area, driving hell for leather back
to the Cave. Back to medical help and safety for Clark. Back home.

*_*_*

Bruce woke up slowly. Sunlight streamed through the large bay windows and saturated the room
in golds and yellows. He ached all over from throwing himself frantically on and off of rooftops.
But here, in this sunlit moment, he felt safe.

He vaguely remembered getting Clark home and up the stairs. An impossible feat if Clark hadn't
been quasi-conscious by then, and again, if Alfred, on Clark's other side, wasn't very used to
performing the same service for Bruce. Alfred was stronger than he had any right to be and Bruce
once again realized that his life as Batman would have been impossible without him.

More memories surfaced, of struggling into a pair of old, worn sweatpants. Giving the shirt up as
too complex and collapsing in a heap next to Clark. Alfred 'tutting' over them and cleaning Clark
from head to toe. Watching as Alfred so gently washed Clark's wounds. Now that he was more
awake there was a wonderful scent that teased at Bruce's nose, reminding him of blue skies and the
air after a summer storm. It made him want to curl back up and bask in it.

So, of course, he forced his head up, squinting against the light. He was in his bed, and next to him
was seemingly miles of smooth skin and gorgeously muscled Superman. The sunlight poured itself
across his back like honey on that fine-grained skin, the terrible wounds almost gone.
Bruce's gaze slipped lower and his breath hitched. The sheet was sliding off of Clark's hips, the
muscled swell of his cheeks all that kept it in place. Bruce swallowed, his mouth dry, tracing one
long, graceful limb with his eyes where it was flung up over Bruce's hips, the hand warm and
secure around his side.

Clark was hugging him, was in fact, snuggling with him. In bed. In Bruce's bed. Naked. Why hadn't
they dressed him, he wondered a bit wildly. Surely, Clark hadn't torn or set fire to everything in his
size? Bruce edged to the far side of the bed, reaching for freedom and his water glass, when he was
gently but inexorably tugged back to the middle. Now Clark's face was pressed against Bruce's
ribs, his warm breath ghosting over bruised skin. Clark had darn well better be asleep or there was
no way Bruce would ever let him hear the end of this.

A polite cough drew his attention to the door where Alfred, of course, had seen the whole damn
thing. Bruce scowled, gesturing at the water glass. Alfred walked, silent as any manservant to a
great house, hiding a smile that would not be de rigueur, and handed Bruce the glass.

"His wounds are healing remarkably quickly," Alfred whispered.

"It's the sunlight," Bruce whispered back, draining the glass. "He'll be fine long before I will."

"You saved his life, Master Bruce," Alfred said, quiet pride in his voice.

Bruce trailed his fingertips along Clark's shoulder. "We saved each other."

"Indeed," Alfred murmured, taking the empty glass. "Will that be all, Sir?"

"No," Bruce said. "Since I'm obviously stuck here for the duration," he indicated the Man of Steel
wrapped around his waist, "bring me my laptop. I've got research on LexCorp to do."

"Of course, Sir," Alfred bowed, then paused. "He likely needs the comfort," he said, nodding at
Clark's arm stubbornly around Bruce's middle. Bruce hesitated, then nodded. Alfred smiled,
retreating as noiselessly as he'd arrived.

Bruce closed his eyes, still trailing his fingertips along Clark's shoulder. He could still work, even
if he'd agreed to, well, whatever he'd agreed to just now. He marshaled his thoughts to call up
everything Clark had told him about Luthor and the Smallville connection. Honestly, it wasn't
much. Bruce frowned, remembering his anger while debriefing Clark. He'd handled hundreds of
interviews with informants. What was it about Clark that made it impossible to keep his distance?

He thought again about what he'd accused Clark of, and flinched. He was lucky the man hadn't
taken a swing at him. But then he hadn't been worried about that, not for a second. He remembered
staring, fascinated, into Clark's eyes as they shifted, and feeling absolutely confident that Clark
would never harm him, despite accusing him just seconds before of being untrustworthy.

He shook his head. This was getting him nowhere. He opened his eyes; still no Alfred. Where was
the man? He needed to work, not get lost in his thoughts. Clark was a distraction. They seemed to
irritate each other constantly but, at the same, time couldn't leave each other alone. It was
maddening, like an itch he had to scratch.

He remembered the fierce satisfaction of going into battle with Clark at his side, Clark's grief over
those poor, dead monsters. Clark's smiles, his anger. Clark stumbling out of the burning building,
more dead than alive. Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. Blast, where was Alfred? He couldn't
read, couldn't plan, couldn't stop thinking about Clark. It was almost like he was the one who was
obsessed, like he was...
Oh.

This was not happening. This was not in the plan. Batman didn't have time to fall, er, become
attracted to anyone. And even if he did, he'd choose someone a hell of a lot more suitable than
Clark. Someone who would understand the Mission. Who sacrificed himself day in and day out,
just like he did. Someone warm and caring and funny, who actually seemed to want Bruce to like
him. Someone pretty much like....

Bruce stared helplessly down at Clark. "We can't even talk without getting in a fight," he sighed,
giving in and burying his hand in Clark's thick, wavy hair. He closed his eyes, thinking of how
impossible this was, how nice Clark smelled, how heavy and wonderful the afternoon sunlight felt
on his skin. He drifted off remembering a whispered plea. "I need him."

Alfred watched quietly from the door, laptop most decidedly downstairs. Master Bruce could
retrieve it when he was rested enough to get it himself. He shut the door and smiled as he slipped
downstairs to start supper for two.

*_*_*

Clark was having the most delicious dream. Bruce was there, of course, exciting and maddening
by turns. And there was golden, sweet pleasure wrapping around him, suffusing him and soaking
into his very core. He felt so good, so relaxed and warm and full of pleasure. It seemed just recently
he hadn't felt very good at all. But whenever he tried to think about that Bruce would distract him
again, tease him, elusive and always just beyond his reach. Clark would brush his fingers, his lips
and he'd be gone, slipping away but never going far.

Follow me, his elusive shadow seemed to say. Come find me. Clark would laugh and reach out
again, each time a little further down some twilight path towards something huge and glorious and
so good. Bruce, he murmured, palms sliding up Bruce's ribs, warm and strong and so alive. Bruce,
he teased, smiling as his fingers traced across silky scars. Bruce, he breathed, his lips and tongue
skimming down Bruce's incredible stomach. Bruce, oh Bruce-

The sudden grip in his hair jerked him awake. He was embarrassingly aroused, twisted up in the
sheets with Bruce's name on his lips.

"Feeling better?" Bruce asked, his voice hoarse. Clark looked up to find him staring down the
expanse of his naked chest, a bit wild around the eyes.

Clark blushed so hard he thought he might set the sheets on fire. His arms were around Bruce's
hips, his face and lips had been pressed sweetly against Bruce's stomach. He was almost certain
he'd been doing indecent things involving his hips and Bruce's mattress. There was a dark, musky
scent that hung heavy and hungry at the back of Clark's mouth.

Desperate to distract himself, he looked down and saw a deep, painful bruise spreading across
Bruce's ribs. "Did I do this?" he frowned, propping himself on an elbow and grazing his fingertips
lightly along sensitive skin.

Bruce's stomach quivered and he made a strange, urgent noise in the back of his throat. The hand in
Clark's hair tightened and sent a shock of pleasure straight to his groin. Clark's mouth went slack
and he was, no, not panting. He was just, breathing quickly. He opened his eyes to meet Bruce's
and saw his mouth was soft and open, and he was breathing a little fast too. Well that was fine
then. They were both just... yes. Breathing. Clark wet his lips.

"I should find you some clothes," Bruce blurted, and with a wriggle he was gone, leaving a shock
of horrified realization in his wake. Clark propped himself up further and looked down. He was
naked. He'd been, and Bruce had been right there, and he was so extremely, completely naked. He
thumped his face back down on the mattress, groaning in embarrassment.

"I want a do over," he said, his voice muffled.

"Maybe later," Bruce said, tossing fresh clothing at the bed. "Try not to destroy these." Clark
peeked up through his mussed hair to find Bruce smiling a tiny, wry grin, already dressed in slacks
and a button down shirt. "Alfred should have supper ready soon," he added, closing the door
behind..

Well, hell. Sighing he pushed himself up, pleased to note his body was responding easily. The pain
was gone; an odd, lingering stiffness in his back and shoulders all that remained. He took a second
survey and noted that all his internal systems were healthy and happy, too.

Some happier than others. He stood, once again dressing himself in Bruce's clothes. The teasing
smell of expensive cologne and Bruce would surely rub into his skin. He'd smell like Bruce for
days. He groaned as his dick surged, heavy and demanding in Bruce's slacks. "I don't get paid
enough for this," he muttered, wondering if he had time for a cold shower.

*_*_*

Bruce synced his laptop to the Cave computer, using it as a terminal to access the search engines
he'd designed. One search was running the facial recognition software using the images
downloaded from his binoculars. It didn't feel right that those people had died without names. If
they were anywhere on the grid, Bruce would find them. Plus, it would give him a huge lead into
how they'd crossed paths with Luthor, and where Luthor's interests might lie.

Another search was sending out threads to grab and tease out anything involving LexCorp,
weapons research, and the means to move large pieces of ore from remote farming areas. Because
of the laptop's limitations it would actually be faster to walk down the stairs and work from the
Cave. But for some reason he found himself sitting in the den, making himself available to Clark
when he showed.

No. Not some reason. Bruce slapped his open palms on the chair arms, fed up with himself. He
was a detective and it was time for some cold, hard facts. First, he was attracted to Clark. Well, that
was no great leap of logic. Clark was absurdly gorgeous and had a disturbing propensity to snuggle
up to Bruce any time he stood still long enough. Or laid still. A hot shiver of pleasure unfurled in
his gut when he thought about Clark's lips on his navel, his tongue warm and wet, touching and
tasting, lower...

Ngh. Bruce pulled his thoughts back in line. Point number two, Clark was a distraction. Obviously.
And he had a tendency to set fire to things. Or tumble buildings into fragmented heaps. Or just
smile really, really nicely and turn Bruce's well-ordered life upside down. So. Trouble.

Point the third. Even if he wanted to pursue... something, it would clearly never work. They could
barely hold a civil conversation between them. Doubtless if they tried to be nice to each other one
or both would still lose their temper. It'd likely end with Clark yelling, Bruce getting in his face,
Clark taking hold of Bruce and slamming him into a wall, Bruce pushing back against that hot,
hard body, Clark grinding into him, causing Bruce to sweat and curse and-

This wasn't helping.

He launched out of his chair, pacing up and down the room. Fine. He knew this wouldn't work, but
it seemed some part of his brain still needed convincing. So he'd demonstrate to himself,
conclusively, that he and Clark were completely incompatible. Tonight he'd be nice. Go out of his
way to say or do things. Nice things. And then Clark would still get angry and Bruce would have
proved once and for all that it was utterly useless.

Yes, this would work.

Once he'd proved that he and Clark could never stand each other his brain would give up this
ridiculous obsession it'd latched onto. Bruce would be able to think clearly again. He'd never have
to worry about getting lost in thoughts about Clark's eyes, or his scent, which still lingered on
Bruce's skin. Or remember how much warmer than normal Clark's skin was. Almost hot to the
touch. Or wonder how that skin might taste under Bruce's tongue.

The laptop beeped, pulling Bruce out of his thoughts. Right. Perfect. This was going to work
perfectly.

*_*_*

Clark jogged down the winding staircase, his attention on buttoning up his cuffs. He hoped Bruce
wasn’t going to be too upset with him about that whole… thing, just now. With the bed. He
couldn’t believe he’d-

“There you are,” he heard, and he snapped his head up. Bruce was standing at the foot of the stairs,
one hand on the railing, obviously waiting for him. His tall, well-muscled body lounged easily
against the banister, the top button of his shirt open to show a hint of chest hair. For no good
reason, Clark started to blush again.

“Um, hi,” he offered. “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting. Erm...” Yeah, lame, Kent. Very lame. His
blush felt hotter.

“No, not at all,” Bruce replied pleasantly. “Alfred’s still busy in the kitchen, and I’ve got a few
things I want you to see.” Bruce gave him a quicksilver smile and turned, walking into the main
foyer. “Coming?” he asked over his shoulder.

Clark trailed after, mystified, as Bruce stopped in front of an old grandfather clock. He shot Clark a
sideways look and opened the glass door. He pressed something in the interior, the face or the
hands or some lever just inside. Clark jumped as a rumble of gears vibrated in the floor. He stared
in amazement as the clock slid aside, revealing stairs leading down into darkness. Bruce, he saw,
was watching him intently.

“Welcome to the Cave,” Bruce said.

“That's incredible,” Clark breathed, sensing the cool, moist air rushing up from the subterranean
cavern. “How did you even-“

“Clark,” Bruce laughed, gripping his shoulder. You haven’t even seen it yet.”

He started down into the gloom and gave a tug on Clark’s shirtsleeve to follow. Clark was a bit
alarmed by the change in Bruce’s behavior. Was Bruce still angry? Was he setting Clark up,
somehow? Was he injured?

Actually, that last was pretty likely. Bruce would probably walk around with a concussion and
never tell anyone. He was probably injured right now, and Clark was letting him meander down
those dark, slippery stairs without any support. He hurried after him.
The Batcave was huge. A perfect natural cavern deep in the earth under Wayne Manor. There were
bats, of course. Hundreds of them, chittering and flitting about in the semi-gloom as Bruce flipped
lights on ahead of them. Clark stopped and stared in awe. Up on a dias was a huge supercomputer,
beeping and whirring to itself in some strange language all its own. There was a laboratory set up
further back, a medical bay, a flat arena with weights and training equipment. And the car.

Bruce slipped up next to him, speaking low and distractingly in his ear. “You’ve already been here,
of course. But you were unconscious. Thought you’d like to see the place when you’re awake.”
Clark shivered.

“This is…” he shook his head. He was a reporter, and he couldn’t find words to say what this
meant to him. “Thank you,” he whispered. “But why?”

Bruce shrugged easily and led them up on the dias to the computer. “It’s easier to access the
information I’ve been searching down here.” He paused, then added in an odd tone, “Plus I thought
I’d show you things. Of mine. You know.”

Clark didn’t know. He nodded though, wary, and Bruce looked pleased. “I did some research while
you were upstairs,” Bruce went on, "and I think I found out how one of our killers got exposed to
the Kryptonite. Are you listening? Clark?”

Clark blinked, pulled his x-ray vision back and smiled sunnily. “Yup, I’m all ears.” No evidence of
a concussion. What in the world?

“Right,” Bruce ventured. “Anyway, here, look for yourself.” He gestured to the chair, and it took a
minute for Clark to realize that Bruce wanted him to sit. In his chair. In Batman’s chair. Clark took
a deep breath and sat gingerly.

“Excellent,” Bruce murmured in his ear, leaning over his shoulder. “I was able to ID the man. His
name is Arthur Collins, he was a software engineer. He actually lived here in Gotham but
commuted to Metropolis. And you’ll never guess who his last employer was before he
disappeared.”

"Not Luthor. That would be too obvious. It would lead a trail right to his door," Clark said, his
voice a bit hoarse.

"Correct," Bruce purred, and reached across Clark to bring up a new window. Clark caught himself
leaning into Bruce, savoring his heat on Clark's back and shoulder. He cleared his throat and sat up
straighter.

"However," Bruce continued, "he did work for a company that creates military software for
weapons. Weapons that, with this company, have a way of falling into non-NATO-approved
hands. And if you unwrap enough shells you'll find-"

"That it's owned by LexCorp," Clark finished.

"Precisely," Bruce rumbled, low and hot in Clark's ear.

Clark was trying very hard to pay attention. He knew this was important, but honestly, did Bruce
have to keep murmuring and growling that silky, dark voice in his ear? Clark turned his face, his
eyes still on the screen, to move his ear away from Bruce’s mouth. He misjudged the distance and
brushed his nose and lips against Bruce’s cheek.

Bruce jumped. He was suddenly three feet away and staring at Clark.
Clark stood, his hands open in front of him. “Um, sorry...?” he trailed off, not sure what to
apologize for.

A tiny frown crossed Bruce’s face, then was gone. “No, there’s no problem," he assured Clark.
"Don’t worry yourself.” He smiled and put a hand on Clark’s shoulder, his thumb brushing Clark's
throat. “Supper should be ready. We’ll discuss the rest over food.”

Clark followed, completely baffled. Either he was the one with the concussion, or Bruce was…
courting him?

He looked behind him at the Cave. This was Bruce’s most private, intimate space. Where he dealt
with the things he cared most about in the world. And he’d wanted to share it with Clark. So.

Smiling his own, tiny, pleased smile, Clark turned to join Bruce for supper.

*_*_*

"So the interesting thing, I mean, the truly unique piece to all of this," Bruce said, cutting his steak
between bites, "is that yes, your arch-nemesis is creating a host of mutant killing machines. But,"
and here he pointed his knife at Clark, "it doesn't have a thing to do with you."

Bruce had been waiting all evening for things to unravel and the two of them to start yelling again.
He thought for a minute it was going to happen, down in the Cave. But then, Clark had looked
confused and apologetic and Bruce realized he'd misread... something.

"If this is where you say 'I told you so', can it wait until dessert?" Clark smiled.

In fact, Clark was in a better mood than Bruce had ever seen. At least with himself. Had he
miscalculated how long it would take for Clark to lose his temper? To be irrational or
unreasonable?

"I did, though," Bruce insisted. "Tell you so. You thought it was your fault-"

"Which it still might be-"

"The process to create those mutants is meant to be sold across the border of the Qrn desert. That's
a long way to go to threaten Metropolis' protector."

Yet, here they were, calmly discussing the case and not an explosion in sight. Something was
wrong with the plan. Bruce had missed something.

"You know," Clark teased, setting his fork down, "you're not always right."

Was this it? Would now be the time?

"Yes, I am," he countered, his eyebrow winging upward. "You set a city block on fire."

"Just one building."

"It spread. Quickly."

"It was that or let the sludge get into the water supply."

"An entire block," he insisted.

Clark threw his hands up. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"I told you." He pointed at Clark. "Trouble."

Clark chuckled, shaking his head and holding up his hands in defeat.

And, like that the complete and total non-event, non-argument passed. Hell. He had missed
something.

"Fine, you win. So if you know so much-" Clark began

"Uh, uh," Bruce shook his head. "Everything." He couldn't help teasing, pushing for more...

"Oh?" Clark teased back, playing along. "So if you know everything-"

"Where are the rest of the test subjects being held?" Bruce blew out a breath, frowning at his plate.
"Yes, that is the question."

"And how do we stop the testing, collect the Kryptonite without being exposed, contain or rescue
or somehow help the test subjects, and stop Luthor from doing it again?" Clark ticked point after
point off on his fingers.

Bruce hummed in thought, attacking his potatoes. Clark did have an amazingly sharp mind. It was
a clear pleasure to work with a man who could follow Bruce's thinking so quickly and add his own
insightful contributions.

Bruce sighed. He liked collaborating with Clark. He liked knowing that Clark was safe and
somewhere Bruce could watch him. He liked sharing meals and conversations and, hell, sharing
beds with Clark. This was terrible.

Bruce dropped his fork and buried his face in his hands.

"Bruce, hello? Are you okay?"

Operation 'Be Nice to Clark' was a total failure. All he'd managed to do was find more reasons to
enjoy the man's company.

"Fine, 'm fine," Bruce sighed, fisting his hands and resting his chin against them. Crap. And there
sat Clark across from him, gorgeous and perfect and... only here in Gotham until the case was
solved. Then he'd leave. Of course, he'd go. He could have anyone and Bruce was... oh hell.

"Bruce, you look ready to burn a hole in the table. What's going on in there?" Clark asked, the
concern clear in his voice.

"Nothing," Bruce said. "It's just, well. I'm glad."

"You don't seem very happy..."

"No, I am. I'm glad you're here. That's all."

Clark flushed, obviously pleased, and grinned down at his plate. "Glad I'm here, too," he mumbled.
The two of them sat like that, grinning like fools, unable to make eye contact. Then, Clark's eyes
got wide, and he looked up, snapping his fingers. "That's where I've seen her!"

"Who?" Bruce frowned. "The woman? From earlier?"

"Yes. Her name's Melanie Rothchilde."

"Heiress?"

Clark shook his head. "Reporter. She made a name for herself publishing whistleblowers from
Fortune 500 companies. She went missing a few months back. It was all anyone at the Planet
talked about."

"And Collins was a software engineer for a weapons company."

"Melanie said she had a friend. One she'd been trying to help. Maybe that friend-"

"-dug into something he shouldn't have-"

"-and then contacted her to tell his story, when they both get discovered by Lex-"

"-and they both end up on a rooftop in my city. Dying."

"They must have escaped to find you."

"Their minds were twisted by the Kryptonite. They thought they had to kill people to get my
attention." Bruce clenched his fist, remembering seven dead bodies.

"They thought they had to kill you, B. To teach you how to kill the rest of them." Clark leaned
forward and put a warm hand on Bruce's forearm. "We have to find the others."

"You have to realize," Bruce ground out, "by the time we find the place, there might not be anyone
left to save."

"You know," Clark said, his gentle voice pulling Bruce out of his dark mood, "you're not always
right."

Bruce looked up to see humor and affection in Clark's eyes. "Right. Well. This case won't solve
itself." And Clark was still here, at least for a while.

*_*_*

Clark was all for heading back to Metropolis then and there. He was ready to confront Lex, charge
him with crimes against humanity and demand that he release the test subjects. But Bruce had other
ideas.

"Look," Bruce said. "As you pointed out we're not even sure where the testing facilities are. Plus,
as important as this case is, and believe me it's at the top of my list, it's not the only thing I'm
working on. I have some time sensitive things that need looking into, and you need to learn to use
all the advantages you have. Including prep time."

Clark shook his head. Couldn't Bruce see that now was the time to act? "Every minute we wait
could mean life or death for someone else Lex is experimenting on. We have to act now. I know
the sorts of places in Metropolis where Lex could set this up without worrying about security. I
could use my powers to check out the buildings and voila, we'd have a winner."

"Okay," Bruce said, folding his napkin. "Suppose we follow your plan and head straight over to
Metropolis. And suppose, once we're there, you get lucky and we stumble across the testing
facilities. Maybe we'll even be very lucky and it'll be just one facility instead of several that we
need to track down and dismantle. Suppose all this is true," he said, "we already know there are
more test subjects that have been exposed to the Kryptonite process. And I don't think I need to
remind you just how well we came out of our last encounter."

Clark winced. "True. But what else can we do? The danger won't be any less if we wait until
tomorrow."

"No, you're thinking about it all wrong," Bruce said, leaning close. "We're not waiting. We're
attacking Luthor's plans right now, here at this table." He rapped his knuckles to demonstrate. "We
don't always need to be physically on the scene to change the outcome and at the same time we're
tipping the scales in our favor, increasing our chances for success. Their survival depends on ours."
His eyes blazed with passion and Clark felt his heart speed up, the hairs on his neck prickle in an
atavistic response. Bruce like this was powerful, primal, and Clark couldn't help but respond to
him.

"While I'm working on my other cases tonight," Bruce went on, "I'm going to start rumors
circulating that the Feds and NATO won't be able to ignore. Homeland security is going to look
like an anthill that just got kicked over." Bruce smirked. "That'll keep Luthor busy enough for the
next little while to keep him from contacting his overseas buyers. He'll be forced to lay low, and
that'll include stopping any current testing. He'll want to be in a position to withdraw his resources
in a hurry and that means protecting his researchers and other intellectual assets."

Clark blinked and realized he'd been staring. "Wow. Okay, I can see how that makes sense. I'm just
not used to, I don't know, working quite so obliquely. I've just never-"

"-had to," Bruce finished for him. "We weren't all born with superhuman powers, my friend. The
rest of us have to make up for it in other ways."

"By being sneaky?" Clark suggested, and Bruce grinned back. Clark couldn't help but notice that
this was different than any other time they'd worked together. Bruce wasn't telling him he was
stupid or obtuse. He was sharing his plans and inviting Clark to contribute. My friend. Clark
grinned into his coffee. Then a thought occurred.

"But wait. You said earlier that we don't have enough to bring Lex down," Clark thought through
the web of half-conjecture and unprovable proof they had. "We'll still need to step in and take care
of things personally. How were you planning to protect us from the Kryptonite?"

"I hadn't quite gotten that far," Bruce admitted, finishing up and gesturing to Alfred to start clearing
the table. "But we'll do it on our terms, when we're ready. We owe it to those people to be as
prepared as possible. They only have the one chance and we can't waste it."

Clark stood up, feeling like he wanted to shake Bruce's hand or, or something. "I might have an
idea on that. Give me a bit to work on it." He ran his hand through his hair. There was more,
somehow, that he wanted to say. "You're a good man," he finally settled on, holding Bruce's gaze
with his. "You make me proud to work with you."

Bruce's cool, collected demeanor cracked. He ducked his head, clearly embarrassed. In a blinding
burst of insight Clark understood that he wasn't looking at the harsh, terrifying Batman. Instead he
was standing across from a shy, quiet man who'd always fought to make the world a better place. A
man who was frankly terrible at relating to real people, but who loved them so fiercely that he'd
spend his life to protect them. Clark turned away to let Bruce regain his composure and to hide his
smile. "Say, I noticed you've got a lab set-up downstairs. Since you're going to be busy, mind if I
check it out?"
Bruce waved him off, clearing his throat and striding out of the room. Amazing. Twenty-four
hours ago Clark would have thought Bruce was angry or belittling him, or just couldn't be bothered
to reply. What a difference a day made.

"Master Clark," Alfred said, bringing Clark out of his thoughts. "I do believe Master Bruce will be
busy for some hours to come. Would you care to have coffee or anything else brought down to
you?"

"Ah, no. Thanks," Clark said. "Will Bruce, I mean, I hardly know how he does what he does, but
do you think he needs any help?"

Alfred shook his head while he stacked dishes. "I do believe you've already provided him with
more than he ever expected. From anyone."

"Um, okay. Good." What was it about this house that Clark couldn't stop blushing or stammering?

*_*_*

The trip to Metropolis was... interesting. Bruce knew it wasn't logical to drive the Batmobile all
that distance and there was nowhere secure to store the Batwing once they'd arrived. Which left
one, completely undignified, mode of transport. Of course.

Earlier in the night, he'd been in and out of the Cave, fomenting rumors about LexCorp through
back-channels and simultaneously following up a lead on a kidnapping case. He'd ended the night
by bringing a scared but safe little girl back to her family. He'd also left a very satisfying package
trussed up outside of Commissioner Gordon's window. That was one thug who wouldn't be preying
on Bruce's city again.

But throughout the night, whether he'd been sitting at his chair in the Cave or checking on the
security cameras via the Batmobile, Bruce would take a minute to watch Clark in the lab. He had a
nice voice, Bruce noted absently. Clark would often hum or sing to himself while he worked.
Bruce intended, more than once, to ask Clark what he was doing, but each time he'd pause, loathe
to interrupt.

The fact was it felt strange but good to have someone else working in the Cave. There was a
companionable sort of peace that stretched its wings over him. It kept him grounded and calm
without distracting him from his own work. He wondered if Clark felt it.

Now, of course, he didn't feel anything except the potential embarrassment of anyone spotting
them. His cowl kept the wind out of his eyes and he had his head turned towards Clark, the better
to breathe. His cape flapped out ridiculously behind him, sliding and mixing with Clark's own.
"This is utterly absurd," he shouted over the wind. "I feel like one of your damsels in distress!"

He felt, more than heard, Clark chuckle. That was because he was, well, cradled to Clark's chest,
an arm under his knees and another around his shoulders to keep him secure. "I didn't know I had
damsels," Clark rumbled. "Be sure to point them out to me when you see them."

"Yeah, like that's going to happen," Bruce said under his breath. Immediately he could have
smacked himself when Clark laughed again. Stupid super-hearing.

"Relax! We're almost there. Just a few hundred miles more. Anywhere in particular you want to
start the search?"

"I know exactly where to start. I just don't want anyone to see us getting there!" To preserve the
element of surprise. Obviously.
"Hey, you're not the one making a new fashion statement. If anyone sees me dressed like this I'm
going to get mobbed by the press. Next they'll be expecting me to wear ears, too!"

Clark's suit had been incinerated, of course. And while civilian clothes were fine for knocking
around the Manor, he'd needed something that would stand up to the wear and tear he normally put
his work clothes through. Alfred had come down just as Bruce was getting back for the night,
carrying an armful of silky red and black fabric. "It's not your normal apparel, I know," he'd
apologized, holding the suit up to Clark's broad chest, "but we're a bit short of primary colors at the
moment. We don't have much call for them."

Clark had looked stunned, then had smiled that thousand mega-watt grin. The grin that made
Bruce want to do all sorts of things to him. It had only gotten worse when Clark had actually put
the suit on. The lightly armored, form-fitting black material hugged his body like a glove, and left
Bruce feeling fiercely, irrationally possessive. Clark would be going into battle wearing his suit.
Protected by something Bruce owned. Bruce knew he was staring intently, but he couldn't bring
himself to stop.

Alfred had sewn a red 'S' into the breastplate and had somehow managed to find enough red to
create a cape. Fortunately, Clark's feet were the same size as Bruce's, so a pair of his boots
completed the outfit. His hands were sheathed in black gloves, pairs to Bruce's own. He'd stood in
front of Bruce flexing his hands in the unfamiliar material and Bruce had felt his temperature spike.

"I don't see why I need the gloves," Clark had said, and Bruce had rubbed his mouth with a hand,
keeping so many words unspoken. When he could trust himself, he'd said, "They're to protect you.
From the Kryptonite. It'll be at least a little shielding. Let them do their job." If Clark noticed that
his voice had been hoarse, he hadn't mentioned it.

They were fast coming up on the Metropolis skyline. It was a good bet they'd arrive just as dawn
was breaking. "Put us down by the the old robotics plant!" he shouted, curling in a bit closer to
Clark's heat. His suit had insulation, of course, but there was no reason to arrive half frozen to a
battle.

"I thought you didn't want us to be seen," Clark said quietly, and just that quickly the wind died
down. They floated gently to the pavement and ducked into an alley in the old industrial district.

"We won't be," Bruce subvocalized. "We're just here to make sure all the other leads are dead
ends."

"Sounds good to me," Clark rumbled back, sending a new shiver through Bruce that had nothing to
do with being cold.

"What is it with you and personal space," he muttered, shifting in Clark's arms. "We're on the
ground now. Put me down."

"Oh, sorry," Clark smiled. "Must have forgotten." He didn't so much put Bruce down as, well,
there was far too much sliding and rubbing for such a simple procedure. By the time Bruce's feet
were actually on the ground he was half hard and absolutely sure that Clark had noticed his
reactions to the suit.

Fine. Two could play that game.

"My sources tell me that the security Luthor hired for this project tends to favor one of three
locations," Bruce whispered. "Use your vision and hearing to rule out this site."
"And we didn't do this from the air because...?" Clark asked.

"The building is likely abandoned. It was the most recently used site before Luthor hired them. But
just in case, I'd like to keep a low profile. Problem?"

Clark just shrugged and turned to face the building, focusing his attention through the walls. Bruce
waited a beat, then ran his fingertips across Clark's ribs. He smiled when Clark jumped.

"Ah... Bruce?" he ventured. What're you doing?"

"Checking the clasps on the suit. You've got this on all wrong. Keep going, I'll fix it."

"Ahm, sure. Okay." Clark gave him a wary look, then turned back to the building.

Bruce smoothed his palms down Clark's ribs again, this time getting a minute shiver for his
troubles. Clark's hands fisted in his gloves, but he continued to stare ahead, checking the building
floor by floor.

Bruce was breathing harder as he smoothed his gloved hands around Clark's waist. His suit. Clark
was out in the world and dressed in Bruce's suit. His grip tightened and his thumbs bit into the
hollow at the base of Clark's spine. He swore he heard Clark's breath catch. He forced himself to
let go and ghosted his hands down over that magnificent ass, just barely there pressure. Enough to
make Clark question whether he'd even felt it.

He trailed his fingertips around front, up over Clark's chest and down. "Bruce." Clark's voice was
strangled, his body rigid.

"Don't mind me. How's the surveillance?"

"Might go faster if I wasn't... ngh!"

Bruce went down on one knee, his cape pooling around him. He allowed his nails to scratch lightly
down Clark's thighs, stopping to check each clasp on the way down. By the time he got to Clark's
boots, he could feel the heat radiating off of Clark's body. "There," he said, "all done."

He looked up to find Clark standing stock still, his head thrown back and his eyes closed. He was
biting his lower lip, his chest expanding with deep, quick breaths, filling out the suit so gorgeously.
Bruce stood up, allowing himself to ghost his hand close to the bulge between Clark's legs. So
close, but not touching. This time he knew he heard Clark strangle a moan.

"Building's secure," Clark bit out, blinking his eyes open.

"And so are you," Bruce murmured. That should teach Clark to keep his hands to himself.

*_*_*

Clark felt like he might just spontaneously combust. His adrenaline always ran high before a fight
and having Bruce feel him up under the guise of checking his suit was pure torture. In the time
between one morning and the next, he'd gone from being unable to tolerate Bruce's presence in a
room to wondering how the hell he could get them both locked in one.

It didn't help that Bruce smelled so good. After they'd ruled out the first site Clark had had to pick
Bruce up again, cradling his leather-and-Bruce scent close. Close enough that he could bury his
face in Bruce's neck and maybe mouth along the leather protecting his tender throat. Fuck.
"We're here," Bruce husked. Clark wondered what his own scent was doing to Bruce. If there was
any justice in the world Bruce was fighting for his control at least as hard as Clark.

"This isn't the place," he said, barely slowing down.

"Wait, we need to be sure-"

"The building's been taken over by squatters," Clark said, shaking his head. "I can hear them
waking up and starting breakfast. Lex would never risk a security breach like that."

"Fine," Bruce conceded, wriggling a bit closer to Clark's chest. Good god, the name was just a
metaphor. He wasn't actually made of steel and if Bruce didn't stop moving, he'd find that out at
the worst possible time.

"We always knew the third site was the most likely," Bruce subvocalized. They were coming up on
it now, an abandoned hospital at the edge of Old Town. Ten years ago, it had been booming with
old money and new investments. Then, Star Labs had traced a virulent airborne contagion to this
very hospital and the rich had fled faster than rats from a ship. Old Town had never recovered from
the sudden financial collapse and these days stood mostly empty. Gangs tried to fight their turf
wars here, but the stories about contagion still lingered. No one wanted to live in the area.

Clark landed quietly on the ground, a good block away from the campus, and ducked into the
ground floor of a brick building. All the windows had long ago been broken, and the floor was
thick with dirt and debris. "There's a ton of electricity being drawn over there," he whispered,
setting Bruce down without fuss. "I can hear it. And smell it."

"Are you sure it's coming from the hospital?" Bruce asked, kneeling by a window and lifting his
binoculars to his face.

"Positive. It's like a single, humming point surrounded by blocks of silence. If they're anywhere in
Metropolis, they're here."

"Right. Let's move," he said, returning the glasses to his belt.

Clark reached out to Bruce. "Wait. You're on my turf, now, B. Don't you think I should be the one
to lead the way?"

Bruce grinned his fierce battle grin. "Trust me, that won't make a bit of difference."

"Well, maybe this will." Clark pulled a vial filled with bluish fluid out of a pocket. Pockets! He
needed to get Alfred to make him a few more suits.

"What is it?" Bruce asked, taking the vial and holding it up to the dawn light.

"It's what I was working on last night. It'll interact with your DNA on a submicroscopic level. The
science is a bit hard to translate from Kryptonian," he shrugged, embarrassed as always to talk
about his alien heritage, "but the effect is that it'll protect you for a while from Kryptonite
exposure."

Bruce stared at Clark, then thrust the vial back at him. "No. Absolutely not."

"B!" Clark whispered, pushing the vial back. "Just because you didn't come up with it doesn't
mean it won't work. Take it!"

"Go to hell," Bruce whispered back. "It should be you taking this, not me. I'm not the one with the
deadly reaction to Kryptonite!"

"It won't work on me!" Clark snarled, furious now. "Drink it, damn it! It can't be exposed to
sunlight much longer or it loses its potency."

"Oh," Bruce said, surprise clear even under the cowl. He uncorked it and swallowed the draught.
"Gah, that's foul."

"Sorry, next time I'll stir in some honey," Clark huffed, rolling his eyes. Try to do a guy a favor...

"No, that's not," Bruce shook his head and turned to scan the hospital grounds. "Thanks," he
whispered, still not facing Clark. "Thank you."

"Hey, it's okay," Clark whispered, putting a hand on Bruce's shoulder. He could feel Bruce's
muscles shift, even through the heavier armor on the Batsuit. Under that he felt the steady,
reassuring pulse of Bruce's blood flowing in time with his heart.

"It's not," Bruce whispered. "It's really not." He turned his head, his face under the cowl all sharp
lines and fierce intent. "You need to come out of this alive. Do you hear me? I won't stand for
anything less. Not again."

Clark sucked in a breath, intuition flaring for the second time. Did he dare? His hand shook a little
as he reached out to fit his fingers to Bruce's jaw, his thumb resting on Bruce's lips. This was it.
Clear intent. Undeniable and real between them. Bruce's heartsblood beat in soft pulses under
Clark's thumb, then faster.

Without any warning, Bruce pounced, slamming Clark against the wall and pinning him with his
weight. "Don't play with me," he growled, his voice dark and savage. "Not now, not like this!"

"I'm not, I'm not," Clark could only repeat, dazed and so fucking turned on he could hardly think.
Bruce was on him, covering him everywhere. His hot, sharp mouth crushed Clark's, opening him
and licking, biting. Clark opened his mouth further and groaned, bucking his hips against Bruce.

"Bad timing, terrible," Bruce gasped between kisses. "Nag, nag," Clark panted. He already knew
their timing was crap, so he felt justified ignoring Bruce. He hooked his foot around Bruce's ankle,
twisting and pushing. Now Bruce was trapped between Clark and the wall, and that felt so good.
He'd wanted this, to push and pull and slam against Bruce like this for so long. Bruce was writhing
and grinding on Clark's thigh, hot kisses, hard wall, hard body, everything so hot and hard.

"I thought about this," Bruce gasped out, turning his face to bite Clark's neck.

"Yeah?" Clark groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head.

"Yes," Bruce purred, dark and silkily dangerous in Clark's ear, his lips whisper-close to the shell.
"Thought there'd be more yelling." He ground with his hips, and Clark moaned. "Oh! Bet... bet I
could make you... yell." he panted. He grabbed Bruce's face with both hands, kissing him hot and
wet, and then spread his legs to let Bruce settle sweetly between them.

"Oh God, we can't," Bruce bit out, pulling away from the kiss, his hips still pulsing and pushing
between Clark's thighs. "The job, we've got a mission," he said, and with that he threw himself
away from Clark.

Clark slumped against the wall, panting and hard enough to break every damn buckle on Bruce's
suit. "Maybe we should do this, you know, before the mission. Next time."
He heard Bruce chuckle by the window, rueful and turned on all at once. "Let's just concentrate on
what we have at hand," Bruce whispered. Clark saw him begin a series of meditative breaths to
calm his mind and body.

"I thought we were," Clark whispered back, straightening and joining him. Bruce opened his eyes
and met Clark's. Once again, Clark saw that shy, extraordinary man looking back at him.

"Later," Bruce breathed, hardly a sound.

"Later," Clark whispered firmly.

*_*_*

It wasn't easy getting closer to the hospital campus, and Bruce knew that he was better equipped
than most to spot and circumvent security measures. There hadn't been reliable intel on the tech
that Luthor's security used, and at least twice he'd have been in trouble if Clark hadn't been there.
The first was when they were slithering across the no-man's land between their initial recon point
and the entrance to the main building.

Bruce was mildly impressed that someone as, well, tall as Superman could move so unobtrusively.
A back corner of his mind was itching to get Clark into some training gear and really find out what
he was capable of. Bruce was leading the way when Clark seized him from behind. Suddenly there
was dirt and a brief second of vertigo. Bruce realized that Clark had dug them into the ground.
They were about five feet down in a pit, Clark lying half on top of him.

"Feel free to explain any time now," he murmured, lifting his face up out of the newly churned
earth.

"Sorry," Clark mouthed, breathing the words right up against Bruce's cheek. "Active sonar, going
in regular pulses from the third floor. Didn't hear it until the unit powered up. They must have
really beefed up security since Collins and the others escaped."

"And your plan was to get us stuck in a hole?" Bruce grumbled. It galled him to admit that he
certainly couldn't have detected or avoided the trap. Another corner of his mind started working on
contingency plans for next time.

"Well, since we can't fly in," Clark breathed, "I thought we'd dig." With a flash of white teeth
Clark began tunneling ahead of them towards the compound. Bruce crawled after him, still peeved
at the assist. "Better hope they don't have seismic sensors."

"If they do, I'm sure you'll think of something," Clark tossed cheerily over his shoulder. Great. A
morning person. This day just got better and better.

The second trap was just inside the building, and it was deadly. They came up through the floor in
an empty shower room, faded green tiles falling down into their tunnel as they carefully caved in
their entryway.

Bruce tapped Clark's shoulder, using simple military signs to ask for a sit rep. Clark shook his head
and looked thoughtful, then signed in American Sign Language.

Do you speak?

Obviously, Bruce signed back.

According to Clark there were two sentries doing rounds approximately 50 feet south of their
position, and a larger group of people on the far end of the complex, almost a quarter of a mile
distant.

This is clumsy, Bruce signed, and slow. We need a better system.

Fight first, talk later, Clark grinned.

Thought we had other plans for later, Bruce teased, sliding up and out of the tunnel to prevent
Clark from responding. It's not that he always needed to have the last word, but it didn't hurt.

Only to be yanked abruptly back into the hole as ruby red lasers seared the air above them. "That
did it," Clark said. "The alarms are ringing. They'll be on us in a minute."

"We're pinned down. Get us out of here!"

"Gladly." Clark surged up out of the tunnel, ruby lasers scorching across his body. In an instant, he
disappeared and Bruce heard the crunch of metal.

"Clear."

Bruce slid up out of the hole and joined Clark at the door, listening for the guards. "We need a
diversion. One of us will be the bait, the other has to free the test subjects."

"I'll be bait," Clark said, and Bruce was shocked by the grim, humorless smile that stretched his
face. "Lex is here."

Bruce paused just a beat. He wanted to argue that Clark should stay as far away from Luthor as
possible, that Bruce should be the one to deal with Clark's enemy. But Clark was right, damn it.
The instant Luthor knew that Superman was here, he'd act rashly, pulling critical security forces
into the effort to find and subdue him. It was their best bet.

"You know Luthor won’t pause an instant before trying to kill you,” Bruce warned him. “If you do
this, you could die in there.”

“I know,” Clark said. “It’s worth it, though. I’d never choose anything different.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Bruce agreed, pride in his eyes. They were just the same, both of them
willing to sacrifice their lives for a better world.

“You know," Clark said, still scanning the hall, "there’s a good chance the test subjects are going
to try to hurt you. Depends on how far gone they are. It’s not just me in danger here.”

“But you’re not going to try to talk me out of it," Bruce said.

“No,” Clark agreed. Because they were together in this, stronger together.

Finally, Bruce could hear running in the hall. He pulled a thin, oblong device the size of a pen from
his belt and showed it to Clark, then tucked it into one of Clark's pockets. "Time for that
diversion."

Clark's eyes were speaking, deep blue and intense. Bruce was afraid to understand everything he
could see there. Then, Clark straightened and burst into the hall.

"Superman! It's Superman!" he heard, as he huddled back in a patch of shadow.

"Tell Luthor that I've come to put a stop to this. And to him."
The sound of gunfire was harsh, echoing off the tiles. Fully automatic. AK-47. Reliable in a fight.
Completely useless against Superman.

The gunfight lasted only seconds, then the guns fell silent, and Bruce heard Clark dragging the
unconscious men after him. "Luthor!" He shouted. "I know you're watching. I'm coming for you!"

Bruce heard Clark break more masonry and electronics on his way down the hall. He assumed
Clark was destroying the surveillance equipment, the better to keep Bruce's presence hidden.

Bruce waited precisely 64 seconds before entering the hall. Now it was his turn. He tapped his
temple and brought up the building's schematics on his cowl's HUD. Moving silently, Bruce
slipped around the wrecked walls and took the first left. Based on Clark's surveillance it was likely
the test subjects were being held in the old surgery area. It was a large, vaulted amphitheater
designed to allow rich investors and equally rich family members to observe during procedures.

Four more guards rounded the corner ahead at a dead run. Bruce grinned and fell into a battle
stance. This was more like it. He unclipped a flash-bang from his belt and exploded it halfway
down the hall. He knew his face was stretched in a snarling grin as he ran to meet the forerunner.

The first went down with a crunch of bone and cartilage as he kicked the knee 180 degrees in a
direction knees were never meant to bend. He whirled and lifted the guard's left arm and karate-
chopped the nerve plexus under the armpit. The man was unconscious before he hit the floor.

He ducked and rolled just as the second and third guards recovered enough to pull their weapons. A
spray of gunfire followed him as he twisted and ran up the side of one wall and back-flipped down
between them. He'd maneuvered them so they couldn't use their guns without killing each other.
He pressed his advantage mercilessly. One of them had the sense to pull a knife. Bruce parried
with his armored forearm while he kicked the second in the gut, the throat, then the temple in three
snake-fast blows.

Spinning, quick as thought, he allowed the knife fighter to lunge past him. Using the man's
momentum against him, he sidestepped the thrust and scissored his left arm up and his right down,
one on either side of the joint.

It takes only 12 pounds of pressure to break a man's elbow. Bruce applied considerably more than
that.

The knife fighter screamed, his arm dangling sick and wrong from the elbow down. Bruce grabbed
the man's head in both hands and smashed it, face down, on his raised knee. The man crumpled.
Bruce spun and kicked the fourth in the gut. He'd been trying to approach in his blind spot.

Moron. Batman didn't have a blind side.

The man had a stun baton. Sold in Russia and China on the black market. Very unsafe for use on
civilians. The way he handled it showed he was highly proficient. Bruce decided he was going to
enjoy putting this one down.

*_*_*

Clark waded through dozens of security guards. They fired from around corridors, using
everything from machine guns to grenades to nerve gas. He walked steadily forward through the
smoking rubble, smashing walls as he went and generally making a spectacle of himself. Each time
he approached, the guards would fall back to the next secure point and begin attacking again.

Sometimes he was assaulted from behind, and then he'd turn, eyes glowing red, and melt the
weapons right out of their hands. He'd walk up to them while they were screaming and holding
their burnt hands in front of them, and gently knock them out. It wasn't their fault that they worked
for someone as unscrupulous as Luthor. Or, well, it was, but they still deserved a second chance.
Clark knew better than anyone how seductive and persuasive Luthor could be.

So he did his best to be as menacing as possible without actually hurting anyone too much. His old
drama teacher would be proud.

But the longer it went on the less it added up. Luthor knew he couldn't be hurt like this. As much
as Clark was playing a part, he began to suspect that Luthor was playing his own game. Clark tried
to locate Luthor again, but it was hard to filter out the sounds of battle to focus on his last known
location.

Which was probably the point. Damn it.

Odds were, Luthor was using his security to distract and slow Clark down long enough to effect his
own escape. Clark had to decide whether to continue distracting the guards from Bruce or cut the
game-playing. And he had to decide now. Neither option was a good one so he took a page from
Bruce's playbook.

"I'm tired of asking nicely," he announced, making sure his voice would carry over the gunfire. "I
think I'll go right to the source. When I arrest your employer, I'm sure he'll be more than happy to
give me your names and dates of employment. I'll be back to deal with every one of you another
time."

With that, he smashed through the ceiling, flying upwards and leaving stunned mercenaries to
scramble after him. That's right. Follow me. You know where I'm headed, and hopefully it's
nowhere near Bruce.

*_*_*

The man had a burn across his left cheek and moved like an para-military soldier. His training
showed in the way he balanced his weight, the casual cruelness in his eyes. Likely got his first
assignment in Iraq and found a taste for killing that just couldn't be hidden.

Bruce crouched low, balanced on the balls of his feet, light as a smoke and twice as elusive. He
dared the man with his eyes, a flicker of a smile. Come get me. Come on. Coward.

The man took the bait. Of course. Undisciplined and bloodthirsty. Bruce ducked under the baton's
swing, flowing into tiger, eagle's claw, water over rocks and preying mantis. He pulled techniques
from a dozen styles, confusing and enraging the killer before him. With a roar the man lost it and
charged. Bruce slipped behind him, liquid fast, slapped his head and burst his eardrums.

He howled like a wounded animal, and Bruce made short work of him. Nerve strike to the spine
and the arms were deadened. The baton dropped uselessly to the ground, never having touched
him. Pathetic. Two more strikes, and the man was a heap on the ground. Bruce slid past them and
continued on his way without sparing a glance behind. These four would live, though three of them
might never walk again. He couldn't find it in him to pity them. Considering what they'd done in
the course of their lives, they'd surely deserved worse.

Trading stealth for speed, Bruce made excellent time to the far end of the compound. The hallways
were ominously empty. Clark's diversion was working far too well. But he couldn't think about
that. Clark was trusting him to get the victims out and make this all worth something.
The doors to the amphitheater were large, steel-reinforced and locked with a ridiculously expensive
retinal scanner. Bruce almost laughed. He knew that etched on the back of it would be the words
"Wayne Enterprises."

He seduced the lock open in 34 seconds. Not his best time but acceptable under battle conditions.
He took a breath and slid the door open. What he saw made him want to turn around and find those
guards, break more bones until they ground to shards under his boots.

There were five people imprisoned in the room. One of them was in a plexiglass cage, dripping
acid from his mouth like Collins and Rothchilde. First stage, Bruce remembered.

The others were different. Two looked completely human and had metal bands across their eyes
and mouths, their hands cuffed behind their backs. One looked like some sort of wolf-man, and the
final one, a young man, was rocking in the fetal position on his cage floor. He was scoring bloody
grooves in his arms with his fingernails, rambling constantly to himself.

Then Bruce saw the Kryptonite. It was secured in every cage, each piece radiating a different,
sickly color. It was both grotesque scientific study and the best security against outside
interference. Thank God for Clark and his genius with chemicals.

"I'm Batman," he announced. "I'm here to get you out."

He walked towards the cage that held the woman with metal bands on her face. "Wouldn't do that,"
he heard someone growl. He looked over his shoulder to see the wolf-man standing, claws
wrapped around the cage bars. "She don't like men touching her. Not anymore."

Bruce suppressed a surge of pure rage. Later. He'd make them all pay later.

He knelt next to her cage, speaking in a gentle voice. "We don't have much time. Superman is
buying us a few minutes, but we have to move quickly."

"Superman?" the acid-man asked, his face actually brightening with hope. As one, all of the
prisoners turned to face him, hope running from one to the next like water down a hill.

"Yes, but they have... weapons. Things that can hurt even him. He's risking his life for us, to give
us time to escape."

"Let us out," the wolf-man demanded, shaking his cage bars. "We can help. He's done so much for
this city. Let us help, damn it!"

The man and woman were nodding their heads vigorously, muffled sounds coming from under the
bands. The man had managed to get one of his hands free and was pulling at the metal on his face.

Bruce had to close his eyes and push down a swell of emotion. These people had been through
unimaginable hell, and just the mention of Superman's name was enough to bring out the best in
them. To give them back their humanity. Taking a risk and putting his own faith in Clark, he
released the cage lock and stepped inside.

Minutes later he had them all free, even the acid-man. "Don't touch anyone, just in case," Bruce
warned, working the final band from the other man's eyes. "And no spitting."

The man and woman had red, glowing eyes. There seemed to be something wrong with their
voices. They refused to talk but were clearly coherent. The wolf-man scooped the rocking young
man up in his arms, carrying him easily back to the group. "He's had the worst of it. He can't keep
us out of his head. Or them. They can't let him go because he knows all their secrets. They keep
him down here, hoping what they do to us will keep him crazy enough to shut him up." He looked
with pity down at the young man and cradled him close.

"Take care of him," Bruce said. "The rest of you, listen up. The man responsible for all of this is
here. I haven't had any updates from Superman, so he's likely been immobilized. You can either
come with me and help free him, or you can get yourselves free. If you leave, go to Star Labs.
They're expecting you. If anyone can help you, they can."

They all looked at each other for a moment. "We saw what happened to the ones who were here
longer," the acid-man said. "They escaped, but they were insane. I never want to be like that." He
shook, hugging himself with one arm. "But even more, I don't ever want anyone else to go through
what I did. I'm with you." The man and woman nodded, determination clear on their faces.

"No killing," Bruce said. "Absolutely none. Doesn't matter how much they deserve it. I need you to
be more human than they've been to you. If you can't promise me that, leave now."

"We won't," the wolf-man spoke for the group. " He wouldn't like it if we killed someone. Not even
to help him. Especially not then." The others all nodded.

"Fine," Bruce said, crouching on the floor and pulling a marker out of his belt. "Here's a rough map
of the compound we're in. If my guess is right, this is where we're going to find Superman."

*_*_*

Clark burst through the floor of the third story office to hover in the middle of the room. It was
empty, the expensive wooden desk scattered with smoking computer parts and stray diagrams.
Everything indicated that he was too late, that Lex had made good his escape. But Clark knew Lex
better than the man knew himself, considering Lex's memory had been erased, years back.

He held his breath and listened. There was security scrambling up stairwells, fast converging on
his position. Further away there was Bruce muttering about a lock. Under that was the building
itself, groaning and settling in the manner of buildings everywhere. Beyond that... nothing.

Nothing, where there should be something.

Clark turned and scanned the wall. There. A hidden door with sound dampeners embedded in the
frame. Clark flew over to the desk, picked it up and spun, mid-air, before throwing it, taking out
half the wall. That should be clear enough for the men following him.

"Luthor!" he shouted, striding into the hidden room. "You're out of places to hide. Give yourself
up, and come quietly."

"Now why would I do that?"

Lex was standing in the middle of the room, one hand in a pocket and the other held urbanely
behind his back. He was dressed in a gray suit that flattered his physique, his bald head gleamed
faintly in the recessed lighting. His full lips were pressed in a smile that made Clark's heart
squeeze, it was so familiar. "Hello, Superman. Glad you could make it."

He looked so at ease, like a hundred times in the past when they'd met as friends. Clark tried to call
up the anger and betrayal he knew he should feel, but it was suddenly an effort. His heart wasn't
really made for it, and standing here with Lex, for the first time in years, brought back a dizzying
rush of memories.

Clark could smell Lex's scent, hear the unique rush and thump of his heartbeat. He saw a
microscopic scar on Lex's wrist from when they were carving pumpkins one Halloween. They'd
been joking around and the knife had slipped, just a shallow cut above the bone. Clark had slapped
his open hand on it to put pressure on the bleeding, and Lex had laughed and asked if he was going
to kiss it better, too. Clark remembered blushing.

Writ small on Lex's body was a road-map of their shared time together. Here was a long-healed,
invisible burn when Chloe had spilled her coffee, and Lex had jumped to her rescue. Invisible to
the human eye, that was, but Clark would always see it. Lex held his left shoulder millimeters
higher than the right. He'd always carried his tension in his shoulders, and being left handed
exacerbated it. That shoulder was always higher when he was under pressure, or when he'd been
speaking to his father.

Clark wondered if Lex knew, anymore, why he always kept his hands in his pockets and kept his
body still. Had that self-knowledge been erased from his memory along with everything from Lex's
past? Clark knew from an early age Lex had trained himself to it. Not to reach for the affection he
was so hungry for, that his dead mother and distant father would never give him.

In some ways, it was like Clark had been the keeper of Lex's memories, all these years. As long as
he still remembered them, good, bad, and all the shades in between, then maybe that young man
from years ago would never really be gone.

Above everything else, it made him realize how much he missed his friend.

"Lex," Clark said, reaching a hand out to him. "It's over. I know what you're doing with the
Kryptonite. Come with me, I'll get you help."

Lex narrowed his eyes, a thoughtful look on his face. "So it's 'Lex', now? I had no idea we were on
such... familiar terms." He pursed his lips, staring oddly at Clark.

"Luthor," Clark corrected, cursing himself for ever forgetting. Of course, Superman would never...
"It's time to give yourself up-"

"And why," Lex talked over him, "after all the trouble we've been to each other, would you want to
help me?"

That was the question, wasn't it? No matter who he'd been in the past, Lex was now the man who'd
tortured and experimented on innocents for his own gain. He'd had people murdered. He'd stolen,
bribed, and coerced himself into power in Clark's city. He'd shown time and again that he was
ruthless and bloody in his ambition.

Lex shifted where he stood. An impossibly small movement that no one but Clark would see. His
right hip still bothered him when he stood still for too long, courtesy of a watery car crash from
years ago.

Clark walked forward, his hands empty and harmless in front of him. "I think," he said, speaking
slowly to give his whirling thoughts time, "I think that you, like everyone, should get a second
chance."

"Do tell," Lex invited, now shifting to perch on the edge of his desk. It was a subtle move, showing
open body language while, conversely, giving a clear sign of how far he was willing to be pushed
back. And it took the weight off his hip.

"We all make mistakes," Clark said, feeling his way through this emotional landscape. "Some of
them we can't ever forget, and some we may not even remember." He took another step closer to
Lex, who was staring at him now, his gaze riveted to Clark's.

"Memory can be... a difficult thing," Lex agreed, his perfect mask cracking just the tiniest bit.

"Sometimes," Clark went on, feeling like he was approaching a shy, wild animal, "it's those things
we can't remember that haunt us the most. Maybe, we dream about them. Maybe, for a minute
when we wake up, they're there, half remembered and strange. And we think if only..."

"If only..." Lex echoed, and now they were less than a foot apart, so close that Clark could easily
touch him. Lex was looking up into Clark's face with just a hint, possibly a spark of something.
Knowledge? Recognition?

"And we try, so hard, to recreate the past. To go back and, and make it the way we want it to be."

"The way it should have been," Lex said. "But we can't go back."

"No," Clark agreed, and now he put a hand on Lex's shoulder. How many years since they'd
touched? "But what we can have, what everyone should have, is this. A second chance."

Lex stood up, deep in Clark's personal space. Clark let his hand slip free to rest at his side. "You
can have that, if you want it," Clark said, searching Lex's pale eyes.

"And what about you, Superman?" Lex breathed, his mouth inches from Clark's. "Would you be
there? Helping me?" He tilted his head, eyes flicking back and forth from Clark's eyes to his lips.
"Trusting me?"

"Yes," Clark breathed into his mouth.

"Liar!" Lex snarled, shoving something cold and hard against Clark's stomach.

Time slowed. Clark blinked once, the fog of memories thick in his mind. Lex's face was a frozen
mask of rage and hurt. A glacial age passed as his finger tightened on the trigger. Clark had time to
almost take a breath, to almost move his hand, to almost...

The explosion blew him back several feet, and he lay, stunned, on the rug. He was tangled up in a
metal mesh with sickly greenish stones set in the ropes. The familiar, draining feeling of green
Kryptonite began to pull at him. His vision started to swim and he pushed at the net, trying to find
a way out before, before...

"Too late," Lex towered over him. His lip was curled in a sneer. The rage and hurt still showed on
his face, like leftover emotions that he didn't recognize or know what to do with. He squatted on
his heels, tugging the net between his thumb and finger. "I've been saving this for a rainy day,
Superman. When Homeland Security woke me up in the middle of the night, I thought I'd bring it
along. Just in case." Lex's mouth twisted into a vicious little smile. He stood up and drove his foot
into Clark's face.

The kick left Clark sprawling. He gasped for breath and tugged weakly at the ropes around him.
The green Kryptonite burned in icy numbness where it touched him, sapping his life. "Lex," he
managed. "Don't do this. This isn't you."

"Isn't me? Of course it's me. Who else could bring Superman down so easily?" He walked across
the room and poured himself bourbon from a crystal tumbler. "Want some? No? Pity. It's from my
private stock." His mask from before was back. He was perfectly in control. Perfectly at ease. The
perfect gentleman.
Clark was practically blind and deaf now. He couldn't tell what was happening anywhere outside
this room. He took hold of the Kryptonite crystals with his gloved hands, one at a time, counting
the facets of each one with his fingertips. He needed to stay alert and centered. He needed to reach
the man inside of Lex. Clark was sure he'd seen some faint echo of him there.

"Was there ever... a time," he said, his voice so weak. "A time you wanted more?"

"Superman, I always want more. More money, more power, more influence. That's what makes me
great and everyone else, well." He mocked Clark with a smile.

Yes, that ambition had always been inside Lex. But Clark knew there was more to him than that.

"What about friends?" Clark pressed, fingering the crystals. "People who care?" He remembered a
time when Lex came to his family, asking Ma and Pa to sit with him at his wedding, staring with
hungry eyes at the family Clark had and that he so desperately wanted.

Lex sneered, banging the glass down on the sidebar. "People fear me. You can't do better than that.
People stop caring, Superman. Take away their money or their homes or their comfortable,
meaningless little lives, and all they care about is scrambling to get it back. But fear? Ohhh..." he
breathed, coming close and reaching through the mesh to caress Clark's face. "People never stop
being afraid. Take everything away from them, and they fear you more than ever." He looked up
and nodded at the door.

A dozen black booted security guards entered at his signal. Clark knew his time was running out.
One bullet in this state would finish him.

"I believe you could be great, Lex," Clark said, trying again to reach his friend. "I think you could
do anything if you wanted it enough."

"Why, thank you, Superman." Lex smiled, his hands still warm on Clark's face.

"I think you could have anything. And when you finally get it all, the power and the fear of
everyone you've ever known, then what? After you've won the game, what will you have?"

"You mean who will I come home to at night? Share my little triumphs with?" Lex asked. "I might
have tried getting married once," he frowned. "Seems to me, it didn't take." He turned his head to
stare at Clark, an odd gleam in his eyes. "Or were you suggesting something else?" The Kryptonite
was making Clark's head swim, and Lex was mesmerizing, like a snake hypnotizing its prey.

"Why, Superman," he breathed. "Were you serious? Could it be that you're propositioning me?"

"You could do so much good, Lex," Clark said, staring into Lex's eyes. "I don't want to hurt you. I
know there's a better man inside of you. I've seen it."

"Have you?" Lex mused. "Do tell. How? And more importantly, when?" He gave Clark a piercing
look. "I could be... generous," he enticed. "What's your price, Superman? World peace? An end to
hunger?" He was close now, again breathing Clark's breath, their lips so close. "Because you're
right, there's so much we could do together."

For an instant, Clark could actually taste it. With Luthor's influence and Clark's power, what
couldn't the two of them do? They'd be on top of the world, emperors of everything. All the wrongs
Clark saw every day could finally be fixed. He could order the world so it would be best for
everyone. Surely that couldn't be wrong?

But a small voice whispered that it wasn't power or fear that had rescued him and given him a
home. Hadn't it been ordinary, good folk, who only wanted their quiet, loving lives? This wasn't
even the first time Lex had offered this. Would his Ma and Pa think any better of it now than they
would have before?

Clark shook his head, green light playing sickly across his face, and Lex drew back.

"You know, you remind me of someone," Lex said, stroking Clark's face in fascination. "Can't for
the life of me remember who. But he... he was like..." he shook his head. "Doesn't matter. I
probably killed him, too." He stroked Clark's hair tenderly with his other hand. "The past is gone,
and the future is whatever I choose it to be. Last chance, Superman. You can work for me, or you
can have a bullet in the brain. Personally, I know which one I'd choose."

At that, Clark felt a terrible, wrenching pain his chest, so strong he could barely breath around it.
Bruce had been right. All this time, he'd been fighting not only Lex, but himself. The unfinished
shadows from his past tore at him and he choked on the bitterness. Now, finally, he saw that
nothing would ever change what they could be to each other. They were always destined to come
together like this.

"Luthor," he said, closing his eyes forever to his friend. "I choose... him."

Lex twisted to stare at the destroyed wall where Bruce and five mutants were silhouetted from
behind. "Surprise," Batman said, and tossed a handful of glowing stones into the room.

Lex sprang backwards from the Kryptonite, yelling at his guards. "Kill them, you idiots!" Chaos
exploded as the groups rushed each other, the guards pouring towards the exit for better advantage
with the mutants in fast pursuit.

With a burst of effort Clark strained at the metal ropes. They shredded between his hands. His
gloves had insulated the Kryptonite enough to give him back a fraction of his strength. He crawled
away from the net and pulled the pen-shaped device from his pocket, jamming it against the bare
skin of his neck.

He felt glorious heat shoot into his veins as the stored sunlight fed his body. Thank you, Bruce.

Bruce was slinging batarangs at the last of the guards, knocking two out and herding the rest away
from the room. Away from Clark. Clark turned his head in time to see Lex pull a palm-sized
weapon from his desk drawer.

"Batman!" he shouted, but Bruce had been distracted by the last guard. He turned, only to take the
brunt of the weapon head on. Lightning ignited from Lex's palm, crackling across the room in
bluish arcs and slamming Bruce back against the wall. Bruce lay sprawled, black smoke curling off
his unmoving form.

"Bet he didn't expect that," Lex quipped. "Now, where were we? Oh yes, right here." He took a
ring made of green Kryptonite out of his desk and flipped it across the room at the guard. "Put that
on," he instructed, "and come over here." He walked back to Clark, his hands in his pockets. "Did
you honestly think I was just going to let him take you?" he asked, kicking Kryptonite rocks out of
his way. "Every man has his price, Superman. And I'm starting to think I might be yours."

Clark struggled to his feet. "You can't afford me," he said, unsteady but standing.

"Why?" Lex sneered, sudden rage twisting his face. "Because I'm not good enough for you? You
with your high and mighty ways? Your secrets?" At that, the guard kidney-punched Clark with the
ring, driving him back to his knees. "How about this?" Lex offered as the guard beat Clark again.
And again. "I'll promise not to track down and kill everyone you've ever saved, or spoken to, or
waved to in a crowd," thwack, "and you give me everything I want."

Bruce still wasn't moving. Clark's head swam. He was dripping blood from a cut lip and he had no
idea how the mutants were doing or if the guards would soon be back. The Kryptonite in the room
was still slowly sapping his life, and there was only one sane option left to him.

He caught the guard's fist in his hand as it drove down for another punch, the ring searing cold and
merciless into his palm. "I don't think you heard me, Luthor," he panted, forcing himself to his feet
and squeezing the trapped fist.

"I'm. Not. For. Sale." Clark swung with his left, punching the guard in the face. For the first time,
Lex looked startled. Clark swung again, and again. The guard slid to the ground, dazed, blood
trickling from his nose.

"We can still--there's no reason we can't reach some sort of understanding," Lex said, backing up
and trying to regain control of the situation. "I told you, I'm not an unreasonable man, Superman.
We could-"

He bolted, kicking a yellow Kryptonite rock off the floor at Clark and dashing past him to the exit.
Clark dodged it and pulled a batarang from the wall, hurling it after Lex and hitting him in the back
of the head. He went down hard, and Clark had to stagger over to him to check his vitals. He was
unconscious, with a trickle of blood from the back of his head where he'd been struck, but still
breathing. Good enough.

"B," Clark said, abandoning Lex and moving over to Batman's still smoking body. He fell to his
knees and slipped his fingers inside the throat protector to the carotid artery.

A strong, steady pulse beat back at him.

"B," he whispered, cradling Bruce to him. "You had me worried."

"Not... th'only one..." Bruce slurred. "Surge protectors," he said, fumbling with a smoking circuit
on his chest. "In the suit."

"Just in case you get attacked by a random thunderstorm?" Clark asked, hauling Bruce and himself
to their feet.

"Gotta... ngh," Bruce said, swaying and almost falling until Clark caught him. "Tell me now... if
you've got anymore... exes around. Should be... prepared."

Clark looked back at Luthor, lying unconscious on the floor. He was surrounded by glowing
chunks of Kryptonite and bleeding, staining the rug under him.

"Is this going to be a problem?" Bruce asked, his eyes sharp on Clark, demanding an answer.

"He was wrong, you know," Clark said, instead. "Fear is transitory. It’s only powerful as long as
you’re the one on top. And no," he answered after a moment. "You're not... always wrong," he
admitted, meeting Bruce's eyes with a significant look. "But sometimes you have to face your past
before you can leave it behind."

Bruce narrowed his eyes, and it felt like he was reading the secrets Clark kept on the inside of his
soul, the down-deep ones that he barely knew were there. "Okay," Bruce said finally, holding onto
Clark with one arm and placing his other hand over Clark's chest. "C'mon, I called the police.
They'll be here soon. Let them handle the rest."
Clark turned them, and they limped out of the room. He felt stronger with every step he took away
from Luthor and the Kryptonite. "Where are the mutants who helped us?"

"They'll meet us outside. We'll vouch for them to Star Labs."

"And when were you going to let me in on that?" Clark asked, trying on a tentative smile.

"I just did," Bruce returned, smiling back. "Nervous system's still misfiring," he said, as he tried to
take a longer stride. "Just fly us out of here."

"Thought you'd never ask."

Behind them, Clark left his past lying on the stained rug, surrounded by the man's legacy and
utterly alone.

*_*_*

Bruce stared at the ceiling and gnawed on his lip, thinking. He should be sleeping, but he was still
too keyed up from the mission. The mutants were safely at Star Labs, and from what the scientists
were saying, there was a good chance that most of the mutations could be reversed. The Metropolis
PD had arrested Luthor, the experimentation and sale of humans had been stopped, and no one had
died. It should have been a resounding success.

After it all, Clark had flown Bruce back to Gotham. They were both wrung out and too tired to do
more than change clothes and collapse in bed. Or beds.

Therein, he supposed, lay the real reason he wasn't getting any rest. Alfred had installed Clark in
the blue suite down the hall from Bruce's master suite, which, fine. It had been Bruce's mother's
favorite because of the ample sunlight it got throughout the day. Perfect for Clark.

It was just...oh hell. Bruce flung the covers back and paced across the room to lean against the bay
windows. One arm pillowed his head as he stared unseeing into the late afternoon. The real
question was, would Clark have stayed if he hadn't been tired and wounded after the mission? Was
the Manor just a convenience? Was he?

He remembered Clark's face as he stared at Luthor's unconscious body. His stomach twisted as he
tried to catalogue the wrenching, complex emotions that had shown on Clark's face. Was it grief
he'd seen? Regret? Betrayal? Unbidden, he heard Clark's voice, "You're not... always wrong."
Bruce ground his teeth, his whole body coiling up into a single point of arrested action.

Damn the man. Had Clark been in love with Luthor? Bruce had accused him of childhood
infatuation, but had it been more? What exactly had happened in that room before Bruce had
arrived? Bruce remembered Luthor's hands on Clark's face, their mouths so close. Had he, had
they...

Bruce pushed away from the window in a fury, his thoughts chasing him across the room. Clark
had seemed interested in Bruce; more than interested. But pre-fight adrenaline could account for a
lot. And it had only been a day and a half that they'd been working this case. Before that they'd
been...what to each other? What name could he call this mix of aggression and reluctant,
impossible attraction that he felt? Was he making more of it than it was? Or, -and here his gut
clenched in dread- was it possible that he felt these things, but Clark...

He blew out an angry breath. Luthor had once had his claws deep into Clark, that much was
certain. Was it too deep? Had Luthor taken something from Clark that Bruce would never be lucky
enough to receive?

"No!" He flung the door open and marched down the hall. He was done with this petty, mewling
fear. He was done wondering, done waiting. He slammed the door open to the blue suite and got a
vicious thrill as it crashed into the wall. Faster than the eye could follow, Clark was sitting up,
asleep to battle ready in zero seconds. Bruce leapt onto the bed, rocking the whole thing into the
wall behind them and using the bare instant of time as Clark evaluated the threat to pin him back to
the sheets.

"Bruce? What-"

"Shut up, shut up!" he snarled, furious and desperate. Now was not the time for Clark to pretend
ignorance. He loomed over Clark's prone form, hands on either shoulder pinning him flat. "I need
answers, Clark," he demanded, pushing close to Clark's face.

"Um... I-" Clark looked alarmed, sleepy, and so fucking innocent of this, this thing that he was
doing to Bruce.

"No," Bruce insisted. "You don't get to pretend with me, to just, to do that!" He pinned Clark's hips
with his own and trapped Clark's throat under his forearm. With his other hand he grabbed a
handful of Clark's thick hair and used it to wrench Clark's head back.

"Bruce," Clark said easily, despite the choke-hold. "You know that doesn't actually-"

Pushed beyond his limits, Bruce surged forward. He claimed Clark's mouth, demanding with his
lips and teeth that Clark give him what he needed. Demanding proof that this thing between them
wasn't just a game, something that could be written over by time and old memories.

"You can't just forget about me," he growled into Clark's mouth. Finally, Clark seemed to get it,
because his blue eyes opened wide and his warm hands came up to cradle Bruce's face.

"Forget about you?" Clark asked, shaking his head and diving in for more kisses. "I can't stop
thinking about you. You infuriating, impossible man." He bit Bruce's lip to make him gasp, then
licked it and pressed his advantage deep into Bruce's mouth.

Bruce ground his hips down against Clark's and felt a fierce satisfaction when Clark bucked up
against him. Clark smelled like hot ozone and lightning. His hands landed on Bruce's ass, kneading
and pushing their hips together. "No more trysts with Luthor," Bruce gasped, breaking off the kiss
and biting his way down Clark's gorgeous neck. "I won't share."

Clark actually stopped to stare into Bruce's face. "Is that what this-"

"Talking!" Bruce snapped, pushing back up Clark's body and fastening his mouth to Clark's again.
It seemed Clark didn't mind, because he helped boost Bruce up with one hand, using the other to
strip off their sweatpants. He wriggled delightfully under Bruce and they were skin to skin,
marvelous and bare and so hot he could barely stand it. He raked his nails down Clark's chest,
getting a deep, throaty moan in return.

Clark flipped them, pressing Bruce deep into the mattress. "I get to say this," Clark insisted,
breaking the kiss and pressing his swollen lips to Bruce's jaw, rasping along the stubble there. "I
think," he said between kisses, "I think this has been on your mind as long as it's been on mine.
Every time we fight, every time I go into battle with you, hell, every time I hear your voice, I can't
stop thinking about what it would be like to fuck the daylights out of you."
Bruce moaned and arched up under Clark. He felt like he was going crazy, like his skin was too
tight and he couldn't stop kissing and tasting and rubbing himself against Clark.

Clark ground their erections together, hard and demanding, a delicious torment. "But," Clark
gasped, struggling for control, "before we do this, I want to ask you for something."

Bruce forced himself to stillness, trapped and wary and so fucking horny that he could hardly
breath. "I want you," Clark breathed into his mouth, "to stop holding back."

Bruce felt his eyes go wide with shock, even as his hands started up again, restlessly sliding up and
down Clark's ribs. "Sometimes, I think I've spent my whole life trying to find someone powerful
enough to match me. I used to try to force people into being that for me," he said, grinding down
again and making it impossible for Bruce to keep his eyes open. "I think, my whole life, I've been
waiting for you. Then I found you and you spent all of your time keeping me at arm's length. It's
been driving me insane." He rolled his hips again in emphasis. "Now that I have you, I want all of
you."

Bruce felt the dark, secret place inside him where the Bat slept, felt it start to wake up and stir.
"Not safe," he bit out, hardly able to think. "I've had training. I can't ever-"

"You can with me." Clark was hot and insistent. "I want it. That's my price. All or nothing."

Bruce froze for an instant, instincts warring with deeply ingrained control. The Bat was alert now,
sending tendrils through Bruce's body, pulsing and growing with each beat of his heart. "Please,"
Clark said, barely brushing his lips against Bruce's. "You can't hurt me like this, only by holding
back. I need this, Bruce, I need it so badly. Please."

Bruce surged up, twisting and rolling them until he was on top, pining Clark down again. The Bat
spread its wings, alive and aware under his skin and flooding his whole body. "If we do this, there's
no going back." He spoke for both of them, himself and the Bat. His voice was deep and menacing,
and he shivered with their combined power, so rare to feel it outside of battle. He didn't know if he
meant it as a warning or just a statement, but either way it was true. The Bat took what it wanted
and it never, ever, let go.

"Prove it," Clark challenged, staring him straight in the eyes.

Bruce attacked. He felt frenzied, licking and biting and snarling as he savaged Clark's body. And
Clark rose up to meet him. He clawed Clark's back, hard enough to draw blood on a normal person.
Clark moaned and pushed into him, demanding more. They rolled and grappled for purchase,
grabbing handfuls of hair and forcing mouths to lick hot, needy places. It was a battle after all, and
Bruce had found his ultimate opponent. The Bat whispered in his ear to hold on here, press there,
bite now, and he did, gripping Clark's wrist hard enough to break the bones on any human. Clark
just writhed like a wanton thing under him, begging for more.

More, God yes, more. Bruce licked and bit his way down Clark's body, finally smelling and tasting
his thick, gorgeous cock. His mouth was watering, and he was so hungry for it. "I want you to fuck
my throat," he said, his voice already gravelly with need.

"God, that's so, I need..." Clark whimpered, his hips surging under Bruce's hands.

"I mean it," Bruce said, breathing on Clark's erection, his thumbs biting hard into the hollows of
Clark's hips. "I'm going to suck you down, and you're going to fuck my mouth until you can't think
of anything but coming down my throat."
Clark reached down and grabbed Bruce's hair, forcing his face up. There was a strange, alien look
to his eyes, and his lips were parted in a snarl. "If you don't stop talking like that, I'm not even
going to make it into your mouth."

Bruce grinned his feral battle smile, slipped a hand between Clark's legs and pushed a thumb up
behind Clark's balls. Clark moaned, arching backwards and losing his grip on Bruce's hair. Bruce
licked and sucked Clark's cock into his mouth, holding Clark's hips with one hand and teasing him
behind his balls with the other.

Clark pumped his hips helplessly into Bruce's mouth and Bruce rode the thrusts eagerly. He loved
the power, loved how Clark was so fucking huge and so helpless under him. He opened his throat
and swallowed, and that was perfect, right there. Clark's thick cock thrust deep and lovely in his
throat. Bruce swallowed and stroked and shuddered with every surge.

"Bruce, oh Bruce, Bruce!" he heard Clark, getting louder and more urgent. Bruce slipped his finger
further back and thrust sharp and hot into Clark. Clark yelled, lifting them both off the bed and
spending himself down Bruce's throat.

Bruce sucked and teased with his tongue until Clark thrashed in agonized pleasure. He heard
something wooden smash above them and he suspected he'd need to replace the headboard, and
possibly the wall.

He slurped his way off of Clark's oversensitive cock, making him moan and twitch with too much
pleasure. The Bat was whispering in his ear again, about thrusting and pushing and needing, and
Bruce was only too happy listen.

He spit the last of Clark's come into his hand and pushed two slick fingers into Clark's ass. "Next
time," Clark gasped, writhing like a gorgeous slut on his fingers, "next time I'm doing you."

Bruce chuckled and twisted his fingers, pleased, as Clark's hands twitched convulsively in the
sheets. "Only if I get to fuck your mouth first," he said, sliding a third finger in and stretching.
Clark moaned and thrust himself down on Bruce's fingers. Bruce decided that was a yes.

"Turn over," he ordered, pulling his fingers out sharply and slapping Clark's thigh. Clark bucked
and writhed, too shocked in his pleasure to understand. Bruce manhandled him, twisting and
forcing Clark's hips over. "On your knees," he cracked, slapping Clark's ass with two sharp
smacks. Clark got his knees under him and raised his ass to Bruce, earning another round of sharp
smacks in reward.

"God, your ass is so fucking perfect, so goddamn hot," Bruce growled, hardly knowing what he
was saying. He grabbed Clark's hips, hard enough to bruise anyone else, and bit that round swell of
muscle. Clark sobbed and pushed his ass back, begging for more. Bruce rubbed his face along the
bite, wishing his teeth could mark that perfect skin.

"Time, it's time," he muttered, delirious with Clark's scent. The lust was like a fire in his head, and
the Bat was pushing from inside, making him feel like his skin was stretching out into a dark
shadow that covered and caressed every part of Clark.

"Please, please," Clark was reduced to moaning. Bruce lined up his aching cock and pushed,
finally, into that tight, glorious heat.

Oh God, oh no, oh, he couldn't survive this. He thrust deep and hard into Clark, hotter and stranger
than any human body. His hands scrabbled across Clark's back, clawing and gripping for purchase
on his smooth, beautiful hips. "Please, please," Clark was begging and Bruce couldn't stop his hips
from snapping forward again, and again, and again into Clark. He was drowning, pumping deep
into him, and he couldn't stop, oh he'd never stop, never be able to. God he was going to come. It
was overwhelming and huge, and he couldn't breath. His hands clamped down on Clark and he
shouted, emptying himself helplessly into Clark's body.

Bruce came to, slowly fitting a sense of himself back inside his body. The Bat was sleepy and sated
in his mind, and Clark was curled up on his left. Once again, he had an arm slung possessively
across Bruce's hips and his face pressed into Bruce's side. "At least this time you've got a better
reason for being naked," he said, and the non-sequitur made Clark laugh.

"Are you convinced that I'm here because I want to be?" Clark asked, propping himself up on an
elbow and scratching lightly at Bruce's chest hair.

"Could be," Bruce winged an eyebrow upward, closing his eyes to savor the sensation. "Might take
a bit more convincing."

He heard Clark snort and felt him push up over Bruce. Clark was hard and enthusiastic against
Bruce's hip. "Already?" he opened his eyes, his mind starting to wake up to the possibilities.

Clark shrugged. "There's a reason they call me-"

"Don't say it!" Bruce mock growled at him.

"Just saying," Clark said, nipping Bruce's neck, obviously in a playful mood.

Bruce rolled his eyes. "I'll do anything you want if you never make that joke in our bed."

Clark smiled a very knowing, wicked smile. Bruce thought it was an excellent look on him.

Later, there was pillow talk. Well, what passed for pillow talk between two people in their
profession, Bruce supposed. "I'm still concerned about getting the charges to stick against Luthor,"
Clark was saying, absently trailing his fingers up and down Bruce's stomach. "Believe me, I've
tried to bring charges against him before. He's slippery as a snake and he has the best lawyers
money can buy."

Bruce sighed and combed his fingers in Clark's hair. It was very soothing and he thought it might
be his new favorite pastime. "You're right to be worried, unfortunately. Remember the company
that was running the experiments was never officially tied to Luthor. As of ten minutes before we
got back to the Manor, neither the security teams nor the mutants were talking. They're all terrified
of Luthor, and frankly, I can't blame the mutants. They've been through enough and they still have
to try to rebuild their lives.

Clark grunted in agreement. "Yes, but there has to be some way without involving them any
further. We were there. I could be an eye witness." He kissed Bruce's belly.

Bruce scratched Clark's scalp, settling in closer to him. "You can't just walk in and accuse Luthor
of human slavery and experimentation. Others have tried to bring him down in the past and he's
shredded them, in the courtroom and on the streets. You'll lose credibility, and that would make
you vulnerable to hundreds of lawsuits from anyone who has a beef against Superman. We need to
wait until we have ironclad proof."

"We?" Clark asked, propping his chin in a hand and gazing up at Bruce. "Does that mean we're
together in this?"

"In this, in all of it," Bruce said, twisting his fingers into Clark's hair. "I told you, there's no going
back. What I take, I keep."

Clark smiled, a look of utter contentment making his whole face glow. He sighed and snuggled
back down, lips and face pressed once again to Bruce's belly.

"You know, I think I figured out what to call this," Bruce murmured, feeling sleep tug at the edges
of his mind.

"I know." Clark smiled. "Me too."

--end

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