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Every night, he lives and he dies, he feels the weight of the world down to his bones. Sometimes he watches the waters blow empty shells in the depths of the sea at the docks, his guts spilling beneath the darkened gray skies. For him, it's just another graceless night.
It's nights like those, he remembers how dangerous it is to love. So in response to the overwhelming feeling taking over his being, he throws himself into the unknown—which is never unknown, he has to know everything—of the ugliness that is Gotham City, he roars with a fury of a defiant God that is only a man. And when morning comes, he clothes himself in a beauty that is bold and beyond, a courageous thing to overcome; and he remembers, in the silent and drowning office 78 stories up, that the most dangerous thing is to love.
Soldier on, he tells himself.
He loathes the way the couples in London hold hands and smile at one another with the sweet air of love and votives made to each other in whispers when they're in each other's arms. Diana had to pull him away so he can assess triage, just another graceless night as he slinks away to his jet, leaving the cleanup to the superpowered.
He knows he isn't suffering alone, but it feels like he is. Really, maybe he is, they're sad their friend left, they have every right to be, but he's hurt and grieving alone in a way no one else is. They're all smiles and hope, that soon, he'll be back and they'll welcome him back to the small little home they've all made together with open arms. They say he had to do what he needed to do, he needed closure. He had left with a sunny smile and a promise to shine them in the sun again, he left Bruce with a kiss that felt more like loss, like a remembrance than a promise. To them, he is a treasured friend and comrade. To him, to Bruce. He wasn't just a friend.
Every night, he engages with that burning pain as a motive, and he battles life, who is a worthy opponent.
And today out of all days, he is reminded again and again, that the most dangerous thing he ever could have done, is love; to put his heart in someone else's hands, he put himself at someone else's mercy and is reminded again why he should have stopped it all those years ago. He depended too much on Clark, that was a mistake.
(It's not worth it, Bruce, he wasn't worth it, Bruce hears the familiar drawl of Alfred in his head. He feels like he's been going crazy lately. Maybe he is.)
"Can you hear me, Clark?" Bruce says into the busy night, standing on the tallest high rise in Gotham, the wind pushes and pulls at his hair from where he stands at the very edge. He breathes in the smoggy air of his polluted city and wished he was back home.
"It's our anniversary," the billionaire whispered, on top of his own building, where he spent the whole day locked up in his office to drown himself. It's the epitome of success, but he has never felt so close to failure like he has now.
It would have been their anniversary, if Bruce hadn't ended it between them in a fit of rage and grief before Clark had left with a somber reminder he will come back.
Remember your virtue, Bruce tells himself. "Would have been, at least. Happy anniversary," he forces out, "I know time is different for you, it's probably been a few weeks for you since the last one. It's been a year for me. Obviously."
Three years total of the same routine, hoping that he'd come back the other anniversaries, after the second he knew better, hope is foolish. Hope is something that gives men a reason to keep going, Bruce doesn't need a reason, he will keep going. Nothing will change that.
"You've always asked for my opinion," he continues, dressed in a three-piece and wishing he had the familiar weight of the Bat. The paranoia lingers on his shoulders.
"I've never given you my thoughts, even when you asked." Maybe if he did, Clark would have stayed, or maybe he would have ran off sooner.
(Bruce wasn't worth it, he knows that now. He was never worth staying for.)
"My opinion?" Bruce asked, "Sometimes I want to jump off this roof, I want to beat you like you've never been beat before, make you remember you’re no God. Make you feel the pain you've never felt before."
Do not waste yourself on this roof, he is not worth it, not anymore, Bruce tells himself, the other part of him thinks that, maybe if he does, he'll come back this time.
Bruce feels his breath course below, "Sometimes I think that if I jump off this roof, you would come back in time to catch me."
"Sometimes I wonder if you would even come back at all even if I did." He knows how horrible it sounds, he knows how terrible it is to put that onto someone. Bruce thinks the man deserves it. "Sometimes I don't even think your listening in, but I know your hearing can span galaxies. I just think you choose to not listen to ours."
"I'm tired," the man murmured, he doesn't know if he's even talking to Clark anymore, or the man in the sky people find themselves praying to. It's all the same, "I'm tired of fighting, I'm tired of the tears. Sometimes I just wish I could be cut loose, I know it won't happen. Not as long as Gotham needs me."
"You know I'm tired, you know I'm trying, but it still doesn't feel like it's enough."
"I wonder if I made you happy," Bruce finds himself choking out the words that have been trapped in his wilting lungs finally breaking out. "Sometimes I wonder if that's why you left. If all of the darkness and pain that surrounds me finally made you tired."
"Sometimes I think that if I had five more minutes, I could have convinced you not to leave, I don't think you would have listened anyway. You were determined, I had no right to ruin that."
"Our time was up," he whispered softly, "and all my love could never bring you home. All my love couldn't make you stay, not for me. Not for Martha and Johnathan, not for the team. Not for the world."
"I have to let you go. I'd love to let you go, I have to let you go."
"I must've called you a thousand times just to hear you again, I can't even count the number of times I went to your apartment; I can't smell you there anymore, I don't know how many times I wore your clothes just to feel you again. I don't even know how long I stared at my phone to wait for your reply that won't come."
"I should've known, I should've known it wouldn't last. I only hoped that I would've had more time."
Bruce inhaled shakily, the tears that fell down his cheeks were easily dried in the chilly wind of the Gotham winter night, only leaving behind the tacky evidence of tear tracks on his skin. "I have to let you go, I can't keep waiting, it hurts, Clark. I'm too far behind."
"It fucking hurts," he laughed, it felt more like a sob, "so I'm letting you go."
The billionaire rubs at the ring on his finger, sitting snuggly on his pinky, a simple white gold band. Not a proposal, but a promise that one day it could have happened. He slips it off and feels a part of him die with it, he feels a part of him break and he knows it will never heal. "I have to find a way out because you never go away. I want to feel alive again, and I can't do that alone. I can't do that waiting for you. You've always been on my mind, and I've been trying to let it go. I have to find something just as incredible to help me let go."
"I've become such a negative person, like before I met you, and I hate it. I never wanted to be like that again. I've been in this game so long and I came out alive, and sometimes I wish I didn't but I’m grateful I’m still here. I have to get better, for me, for my kids, for my family, for the team. I have to go back to when Bruce was me, back when I remember when Bruce was me. I'll do it. Even if I have to do it without you."
"I've learned that no matter what I did, you were never mine, no matter how much I wanted to be yours. I wanted to be worth it, I believed I was worth it, that I was worth enough for you to stay."
"I now know I'm not."
“I wonder if you ever loved me at all.”
He steps away from the edge, "I hope you find what you're looking for, and if you don't, I hope you found closure."
"I love you, more than you could ever know," he says softly, the words being unheard to his ears, the last time he will ever say it to the love of his life again, a sob breaks through his trembling lips no matter how hard he tried to stop it, "I loved you."
The gold glints in the night where Bruce left it on the edge of the roof. He let go, and it felt great, it felt like suicide. It felt like death, it felt like redemption.
It felt like cowardice.
He goes home to lick his wounds, and wraps himself up in dark colors to take it out on the streets. If he sees the familiar shadows of his birds stalking him, he lets that concern they have wash over him like a balm.
—
Clark comes back through the airlock of the Watchtower soaked down to the bone from the decontamination. It leaves wet tracks where he walks and he knows someone will complain and demand who did it. Most likely J'ohn.
He makes a b-line to where he knows Bruce should be, uncaring of the water trail he’s leaving behind, he says hurried greetings and gives half hugs to everyone who passes by him. Some just look at him in surprise, some others tear up and tell him it's good to have him back. He had to escape Barry's rambling because he knows it'll last too long, and his brain is too fried to keep up with the speedster. He politely makes excuses to others who want to hear about his adventures that he'll tell them all about it some other time.
Before he can get far enough, he's stopped in the hall by Diana who passed by. And instead of the long-awaited hug he expects, she just looks at him, her features have changed, she looks more gaunt, like time has made its claim on her; right now, though, her features looked grim, it makes a certain panic rise in Clark and he has to hold back an urgent demand to know what's wrong as she pulls him to the end of the hall where it connects to the lobby, where the Zeta Tubes are. A few people pass by here and there, giving them some surprised looks but they keep to themselves and keep walking.
He waits with a cultivated amount of patience and shifts his weight back and forth.
"Clark, you should know before you seek him that—"
The sound of light laughter makes her stop in her sentence, she freezes up and her features fall into what looks like guilt. Her head glances at where the laughter is coming from, and Clark helplessly follows her.
Batman stands with his cowl in his hands as he's dragged by a man dressed in all white with black and blue accents. A helmet hides the man's features.
"Come on, what do I have to do to drag you back home and take a damn break—"
"Leave me to do my work first? Khoa this is the fifth time this week you've sneaked onto the Tower, I even keep changing the codes, how are you—"
"A gentleman never tells."
Bruce snorts, shaking his head in a way that is only decipherable as fondness as he looks up at the helmeted man. "If I agree, will you stop breaking into the Tower?"
"Mhm, I dunno, does this offer only last today?" the white-clad man drawls, the helmet making it sound somewhat mechanical.
"Hn, if we watch whatever list for shows to binge that I know you have planned, however long that will take, will you stop sneaking into the tower and bothering me while I work?" Bruce deadpanned.
The other straightened up, "I'll take that deal," he nodded, then he made grabby hands that made Bruce shrink away, "c'mere, let's seal it with a kiss—don't shake your head, you love kissing me."
Bruce scoffed, shaking his head again, he shoved his cowl to the man who holds onto it with a sound of triumph. The vigilante's hands go to the white helmet, pressing at whatever mechanism that makes it lift off with a hiss of air as Bruce carefully lifts it up. It reveals a man who still has his face covered by some sort of wrap around his head. It only exposes his jaw just like Bruce does when he's wearing the cowl. His skin is darker than Bruce’s.
"Come here you insufferable bastard," Bruce muttered, by the way his pinks are colored dark. This must have not been the first time.
"I'm the insufferable one? You've clearly never seen yourself when I beat you while spari—" the words die with a pleased hum when Bruce pulls his head down to lock their lips together in a soft kiss.
The man's hands drop beneath Bruce's cape, which made Bruce let out a pleased sigh and sag into the man's body.
"Kal, are you okay?" Clark hears Diana ask, but he doesn't pay her any mind as he watches the love of his life kiss another person that's not him.
He should have known Bruce wouldn't be lying when he said that he would be letting him go. He held onto a stupid hope, faith that it was a bluff. Batman never bluffs.
Barry comes speeding in, hopping from foot to foot, clearly not reading the situation. "Awah, it's Bruce and Ghostmaker, those two are so cute together. Even when he is kind of scarier than Bruce, and we have no clue as to who he is, only Bruce knows his name. Which is kind of mean, it's so weird to always call him Ghostmaker, it's such a long name and so mysterious." Barry bemoans, and is clearly getting ready to babble on some more words that are sure to kill Clark’s already dying heart.
Both men separate, and Bruce is looking at Ghostmaker in a way that was reserved for Clark. Bruce looked at him that way, not this Ghostmaker. It was a look of adoration, a kind of happiness Bruce rarely lets himself have.
Diana sends Barry away with some trouble, and when they're alone again she looks at him, waiting for anything. For tears to fall, for him to fall to his knees and ask why, but he just looks empty... resigned.
"Kal?" Diana placed a soft hand on his bicep, he looks at her and he sees nothing but concern on her face. He wonders how long this had been going on, he wonders why she didn't tell him sooner.
Not many had known of their relationship, it was still relatively new, something exciting for both of them. Diana only found out because she found them making out in one of the empty sparring rooms, but by the Gods, Diana could tell how much they truly loved each other. Even before catching them, she had her suspicions.
"How long?" Clark murmured, his gaze moving back to the couple, he hopes it's some cruel trick, something he must have ran into in space that caused a hallucination, he knows better.
"A year, it's going to be two soon," Diana answered softly, "are you okay?"
Is he? He knew this was coming, he just chose to be ignorant, he chose to believe Bruce would wait even after time and time again Bruce said he couldn't. He knew weeks for himself was years for Bruce, how could he expect Bruce to wait time after time again? How could he not answer Bruce's pleas to come back and expect the man to still wait for him? Clark was ignorant, and now that ignorance is getting back at him for hurting the man he loved, for putting him through so much grief. Bruce warned him, he told him. How could Clark blame him for doing what was right for himself?
"No," he says truthfully.
"He couldn't wait anymore, it was hurting him Kal," Diana softly tried to excuse, Clark nodded dumbly. He knew that, of course he knew that.
Bruce was muttering half-assed insults to the other man who kept him close and littered Bruce with kisses all over his pale skin. It made Clark's heart break, it made him want to beat the man black and blue, but Bruce was never his, not like property. And now Bruce will never be his in the same way he is Ghostmaker's.
The other man murmured something to Bruce that made the man give a soft, melodic laugh. Bruce jabs a finger to his chest and looks away with a grin, he looks around as if he checking for any people around. Like he didn't think to do that first, Bruce always looks around for people. He’s paranoid like that.
That grin on Bruce's face falls when he looks at Clark and Diana, his eyes flicker between both of the supers, and both can see the way that happy light in his eyes die at seeing Clark again after so long. Clark tried to inject a plea into his gaze, but what right does he have after ignoring Bruce's for so long? What right does he have to ruin Bruce's happiness over his own mistakes?
Ghostmaker nudges Bruce softly after a few seconds of both of them staring at each other, the man's head jerks back at him and Clark can see from here, clear as day, the way his lips tremble slightly before he licks over them and sets them into a thin line, the way his eyes glaze over and Clark can hear the skip of his heart. The man clad in white drifts his head to both supers, and even with the cover on his head, they can feel his stare burn through them.
"Let’s go home, Khoa," Bruce muttered, Khoa looks back down at Bruce, lips twisting into something ugly before he nods and grabs Bruce's hand. Bruce tries to shy away, not one for public affections when he knows people are watching, but the other just laces his arm around Bruce's arm together like they've done it a million times.
Maybe they have.
They both go to the Zeta Beams, Bruce just gives a curt nod to them both as Ghostmaker types the coordinates with such ease like he's done it before, "Wonder Woman, Superman, it's... good to see you back, the world had missed you."
"Yeah..." Clark says, the phrase 'I missed you,' dying on his tongue. He can't do that to Bruce. "It's good to be back."
Bruce hummed nonchalantly, like the interaction was a regular occurrence, but his heartbeat shows otherwise, "I'll see you around."
Clark nods stupidly, unable to say anything else.
"Let's go, I'll call over your band of adoptees to have a movie night."
"One is biologically mine," Bruce muttered hotly, Bruce has a biological kid? What has Clark missed? "And, wow, you actually want to spend time with the kids. Are you dying? Going to go dark in Asia again?"
"Ha," Khoa deadpans, he shoves Bruce who lets himself get tossed into the Zeta with a glare for show, "let's go before I get Jason's permission to kill."
"My son's permission is not mine," Bruce grumbled, running a hand through his slightly sweaty locks, "it's bad enough you’re rubbing off on Damian." Batman sighed, slightly leaning on Ghostmaker’s shoulder as the Zeta Beams fired up.
Bruce has aged, he’s gained fine lines, some crows feet at the edges of his lips and eyes, some gray hairs here and there. He’s aged like fine wine; and Clark wasn’t there to watch it happen. Wasn’t there for all the smiles that caused those wrinkles, or the frowns, or the kisses or the late nights in bed. Wasn’t there to count each gray hair that made itself known in the messy, fluffy head of hair. He wasn’t there.
Ghostmaker his a manic grin of sorts, "That kid is like an edgier version of you, I thought no one else could be crazier than you."
"Ha," Bruce echoes, "should've let him kill you that one time."
The other makes an indignant sound, and whatever argument Bruce most likely just started fades into nothing as they disappear in a flash of light.
“Kal?” Diana inquired gently, stepping in front of him to catch his attention when he stared at nothing. “Do you need—”
“I’m okay,” Clark croaked quietly, he gives a weak smile to the Goddess who sees right through him. “Yeah—I'm okay, it’s okay.”
“I’m okay,” he repeats, he must sound crazy, trying to convince himself in muttered ramblings. “I’m okay,” he says, knowing he lost his world for a planet that has been destroyed a long time ago. He’s stuck with the knowledge, that, just a few months ago, Bruce was in his arms. Laughing and smiling and happy and so eager to wrap himself up in Clark’s arms, they were happy. For Bruce, it was years. The whiplash is enough to send any man mad, to send any man down to his knees for forgiveness that will never come.