Chapter Text
Bat
Bat’s fists still itched. The night had no catharsis to it, no chance to physically beat his emotions into submission. The goons he’d gone after weren’t vital to his case, and overall the effort really wasn’t worth his time. He should have just put a call in to GCPD, but he felt his time on the streets, to experience Gotham firsthand, had been too limited recently. It was necessary to know how the underworld of a city was carving its living in order to diagnose where the major problems were, and Gotham was desperate for a prognosis. His footsteps were near silent as he stalked down back alleys to where he’d parked the car. The shift from biting-winter cold to the crisp-chill of spring was more than welcome on nights like tonight.
Tonight was also about giving himself a break from the endlessly frustrating slog that the hunt for Luthor had become. It had been two months since Greenland, and he knew about as much of Luthor’s operation now as he had then. Both he and Clark had run out the few meager leads they had weeks ago, and their working relationship had become a little brittle because of it. Bat’s own investigation had been taking priority, and that combined with the rapidly cooling-case meant he couldn’t find an excuse to meet with Clark.
You don’t need an excuse, the voice in his head said right as he turned the corner of the building he’d left the car behind. You don’t have to be on a mission to see him.
What would be the point? he thought back as he slid into the driver’s seat. He could feel the eye roll that retort earned him, and only thanks to years of practice was he able to easily suppress the urge to perform the action. The car started silently with the push of a button and slid mutely out of the alley. He didn’t bother with the headlights, instead he relied on the city’s dingy, flickering street lights. It fit his mood better anyway.
While Bat was irritated with the case, Clark had been consumed by it. His career at the Planet was suffering, which Bat had found out from doing some back-end snooping. Clark’s articles were less passionate and were published less frequently. Bat knew he was anxious, and for good reason, but he didn’t have another way to help besides to keep working the case. Except there wasn’t any work to do on it. Not a fun cycle.
Clark was so worked up about it that Bat was worried what would happen when they finally did find something. Bat knew Clark would have a stupid, stubborn reaction, so he needed to control when and how that information was revealed. It was getting more difficult to lie to him though, as the longer they spent time together the more of Bat’s micro-tells Clark seemed to pick up on. Bat wasn’t sure why he wasn’t more annoyed by that. He still was on principal, but it wasn’t as irritating as he thought it should be to have someone so familiar with him.
Don’t be dense, you know why.
Bat deflected from the thought. How am I going to keep him from charging off once he finds Luthor?
Clark had been circling the globe looking for suspicious looking labs or large pockets of lead, hoping to stumble across where Luthor was hiding or operating. He had mentioned a few suspicious spots that he wouldn’t be able to access without causing serious trust issues with government leaders. Plus Luthor technically hadn’t done anything wrong in the eyes of the law, at least nothing they could prove. Clark couldn’t justify breaking in, but Bat wondered how long that resolve would hold. This was a very high stakes case for Clark, Bat understood that, but the logic Clark was tossing aside in way of errant emotions was worrying.
I think it would be more productive to redirect his goals, Wayne said. There’s no chance of you keeping him benched for any part of this, might as well teach him how to plan for contingencies.
He needs an initial plan in order to have contingencies.
So play off of what you know in the meantime. You’re used to working with scraps of information, and if he’s half the journalist he says he is, he can do the same.
There really wasn’t a lot, but starting with the basics was the only way to go about it anyhow. So what did he know? He knew Luthor had a way of incapacitating Clark. The obvious conclusion from that was that Luthor wanted to incapacitate Clark. Lethally? Or did he want him alive for something? Unknown. Bat also didn’t know if there was a way to counteract the effects of kryptonite, aside from physical distance. He’d asked Clark before about it, but Clark was adamant there was no such thing that he knew of. If it was possible, Bat would have to synthesize it from scratch, and he didn’t have the time or resources for such a massive undertaking. What was left was raising Clark’s chance of survival without powers.
He flicked the headlights on as he slowed and drove through the entrance to the cave.
What are the odds you can get him to start wearing body armor? Wayne asked as they pulled the car into its stall and shut the engine off, his tone clearly showing that he knew those odds were slim-to-none.
Bat threw the thought out after no less than five reasons why it wouldn’t be an effective fix jumped to mind. That won’t work.
What about teaching him to fight? He’s got some experience in combat and he’s already in the right shape for it. Bat could see the value in that, though he wasn’t sure how effective Clark could actually be. How could they teach him to respect the limits of his body if he couldn’t practice within those limits? If he wanted to go that route, he needed a way to simulate Clark being powerless.
Wayne didn’t bother asking about the stash of kryptonite Bat had locked away, they both wanted to keep that ace a secret out of a paranoid sense of self preservation.
“Master Bruce?”
Bat’s head snapped toward the voice. Alfred stood at the door to the carport, watching him carefully. Bat realized he’d been standing with one foot still in the car for who knows how long, staring off into space. He stepped out and stalked off toward the heart of the cave, not addressing the moment of spacial un-awareness.
“I need to think of a way to de-power Superman,” he said as he brushed past Alfred. Bat wouldn’t ask for Alfred’s help directly, but he valued his input and wanted it offered. It was a dynamic Alfred knew how to perform in, but he probably didn’t entirely like it.
He doesn’t, but he’s British. He won’t say anything, Wayne noted.
“Finally come around to Lex Luthor’s way of thinking sir?” Alfred asked, using the same tone he would if he were wanting to know if Bat wanted cream in his coffee.
Bat let out a soft snort. “Clark- Superman once mentioned how disoriented and heavy kryptonite would leave him feeling. I want to know how much of that was its poisonous effects, and how much was him… experiencing gravity.”
“You said Superman was raised on earth? Yet he knows who and what he is. Maybe he has a resource that could provide the answer.”
Bat didn’t respond, and he turned his focus to stripping himself of his armor. Why hadn’t he thought of that earlier?
If Clark had anything that could help, wouldn’t he have told us? Wayne asked.
I assumed he would have brought up anything remotely related to kryptonite by this point, but Clark isn’t stupid. Staying safe means keeping secrets, and keeping secrets-
-means you keep your mouth shut, Wayne finished the thought. So there’s every chance kryptonite isn’t his only weakness?
The feeling that idea churned up was more distressing than Bat would have expected.
There could be different minerals or types of radiation, Wayne continued, but they may be inaccessible to humans. It makes sense that he would mainly be worried about the thing that hurts him but not us, and that may be a unique feature of kryptonite.
As a species we’ve found out how to manipulate plenty of materials we can’t tolerate. It may be more likely that Clark is also unaware of other potential substances. But this is presumptuous even for us.
You’re right. We don’t even know if this external information source even exists. When are you going to call Clark?
Bat briefly entertained the idea of pinging him right then, but they were making an appearance at an opening ceremony for a children’s science museum funded by their mother’s charity in about five hours. He was one of the lucky few that didn’t need more than three to four hours of sleep a night by nature, but he did still need it.
“Alfred, could you have my suit brought to the cave? I’m going to sleep down here.” Bat looked up from unbuckling his boots, but he was alone in the room.
Or, as alone as he could be.
Clark
Clark was doing an evening patrol of the planet, shooting through the upper atmosphere fast enough to drag clouds in his wake, when he got a ping from Bruce.
“You’re needed in the cave,” came the modulated voice in his earpiece.
He made a sharp enough turn back toward Gotham that he was buffeted by his own wake. Behind him, he left a crisp v-shape in the clouds. He was wiping cloud condensation off his face when he arrived at the cave seconds later. The entrance had been left open, and that made something interesting happen in his stomach. Coming from Batman, that was nearly a hug hello.
He couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face when he came up behind Bruce, seated in front of a desk of monitors that looked a little like a kid’s cartoon’s idea of a high-tech secret base.
“Any news?” He asked by way of introduction, following Bruce’s unspoken “no greetings” rule.
Bruce turned to look at him. His cowl was on even in here, but at least the lenses were up. Clark couldn’t help but hear how Bruce’s heartbeat stuttered when their eyes met. The air between them was immediately charged with emotion. They hadn’t spent time together outside of the capes, and they hadn’t even touched, even in a platonic way, since Greenland. Their lives were too busy, and their work was too important. Maybe that’s how it would always be for them; doomed to sit on the fringe of something both of them wanted, but neither would sacrifice for.
Clark hoped they could at least steal moments here and there.
“No,” Bruce said. “I called you over because I have some questions about your anatomy.” Clark choked, startled. Bruce blushed beneath the cowl. “That’s not what I meant.”
Clark was enamored by the blush. He focused beneath the skin and watched the blood in Bruce’s cheeks swell in his capillaries, keeping him tinted pink. He tried not to stare inside people’s faces too much, because he didn’t really have a reference for how creepy someone would find it, but he couldn't help himself here.
“What did you mean?” Clark said mildly, eyes flicking back up to Bruce’s.
“How did you learn about who you are?”
Clark didn’t comment on the abrupt change of topic. “What do you mean? The same way as everyone else, probably.”
“And what would be…?”
“High school mostly, though I’ve found value in self-help books before.”
Clark was actually impressed by the eye roll that earned him. It conveyed both exasperation and irritation in equal parts. And maybe just a little bit of something fond.
“If you were raised on earth,” Bruce said slowly, “how do you know where you came from? Presumably the craft you arrived in came with some sort of on-board database.”
Clark rarely forgot how few people really knew anything about him, and it made him feel more like an alien than anything else. Initially he had tried opening up to Batman back when they first started working together, mostly in hopes that it would build trust. He caught on quickly that Bruce wasn’t going to repay the favor and started playing his own cards close to his chest. It was probably the smart thing anyway.
Now though, letting Bruce in on his past, offering that amount of trust to someone who had without question earned it, made him feel warm. Suddenly he was desperate to fill Bruce in on everything. “Yeah, actually. There’s a library stored on it. I’ve read through a lot of the basics, mostly ‘Krypton 101’ sort of things, but I haven’t gone much deeper than that.”
“You have access to the history of your whole people and you just… haven’t gotten around to reading it?” The incredulity in Bruce’s voice made Clark prickle a little.
“I learned the history of my ‘people’ in middle school from Mr. Harrison. I learned the history of Krypton by teaching myself a, frankly over complicated, language that has no existing speakers. I worked to learn everything that I have. It’s not something I prioritize over being in the cape.”
Bruce paused for a moment at that, then said, “Tell me that at least some of that was about kryptonian vulnerabilities. Is kryptonite the only threat to you? What other materials did kryptonians know about?”
“What? How would they know about what materials would affect me?”
“What do you mean, how would they know? If kryptonians were smart enough to successfully ship a baby interstellar distances, they must have done research on kryptonite. That seems like an egregious oversight. It’s more likely that you just missed it if krypton isn’t easy for you to read.
Clark blinked at him. Right, he didn’t know about that either.
“Bruce, I’m not just an outlier by earth’s standards, I’m not like how the kryptonians were on krypton either. From what I can tell, their abilities were much closer to those of humans.” Higher intelligence though, he thought, but now probably wasn’t the time for a my-species-is-better-that-your-species pissing contest.
Bruce sat as still as he had in any stake-out, staring intently at Clark. Clark could basically hear how hard he was thinking.
“I want access to your library.”
“Okay. It’s in Antarctica.”
“You said it was north.”
“I lied.”
“It will take me a few days to get supplies for the trip pulled together, and modifications made to the Wing. I’ll contact you as soon as that happens.” He turned back to his monitors, clearly trying to dismiss Clark.
Clark wasn’t done. “I could fly you.”
“That’s not happening,” Bruce said without turning around.
“You barely got to the north pole and back, how do you expect to set up enough fuel stops on the way south without drawing attention?”
“I’ll get a new plane.”
“Not even you could pull enough strings to get a plane that can fly to Antarctica and back without refueling.”
Bruce didn’t say anything in response, and he still didn’t turn around.
In Clark’s annoyance, he decided to be just a little patronizing. As a treat. “How about I carry the plane? You can still be in it.”
To Clark’s satisfaction, Bruce spun back around and glared at him.
“Absolutely not. There’s not one point on the plane that could handle its own weight. It wouldn’t be possible to carry.”
“Alright, get in a vehicle that I can carry then.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Bruce said.
“Says the kettle. What do you suggest then?”
“I already said it would only take me a few days to-”
At that moment Clark decided that he would rather deal with a tantrum than this sort of petulance. If he couldn’t be reasonable, neither would Clark. He tapped into some super speed and dipped to pick up Bruce bridal style from his chair. A second later and he set Bruce back on his feet, right inside the door of the ship.
“-get it figured… out…” Bruce trailed off as the door shut quickly and silently behind them. He looked around, not managing to hide his astonishment. Oh right. This was (probably) his first exposure to anything made by non-human hands. Clark may blend in well, but the ship was undeniably alien.