Chapter Text
It starts with a bomb. A bomb full of kryptonite, because the other kinds of bombs are usually not a huge deal when you're on the moon. But this bomb hit Superman hard enough to warrant a full day of bedrest, which means Kal is lying on his infirmary bed in the watchtower, surrounded by sunlamps and using his unstoppable charm to hammer away at the immovable object of Bruce’s isolation.
"I'm on my deathbed. Make smalltalk with me."
"You aren't on your deathbed."
"And neither are you, thanks to me"
Bruce can tell a desperate ploy for conversation when he sees it. His instinct is not to rise to the bait.
Unfortunately (as usual), cooperating will probably take less energy than saying no to those puppy dog eyes.
So he sighs loudly and lowers himself onto the chair beside the bed. It creaks beneath him; it looks like one of the metal legs snapped off at some point and someone extremely strong mashed it back on like two pieces of wet clay. Why does nobody else around here make note of malfunctioning equipment?
(He catches the guilty glance Kal throws the chair, but ignores it).
He isn't throwing Kal a bone. Smalltalking the Batman is like lifting dead weight, and he knows it. Unfortunately, Kal has the social equivalent of super strength. And he always wears that same goddamn smile .
"Tell me about something!"
Silence.
"Like something you're interested in. Sports. Whatever you do in your free time."
"What I do in my free time."
"Yeah! Or just something you're interested in, y'know? Something you think about for fun!"
"You're just like Flash." Bruce grinds out.
Questions about Bruce's free time are his least favourite. They always end with disbelief that Batman of all people doesn't have normal hobbies.
"Oh come on."
"I don't do things for fun."
"Well you do something in your spare time, right?"
"I review footage and maintain my equipment."
"Really? Come on!"
There it is .
"Not everything is about fun."
"Well yeah, but you can have hobbies that aren't all about fun. I do."
"Like what."
A pause. Kal is obviously thrown off by the sudden change of focus.
Bruce smirks. "go on, tell me about these hobbies of yours."
"I edit Wikipedia articles" Kal mumbles, embarrassed but defensive.
"Wikipedia."
"Yeah."
"The one with the misinformation?"
Suddenly Kal is sitting up straight, with a look of outrage that Bruce had only seen before in the presence of villainy.
"What gives you that idea?"
"Robin" he lies. The truth is, he doesn't trust anything he didn't research firsthand. Any encyclopaedia is inherently biased.
"But you've used it before, right?"
"I am familiar with its function."
"Have you used it, though."
"...I have digital access to state of the art institutions and a search engine that I programmed myself. Why would I need to crowdsource my research."
"Aha! So we agree that elitism and privilege affect access to information!"
"...Yes." He does agree, though this definitely qualifies as misdirection.
Kal settles into an expression of earnest concern and begins talking quickly. "The reputation of misinformation is largely due to a mistrust of crowdsourced information, which would be more valid if the demographic of editors actually reflected the overall demographics of the internet."
Something is different about him. He’s slouching, making less eye contact and shuffling the hem of his blanket between his hands. He’s also using bigger words than Superman ever uses. It’s fascinating to watch, like a sabella worm unfurling to feed.
Bruce realises too late that he’s staring, so he squints to signify interest. Not that the signifier is very useful, because Kal keeps his eyes fixed on the drip of the IV bag about two feet to the left of Bruce.
"Wikipedia editors work very hard and have a LOT of arguments just to maintain neutral and accurate information on each subject. A great deal of deliberation goes on behind the scenes and new edits are very quick to be…"
Bruce is fairly comfortable with Kal, which means he relaxes in ways wouldn't normally consider acceptable. He has also been awake for over 40 hours, so he's having a lot of trouble focusing on the man's monologue.
You can review the surveillance footage later , he tells himself, accepting the permission to quietly disengage. The infirmary is warm, the light is soft, and the familiar voice lulls him into relaxation.
When he wakes up, there’s a blanket over him and the infirmary is empty.
Later, when watching the infirmary recordings, Bruce feels stupid.
"Oh," Kal winced when he realized Bruce was asleep, with an uncharacteristic hunch of his shoulders. "Sorry."
Then he took a deep breath and he changed . He ironed out every fold in his posture and his face until he looked like Superman again. His shoulders were broad, his gaze was confident, and his smile showed no sign of embarrassment or fear.
And he went to sleep like that. It’s genuinely uncomfortable to watch.
Especially since Bruce knows that change. He’s seen it in the mirror before entering parties or nightclubs. He’s always referred to it, internally, as 'putting on my better face.' The façade is his least favourite part of the day, ranking just below 'getting punched by supervillains.'
The idea that Superman is just Kal's better face, that would explain a lot. Bruce has seen the interviews. Kal can be impulsive or stupid, but he’s always on, especially on camera. An answer here or there might be bland, or avoidant, when prying into his personal life. It makes sense when he doesn’t have a personal life, sure, but…
This is too much unfounded speculation. Bruce needs more data, but he isn’t supposed to pry .
So he doesn’t! He doesn’t track Superman’s movements, he doesn’t monitor Superman’s internet access aboard the watchtower, and he doesn’t pry into private conversations that make their way onto camera footage! He should get a goddamn MEDAL for his restraint.
And the rest is fair game, right? Body language analysis isn’t invasive, anyone can look at body language. Anyone can notice the little ways that Kal relaxes at the end of a mission when he doesn’t have to be Superman quite as much.
Watching and rewatching old footage, Bruce discovers a completely different demeanour slipping through in moments of excitement or relaxation. There’s a duck of the head here, a shuffle of the feet there, and his fingers are always skimming along the edge of whatever they can reach. Sometimes they trace the lines of his own broad hands in careful swoops that would look like an anxious gesture to an outside observer, but Bruce has played and replayed the footage enough to see the idle deftness in each repetitive movement. He replicates the gesture in his own hands, wondering what it would feel like to-
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“Don’t say fuck.” he responds automatically, moving his hands back up to his keyboard. He can see Jason’s approaching reflection in the monitor that isn’t playing Kal’s hand motions.
“Well it looks like you’re doing something creepy again. What did we say about research?”
“If it would make your family uncomfortable to know you looked it up, you shouldn’t look it up” intones Bruce, only half paying attention. This isn’t creepy. At least, Kal wouldn’t find it creepy, and that’s the important part. He isn’t violating any boundaries.
“Why are you all zoomed in on Supe’s hands??”
“Body language analysis. Not the pseudoscience. Just comparisons.”
“And what did Wonder Woman tell you about stalking your teammates?”
Hold up . Bruce turns around to meet Jason’s gaze, donning a raised eyebrow. “And how do you know what Wonder Woman might tell me?”
"That's not the point!"
"Now it is."
Jason rolls his eyes, "because I looked on your computer. Your team roster has little notes at the bottom making passive aggressive jabs at Wonder Woman about privacy."
"Why were you looking at the roster."
"Because I was curious and I figured you'd already stalked your teammates."
"Smart kid." Bruce mutters.
Jason smirks and lumbers off to lift weights. The kid is in the middle of a growth spurt and he's well on his way to being built like a tank. Bruce gets back to work.
And that's that.
Except it isn't, because Bruce can't turn off his goddamn brain.
***
"Hey, I was thinking about our conversation the other day!" is the first thing he hears from a blazing sunbeam of a smile when he arrives (early) to their next briefing. There’s nobody else in the conference room, so he lets his guard down just a little, relaxing (as much as he’s capable of) into his usual chair.
"Mh."
"You were talking about being Batman, remember? I feel like I invalidated your feelings."
Bruce doesn't recall having any feelings.
"I totally get having a- a special interest or something, and I know how hard you work on this, I just assumed you thought of it more like a job than a hobby."
It is a job. It's important like a job. Hobbies don't save lives , he doesn't say. It’s hard to explain how important it is, so much more important than just a hobby. But if he brings it up, they’ll be arguing, and Kal’s voice will shift back into Superman again, and his hands will stop carefully tracing the edge of the table. So Bruce doesn’t respond.
Kal leans further across the table, brows furrowing. "But being Batman IS you, right? And. Hm. I'm putting my foot in my mouth again. I mean like, the skills and the gadgets and the fighting techniques, right? They aren't just tools, they're- they're interesting to you."
Kal is all earnest eye contact. Bruce doesn’t know how to respond. Every new supposition is getting more accurate.
"So I'd like to- to hear about that sometime! Maybe it wouldn't be too much like smalltalk!"
"Wanting to hear about my life sounds like smalltalk. You know how I feel about smalltalk."
"No, I-" Kal makes a small noise of frustration, aimed at himself more than anyone else. "Like, what's up with your cloak? I noticed you changed the material, why?"
Huh.
And then it’s easy, all he has to do was talk about the issues he’s had with camouflage, the tensile strength and waterproofing, then on top of that the issues with weight, the tendency to catch on things, and all the other considerations that come with creating the right fabric. And Kal smiles (a soft smile Bruce hasn't seen before), and nods, and asks lots of questions, and Bruce knows all the answers. It’s the easiest thing in the world.
…Until Green Lantern walks in the door and hears him pronouncing 'polyfluoroalkyl' correctly.
Green Lantern's eyes go wide and his smile gets wider. "Woah there, did I stumble into the smart guy conference by mistake?"
Bruce sighs, shuttering up his relaxation. Maybe he can finish telling Kal later. A cruel part of his brain thinks, Kal doesn't want to hear more of that garbage.
But Kal is frowning faintly, and folding his hands solidly on the table, smoothing out the creases in his posture to become Superman again.
Something inside Bruce goes bitter at the loss.