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The problem with Bruce’s prodigious reputation is that those few people with whom he wants to find a deeper personal connection rarely take his confessions as truth.
Such as Specimen A, one Clark Joseph Kent, who smiles awkwardly at him now as Bruce tries to angle this sinking interview into something more productive.
“So, I’ll be attending the annual fair as part of Wayne Enterprises’ partnership with the children’s hospital, if you have any free time on Sunday,” Bruce says hopefully. He’s spent the last five interviews they’ve had together over the course of the last year trying to gently intimate that he thinks Clark is clever and funny and attractive, but Clark has somehow masterfully deflected every attempt of Bruce’s to ask him to coffee before he can even finish getting the words out, so this is what he’s resorting to. If he gets turned down again, he’s giving up before Clark starts thinking he’s a creep.
Then again, maybe he already does. Woe is Bruce.
“Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Wayne,” Clark says gently, “but I’m afraid I have a prior engagement that day. An interview lined up about the North Star Railroad corruption scandal.”
Of course. That’s why Bruce likes Clark so much: his unwavering devotion to the pursuit of truth and justice for the common people.
“I understand. I’ll see you next time you head into Gotham then.”
“Yes, I’m sure the Planet will send me over for your future endeavors.” He says it diplomatically, but Bruce knows that it must be a total bore interviewing Bruce about his charitable efforts, or, even worse, his social events. Bruce Wayne’s life is agonizingly less exciting than the other stories that Clark usually covers.
“I hope your event goes well,” Clark says, already halfway out the door before Bruce can even get up to bid him goodbye, and then he’s gone.
Damn.
Well, Bruce is certainly crossing Clark Kent’s name out of his diary. He curses himself and his terrible good taste in men on his drive home as he wonders if he really ever had any chance at all.
Why’d he have to go and develop an infatuation with someone who would never associate with the same circles as Bruce Wayne? Someone who probably thinks Bruce is a flirt and a moron, who would never believe that Bruce reads his articles and admires his accomplishments.
“Love is, and always will be, a fool’s errand,” he grumbles to himself as he enters the manor, petulantly kicking his shoes off at the door. He immediately goes and sets them nicely on the rack, for fear of disappointing Alfred.
He coasts listlessly into the sitting room, wishing he had the energy to go downstairs to the cave and look over some case notes, but he feels like moping at the moment.
“You blew it, didn’t you,” Dick says sympathetically from his spot on the couch. He’s completely cocooned in a large pink blanket except where his hands are poking out to play his little handheld video game.
“He didn’t even take me seriously,” Bruce says morosely as he slumps onto the cushion next to his son. “Told me he hoped the event would go well and then high-tailed it out of there.”
“Did you tell him it would be on your birthday?”
“Frankly, I think that would have made the rejection worse.”
“Maybe it’s time to rehabilitate your image,” Dick suggests. He puts his game aside and unfurls from his blanket blob, before picking it up and swaddling Bruce instead.
“I don’t need to be cocooned,” Bruce protests, but he allows Dick to kick his legs until he draws them up on the couch. Dick deftly tucks him in until he’s a round ball of pink fleece, and then fetches his own yellow blanket to rewrap himself until they’re two pastel forms nestled warmly next to each other.
“Anyway, I think it’s time to quit your dumb playboy thing,” Dick says as he goes back to chasing little creatures around his screen. “Even if you don’t end up with this guy, there’s gonna be somebody else in the future, and you’ll run into the same problem all over again.”
Bruce watches as Dick engages in some kind of monster dogfight that involves capturing the defeated. Disturbing. “I can’t suddenly become smarter, that would be suspicious. But I could lean less into the playboy thing and more into the lone, fun-seeking bachelor stereotype, I suppose.”
“It might help,” Dick agrees. “Or, hear me out: you could ask Superman on a date.”
“Kal? No,” Bruce dismisses. “Just because we’re best friends, doesn’t mean it would work out. Sure, he’s smart, handsome, heroic, kind, and inspiring to everyone around him. But he’s also a pain in the ass. Besides, he’s been in love with Lois Lane since forever.”
Dick gives Bruce his best “sure, Jan,” look, but kindly doesn’t comment. “Whatever, forget about men and let Pokemon heal your heart. That’s what I always say.”
“Sage advice, Master Richard,” Alfred says as he passes by and sees them balled up like a set of easter eggs. Bruce just grunts in response.
But watching Dick play his game does calm Bruce’s heart, even if it confuses him. “Why does your chubby creature have a headache,” Bruce asks, nodding at the miserable yellow thing that Dick just imprisoned in a ball.
“Psychic problems. Also, his life is just hard.” Dick types in the name BRUCE XVI and sends the creature away to god knows where.
“...you’ve named sixteen of these things after me?”
“A lot of them remind me of you,” Dick shrugs. He shows Bruce an alien-looking pink cat. “See, look. ‘It's adorable when it chases its own tail. It's difficult to earn its trust.’ That’s you!”
It sure feels like he’s chasing his own tail, some days. “Hn. Does it come in black?”
“No, Bruce.”
Bruce, newly freed from the shackles of his stupid crush, decides to go patrolling alone for the night, to clear his head. Robin’s duty is to do his homework, which he needs to catch up on after playing Pokemon for three hours with Bruce.
He puts Riddler and Firefly away, and then huddles up on a tall building next to some gargoyles to brood further, because perhaps the shackles might be sturdier than he thought.
“Stupid Metropolis people and their stupid high standards,” he mutters to himself when a berry-colored entity descends from the sky.
“Taking a rest, Batman?” Superman asks, smiling at Bruce as he comes to hover a few feet away.
“Hello, Kal,” Bruce says glumly. He glances briefly at his friend before returning his attention to the Gotham skyline. It’s the best thing to stare at while feeling surly and downtrodden about the general state of the world.
“Something wrong? Stumped by a case? I could help, if you want- always happy to lend a hand!”
“No, nothing so interesting. Just stymied by matters of the heart.”
“Oh?” Kal says, his voice pitching up high. “You- your personal life, eh? I didn’t realize you were, uh, in a- a relationship-”
“I’m not. Which is, I suppose, the root of the problem.” Bruce shakes his head, standing up. “Never mind me. I’ve just come to the realization today that people from two different worlds could never work.”
Kal’s face goes pale at this, his mouth looking shaky. “Oh. I didn’t know you felt that way.”
His wounded expression confuses Bruce for a moment, until he replays what he just said.
“I didn’t mean it like that, Kal. Sorry. You’ll have no problem finding love. I meant from two different social spheres, not literal- you know.” Shit. That was pretty insensitive.
“You’re forgiven,” Kal says, giving Bruce a weak smile. “So, um. Your love life not going so well?”
“I was interested in someone who I realized will never return my feelings.” Bruce looks away from Kal again to stare at some skyscrapers as he continues monologuing. “We’re just too different, he and I.” Also, he’s pretty sure he thinks about Clark about thirty times more often than Clark thinks about him, which is never a great basis for a relationship. The only thing Clark keeps in his mind about Bruce Wayne is probably the number of times he’s been caught faking amnesia when he forgets a partygoer’s name.
“Sorry to hear it, B. It never feels good to be rejected.” Kal clears his throat. “If you’d like, we could talk about it. Over a pint of ice cream. There’s a nice shop over in Metropolis-”
“Thanks for the offer, but I’d rather not go anywhere near Metropolis right now. Not while I’m still trying to forget about him.”
“He’s from Metropolis?”
“Sadly, yes. He’s someone you know, actually,” Bruce says, remembering that Clark’s written a few articles about Superman’s exploits before. Normally, Bruce wouldn’t reveal so much classified information about his life, but Kal is his best friend, and if Bruce says it aloud, it’ll force him to get over Clark for security reasons. “Clark Kent, reporter. I think he and Lois work together.”
“WHAT,” Kal shrieks, and Bruce holds up his hands to placate him.
“Don’t worry, I’m not pursuing him anymore. You don’t have to worry about getting roped into a double date or anything.”
“How do you even know him.”
“Kal, he’s a reporter of national renown. I admire his work,” Bruce explains. “He’s one of the finest investigative journalists of our generation, I’d say. I admit that Lois might have a more succinct way with words, though. I’m not trying to date her,” he assures his friend, who looks unwell despite Bruce’s promise.
“And you don’t want to date Clark anymore either.”
“He barely noticed my existence; it was a lost cause from the beginning.” Yes, this conversation with Kal has confirmed for Bruce what he already suspected: he and Clark were never meant to be in the first place, so it’s actually for the best that he was shut down so soundly. Bruce can hear sirens screaming in the distance, so he readies his glider. “It’s best to just move on. Thanks for the pep talk, Superman. I’ll see you around the Hall.”
Diving off the building, Bruce sails into the night, letting the harsh winds buffeting his face distract him from the ache in his heart.
The next day, Bruce takes out his scrapbook, intending to throw away the articles that Clark wrote about him. They’re all short puff pieces, but it was still kind of nice to hold in his hands something that Clark created for him. About him. Whatever.
But he can’t bring himself to go through with it. In the end, he just stuffs the scrapbook back on his shelf and gets suited up for patrol. He’ll burn it next month with the rest of the detritus from his crumbling social life.
Robin joins him tonight, having already conquered geometry.
“Have you decided what you wanna do tomorrow?” Dick asks after they rout Mad Hatter and take to the rooftops to look for other street level crimes.
“Nothing too extravagant. Besides, don’t forget we’re going to the WE party.”
“Let’s celebrate your birthday at night, then!”
“Robin,” Bruce scolds half-heartedly. “No personal business while in the field.”
Dick rolls his eyes behind his mask. “Okay, well, what do you want to eat for dinner tomorrow? Everyone eats dinner, so don’t come at me.”
“I don’t have a preference. We could order out, for a change of pace,” Bruce suggests. Also, to give Alfred a break, though he’ll likely be a bit offended at the suggestion.
“Okay, then let’s order something we never get. Like…pizza!”
“Sure.”
“Hey, guys,” Kal says, flying over as they grapple to another roof. “Patrol going well?”
“No complaints,” Dick says cheerily.
“Something wrong, Superman?” It’s unusual for Kal to come to Gotham two days in a row when they aren’t actively working on something together.
“No, not at all. Just thought I would pay you another visit. I didn’t catch you yesterday, Robin.”
“Yeah, B said I had to finish my homework before going out. Oppressed in my own home!”
“Your education takes priority.”
“I think I know more than enough about Mesopotamia by now,” Dick grumbles, but he perks up upon seeing Condiment King running amok down below. “I’m gonna go take care of that; you two stay and chat.” He gives Bruce a horribly unsubtle wink before swan-diving off the building.
“Should you join him?” Kal asks.
“No, he’ll call if he needs me.”
“Right. Actually, now that we’re alone, I wanted to tell you something.” Kal takes a breath — pointless — and then says, apropos of nothing, “I could put in a good word for you with Clark. If you want.”
“What.”
“Uh. Well, I was thinking that maybe you were giving up on love too easily. I know Clark pretty well, and if you were still interested, I could…mention that a friend of mine would like to meet him. Maybe for coffee?”
Ha, as if Clark isn’t allergic to the mention of enjoying a nice caffeinated beverage in Bruce’s presence.
“While I appreciate the thought, there’s nothing you could really tell him about me without compromising the security of the entire League,” Bruce sighs. He hasn’t even told his closest allies his identity yet; meeting with Clark like this would be a surefire way to lose control of who knows the man behind Batman’s mask.
“Ah. It’s that serious?”
“You should know how brilliant Clark is. Surely he’ll piece together that, as your friend, I could be a fellow crime fighter. From there, who knows what he could uncover? I’m very diligent about protecting my identity, but I don’t want to chance outing one of our less stringent comrades. No, it’s best for me to forget about Clark Kent once and for all.”
“Really? Just like that?” Kal says, his voice small.
“Yes,” Bruce says, firming up his resolve. No more pretty journalists with nice, deep voices and steadfast moral centers. “I’m striking him from my heart as we speak. I’ll never think of him romantically again. They say we learn from our mistakes, but I think he actually did me a favor by preventing me from making the mistake at all in the first place.”
“Great. That’s. That’s super.”
“Indeed. Hm. Robin seems to have met the wrong end of the mustard gun. Thank you for the consideration, Kal. I know you don’t need it, but good luck with your own romantic pursuits.” Well, a little luck wouldn’t hurt. This whole Superman - Lois thing has been going on for years. Bruce kind of assumed they would be married, or at least engaged by now, but maybe this is the one time where Lois Lane likes to take things slow. In any case, Bruce is going to stop thinking about it, as usual.
He gives Kal a short nod before dropping down to the streets to assist Dick with the condiment clean up.
Of all the ways Bruce could be spending his birthday, the children’s hospital fair is one of the better ones. He gets to see happy kids and families enjoying themselves, and he doesn’t even have to pretend to be drunk for once. Lucius thought it would be a good idea for Bruce to take some ownership over WE’s part in the event, so he was given a list of jobs to choose from, which sure beats getting accosted by shareholders trying to talk at him.
Bruce decided on balloon duty.
His job is to fill and distribute balloons to visitors. One per customer.
Every so often, he checks to make sure he’s really got cans of helium and not some damn Joker concoction or fear gas or new Ivy cocktail. Dick came up earlier and asked for a balloon, and then re-gifted it back to Bruce by tying it around his waist, so now there’s a big giraffe shaped balloon bobbing rather intrusively behind him. But all in all, it’s a rewarding position. Who doesn’t like balloons?
Well, Bruce sometimes, given the frequency with which they’re used to commit heinous crimes.
An hour or so into the event, an unexpected visitor arrives, shocking gasps out of everyone, including Dick.
“Oh my god, what’s Superman doing here?” he runs up to hiss at Bruce. “Do you think he knows something? Is there a bomb? Crap, I bet it’s a bomb.”
“Hello, people of Gotham,” Kal says brightly, smiling at everyone. “I heard this was one of the city’s biggest events, and I just thought I would come show my support for what you’re doing here today.”
“Okay, maybe there’s no bomb,” Dick says as Kal shakes the mayor’s hand and begins mingling with people. “Guess he’s just…into Gotham lately.”
“Hn,” Bruce responds eloquently, because Dick’s right, Kal’s been making lots of stops in Gotham recently. The previous two could be excused, but today’s appearance is unusual. Maybe there is something more nefarious going on.
He decides to keep an eye on Kal while he walks around, to see if his friend is trying to case the room for threats. Kal does seem to be scanning the crowds, but his expression is pleasant and stress-free. Strange. Though, Bruce knows that Kal does like to interact with people outside of rescues and life and death situations. It could be that Gotham was on his “to visit” list.
“Superman,” Bruce greets cordially when Kal finally approaches after a while. “Would you like a balloon?”
“No, that’s quite all right, Mr. Wayne,” Kal says. He’s never spoken to Bruce Wayne before, but they’re both quite famous, so there isn’t much need for introductions. “I didn’t expect you to be…working?”
“Well, what better way to know if the party is going well than to help run it? Besides, everyone likes balloons.”
Bruce passes his last one out to a little girl and then turns around to fill another handful. Kal offers to help, but Bruce refuses. Who knows what he might do to the canister by accident.
“Do you often attend company events?” Kal asks as Bruce ties ribbons onto his newly inflated balloons.
“Not the boring ones. But I like things like this. Families having a nice outing together. It’s…nostalgic.” He remembers going to a few fairs and things with his parents, but the details have all blurred together over time. What sticks with him is the sensation of his mother’s hand wrapped around his, his father’s warm laugh as Bruce tried to plead for extra dessert.
He catches Kal looking at him with a soft smile on his face, and for a second, Bruce’s heart does a little pitter-patter. Ugh.
“But what brings you here?” he asks. “No offense, but Gotham isn’t usually your beat.”
“You could say I was invited. And I heard a friend of mine would be here, so I thought I’d stop by.”
Ah, that explains why he’s been looking around so much.
“Seems like you haven’t located your friend yet. If you can’t find them, you can ask at the information desk to make an announcement for you.”
“No, that’s alright. I’m actually not even sure he’s here at the moment.”
“Well, if you tell me his name, I can walkie the desk and have them keep a lookout for you,” Bruce says as he surveys the crowd for his own guest. Clark is nowhere to be seen, which is no surprise. Too busy with his job and talking to cool, urbane people who aren’t Bruce.
Kal laughs sheepishly. “Would you believe that I don’t know his name?”
“You came based on an anonymous invitation from a stranger? You ought to be careful with things like that; that’s Kidnapping 101,” Bruce scolds. Foolish Kal. Bruce has no desire to be extracting kryptonite shards from his silly face today. “It could’ve been a trap. Lex is always going on about how he wants to study your flesh or some equally ominous thing; I wish he would just talk about yachts like the rest of us.”
“I’m glad alien vivisection isn’t a popular topic among you and your friends.”
“Yes, vivid suction, autopsies and ectoplasties, it’s all horrid. No fun at all.”
“I imagine not,” Kal says agreeably.
“But since you’re here anyway, why don’t you enjoy yourself? They’re giving out slushies by the cornhole area. There’s Robin Lemon, Robin Strawberry, and Robin Green Apple.” The lack of name creativity bothers Bruce a bit, but he had to nix Batman Black Cherry for fear of frightening children and parents.
“I see they had a theme in mind,” Kal laughs.
“Children love Robin. And sugar.”
Speaking of Robin, Dick is approaching at a rather fast clip.
“You didn’t wear the hat I picked out for you,” he calls, frowning.
“It clashed with my outfit. Also, this event isn’t about me,” Bruce explains, but Dick refuses to accept this, and advances on him, ugly party hat in hand.
With a sigh, Bruce lets Dick strap the hideous thing to his head. “Happy?”
“Always. Anyway, good luck with the balloons! I’m going back to the cake station. Hi, Superman! Bye, Superman!” He darts off without waiting for a response.
Bruce, now wearing his inane “birthday boy” hat, turns to Kal to ask him how ridiculous the thing looks, but finds him staring slack-jawed. Wow, maybe the hat is even worse than he thought.
“It’s an atrocity, isn’t it?” he asks, but Kal doesn’t seem to hear his words.
“It’s your birthday?”
“Yes, but I don’t usually do much for it. I know I’m famous for my parties, but on the day of, I’d much rather just spend time with my family,” Bruce explains. “We’re getting pizza tonight.”
“Pizza.”
“Dick likes eggplant and pepperoni,” he elaborates when Kal continues staring at him like he has two heads. “I prefer Margherita. Alfred doesn’t much enjoy pizza at all. I think it’s because he’s British. They don’t have pizza in England.” Bruce has no idea why he’s still talking, but Kal looks like he’s going through a sudden midlife crisis, so he doesn’t want to just walk away. Not that he could. The balloon station is here.
“Today. Today is your birthday. As in, now.”
Is Kal having a stroke? Or just confused about the date? “As far as I know, yes. February 19.” Bruce pauses to give out four balloons, and then finishes lamely with, “I’m a Pisces.”
“Oh. Me too.”
“Really? I didn’t know Kryptonians believed in astrology.”
“We don’t,” Kal says, looking like he wants to wither away. “I just- I chose a sign at random when I learned about it. For fun.”
“I don’t think that’s how it works, but don’t let me trample on your enjoyment. Are you certain you wouldn’t like a balloon? You look like you could use one,” Bruce says, holding out one shaped like a big peppermint candy.
“Sure, but- I’ve got to go. Thank you. Yes. Right. Happy birthday, Mr. Wayne,” Kal says, grabbing the balloon out of Bruce’s hand and flying away at superspeed.
“Thanks,” Bruce tells the dust left behind. That was perplexing. He should page Kal over the comms later before pizza time, just to make sure he doesn’t need help with whatever crisis this is. Lex Luthor’s doing, probably.
The hospital event wraps up mid-afternoon, which leaves Bruce plenty of time to go secure food for his upcoming pizza and movie party. Dick goes home ahead to help Alfred with the birthday cake, leaving Bruce to go purchase the pizzas himself.
He surveyed the children who came to the balloon station for their favorite pizza spots around Gotham, and chose one that received a few mentions. He orders a whole pizza for each of them (spinach and sausage for Alfred) and sits on one of the waiting area chairs to scroll through his phone while the pizzas are being made.
He reacts to Dick’s social media pictures of his birthday cake in progress with a heart, and then proceeds to make his own typo-ridden post about being grateful to be born when he was so that he could live to see the day that he became the age that he is now. It immediately draws the usual responses of question marks, confused memes, and kind-hearted people actually wishing him happy birthday.
After he gathers his finished pizzas, he turns to leave the restaurant and almost runs head on into Clark Kent.
Why is he here??? Bruce thinks wildly, clutching at his cardboard boxes in support.
“Mr. Clark Kent from the Weekly Globe,” he greets, feeling his face warm up a little. Clark’s soft curly hair is a bit tousled today, his sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms, and his tie and collar slightly loosened. Whew. It feels awfully hot in here for February. Must be the stone ovens.
Meanwhile, Bruce is still wearing his abhorrent hat and giraffe balloon. Mortifying.
“Daily Planet,” Clark corrects as he takes a step closer. He’s holding Kal’s peppermint balloon in his left hand. Bruce holds his stack of pizza boxes up like a shield.
“Right, sorry. Well, it was lovely catching up with you but I need to go eat these now.” The last thing he needs is a reminder of how attractive Clark is, now that he’s been officially redacted from the record of Bruce’s heart. Bruce pushes rudely past him and onto the street, but Clark is hot on his heels.
“I heard that it was your birthday today. Happy birthday.”
“Thank you very much. Now, if you don’t mind-”
“Have you ever read one of my articles, Mr. Wayne?” Clark asks suddenly, and Bruce curses under his breath. He knows what this is. Somehow, Kal must’ve deduced Bruce’s identity and decided to be a good friend and sic Clark on him in an attempt to matchmake. Unfortunately for him, Bruce has nineteen gold medals in stubbornness, and refuses to re-open his tender heart to this cold, brilliant, disdainful man who probably thinks Bruce Wayne only reads cereal boxes and ski lift warnings. Well, joke’s on him, then, Bruce will just embrace it.
“No, I’m not literate in English. Only hieroglyphics. I had an Ancient Egypt phase as a child,” Bruce says, power-walking down the street toward his car.
“Funny, because I thought you commanded a decent grasp of the English language with your post just now.”
“That was my social media manager, Jim,” Bruce says, spewing out the first name he can think of. An image of Gordon frowning in disapproval flashes through his mind. “He’s on call 24/7. Always ready to make up sound bites for me on all the hot button topics like high waisted jeans and pilotfree airplanes.”
“Jim must be very busy.”
“He is.” He was smoking his way through an entire pack the last time Bruce spoke to him.
“You’re also very busy. Helping your city, doing charity work, spending time with the people of Gotham.”
“The only people worth spending time with.”
Clark makes a sound of amusement. “Well, if you ever want to broaden your horizons, perhaps to someone from the city next door-”
“I thought you had an article about trains to write,” Bruce says, whirling around to glower at Clark.
“I do, but-”
“Then maybe you should get back to it.”
Whatever this is — some kind of pity date or a favor for Kal — Bruce wants no part of it. He’s completely and utterly done with any and all people from Metropolis for the past, present, and future, no matter how charming and sweet and handsome they are.
Clark’s expression turns embarrassed as he says, “I know it’s presumptuous to take up your time like this, but I was hoping that I could ask you something off the record.”
For a moment, Bruce’s conviction wavers, but he remembers the way Clark quite literally fled his office, and makes his choice.
“No, I don’t think so. I can understand if you’re not interested in me, even if you don’t have the decency to properly reject me. That being said, I have picked up on your hints of disinterest and would greatly appreciate it if our relationship could remain strictly professional from now on. So, if you’ll excuse me, my son and butler are waiting for me at home. Have a good night, Mr. Kent.”
Bruce spins back around and marches off with his pizzas with as much dignity as one can muster while one’s forehead proclaims “birthday boy” to the entire world.
He fumes his whole drive home, almost popping his balloon in the process. When Alfred greets him at the door, he doesn’t even comment on Bruce’s attire, taking warning from Bruce’s stormy expression.
“What now?” Dick asks as he helps Bruce with his delivery.
“I ran into Clark Kent at the pizza shop.”
“What?” Dick gasps. “Why was he there?”
Bruce reveals to them his theory about Kal and their faces grow more and more concerned.
“They must have talked after Kal left the fair; that’s when he gave Clark the balloon and somehow convinced him to give me a second chance.”
“Should we confront him about it? There’s no way he told Clark about your identity, is there?”
“No, he would never do that. But the fact that Kal knows is already worrying. I don’t want to summon Kal here to confront him about it, so I’ll wait to go to the Hall tomorrow and discuss it with him in one of our secure interrogation rooms.”
“Okay. Well, if there’s nothing to do about it for now, let’s finally celebrate your birthday.”
“Alfred, we’re going to eat in the television room,” Bruce declares, despite knowing how unmannerly it is.
But Alfred doesn’t protest, probably because he can see Bruce settling in for a proper sulk. “Very well, Master Bruce. But cake will be served in the dining room. I won’t have any wax drippings on the rugs.”
Bruce agrees to these terms, and he and Dick make their way to the tv room with blankets and pizzas in hand.
“Are you sure Clark didn’t just change his mind about you?” Dick asks as they bundle up on the couch.
“Absolutely not. He probably just agreed as a favor to Kal. ‘Clark, won’t you please go out just once with my poor, pathetic loser of a colleague who can’t land a single date without throwing his money at someone.’,” Bruce mumbles in his best Superman impression.
“Aw, you know Superman would never say that about you!”
“Hng,” Bruce grunts because he knows Dick is right. Still.
“I guess I don’t blame you for turning Clark down though. Talk about mixed messages.”
“My head is still spinning. Is this how Psycheduck feels?” Bruce clutches his head in mimicry of the weird creature he suddenly seems to understand on a spiritual level.
“Psyduck. And yeah, probably.” Dick pats Bruce gently on the shoulder. “In any case, it’s over now and you never have to see him again.”
“You’re right, I’ll send a memo to have Clark prohibited from any and all WE properties. The Planet will have to send some second-rate reporter in his stead the next time they want some stupid interview from me.”
“Good idea. Now, stop moping and pick a movie.”
Bruce lets Dick choose from his collection of Akira Kurosawa films as he grouchily munches on his first slice. Dick is still trying to decide between Yojimbo and Ran when the proximity alarms go off, and Bruce tries to leap out of his blanket cocoon and almost wipes out on the floor.
“Master Bruce, we have a visitor at the door that you may want to receive yourself,” Alfred calls from the foyer. He doesn’t sound frightened, just perturbed, so Bruce doesn’t bother suiting up or grabbing a weapon beyond his fireplace poker as he approaches the front door.
When he yanks open the door, he’s annoyed but not necessarily surprised to see Superman floating there.
“Hi, B,” Kal says, shuffling his feet after he lands on the step. “I mean, Bru- uh, Mr. Wayne.”
That more or less settles it.
Bruce grabs him by the arm and drags him into the manor; Alfred shuts and locks the door behind them as Bruce carts Kal into the dining room.
“You,” Bruce says angrily, brandishing his poker.
“Me?” Kal asks, gingerly pushing the poker out of his face. Bruce glares at him.
“I can’t believe you somehow pieced it together and yet the first thing you did was try and set me up on a date instead of warning me about potential security leaks, you irrational lummox.”
“That’s not very nice.”
“Yes, well, neither is sending over the man you knew I had feelings for to appease me with some kind of attempt to soothe my pathetic pride. I told you, Kal, I didn’t want to pursue anything with Clark anymore because I already knew he was never going to reciprocate- do you know how humiliating it is to have him chase me down while I have a goddamn giraffe tied to me-”
“I’m in love with you,” Kal interrupts before Bruce can really get started on his rant. The momentum Bruce was building deflates, and he sags forward, squinting in confusion at Kal.
“What the fuck are you talking about? You’re engaged to Lois Lane.” He hedges his bets with the engagement, hoping that Kal didn’t secretly get married a while ago without telling him.
But Kal just stares. “B, Lois and I broke up almost two years ago.”
“What? That can’t be true.” Bruce would have noticed. He keeps very close and completely normal tabs on Superman’s personal life.
“We were pretty quiet about it, and you were kind of busy at the time with this big organized crime thing. And everyone kind of assumed we were still together, and I wasn’t sure yet how to tell you about my feelings, so I just rolled with the assumptions, but now I’m wondering if that wasn’t a mistake.”
“Two years? Really?” Bruce asks, still stuck on that part of the conversation, because he skipped right over the part about Kal confessing for his own sanity.
“Yes,” Kal says patiently. “Close to the amount of time that I’ve known that I was in love with you.”
“...and I never noticed.”
“Seems like you had eyes for someone else.”
“Well, eventually,” Bruce says, setting his poker on the dining room table and tuning out his mental projection of Alfred chastising him for it. “I had eyes for you first. But it seemed imprudent to cling to hopes that my probably soon to be engaged best friend would break up with his longtime girlfriend.”
He pushes the words out before he can chicken out of saying them, and Kal’s beautiful eyes widen.
“So you set your sights on Clark instead.”
“He’s smart. Tenacious. Kind-hearted. A lot like you,” Bruce says, shrugging. “And like I said, I admire his work. But he never gave me the time of day, so. Another lost cause, I suppose.”
“Here’s the thing,” Kal says, reaching up to tousle his own hair. “It isn’t so much that I wasn’t interested in Bruce Wayne so much as I literally couldn’t conceive of loving anyone the way I loved Batman. The way I love you.”
He walks closer to Bruce, mussing up his own hair until it’s falling in familiar curls. Bruce hears warning klaxons going off in his head, so he retreats a step back as Kal reaches behind him to tug something off his cape: a pair of glasses. Kal puts the glasses on, and then it’s Clark Kent in Superman’s suit gazing back at Bruce.
Bruce feels his brain shut down so hard that it goes immediately into defense mode, which entails grabbing the poker off the table and jabbing it right into Clark’s stomach.
The iron rod crumples like a piece of toast.
“Ouch!” Clark says inanely, almost as if he’s trained himself to react that way. “I understand you’re shocked, but really?”
“Oh, like you even felt it.”
“If I was just a guy in Superman cosplay, you’d’ve poked me real hard in the stomach just now. Not nice.”
“Yes, but the entire point of this conversation is that you are not just a guy in Superman cosplay, you duplicitous son of a-”
“Holy cow,” Dick breathes from the doorway, a slice of pizza in each hand. “Hi, Superman.”
“Hi, Robin,” Clark says, smiling at Dick, who keeps looking between him and Bruce, shell-shocked.
“So he really does know our identities. Do we have to kill him now?”
“Is that seriously your contingency plan,” Clark frowns.
“Dick,” Bruce scolds. “You know killing is never the answer. And no, since he shared his identity in return, we don’t need to use Plan S.”
“Oh, okay!” Dick chirps as Clark mutters, “We need to talk about these plans of yours, Bruce.”
“Anyway,” Dick continues, “Alfred and I are gonna start the movie, so whenever you two are done talking about your feelings, you should come join us.” He darts off.
“I don’t know if I’m more surprised by Batman doing a pizza party for his birthday, or by Bruce Wayne,” Clark comments, and Bruce finally pieces it together.
“...did you overhear my conversation with Robin last night?”
“I did. And then I crashed your fair in hopes of finally figuring out who you were so I could show you why I didn’t want you to give up on Clark so quickly. But everything spun out of control, and by the time I’d gotten it all sorted out in my head, you looked like you wanted to fling a pizza at my face.”
“I did, a little bit.”
“That’s fair,” Clark says, smiling crookedly. “I’m sorry I never let you ask me to go grab coffee. But in my defense, I was a little afraid that I would fall for the infamous Bruce Wayne charm, and I didn’t want my heart to waver.”
“In my defense, I’ve had a best man speech written for the last three years,” Bruce says as Clark inches closer. “I- I didn’t want to hold onto a hopeless dream.”
“I should have said something sooner. Is there any chance you’d still want to give it a try, with Kal or Clark?”
Bruce looks at his face — Kal’s face, open and optimistic and a little bit vulnerable underneath it all — and can only find one answer.
“Would you like to get coffee with me? My treat.”
“I’d love to,” Clark says, lighting up like the sun itself, and Bruce feels his heart skip two beats.
“I’m also celebrating my birthday today. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but we’ve got pizza.”
“Yeah? I could go for a slice of Margherita.”
“You’re in luck.”
Clark holds out a hand, and after a moment, Bruce sets aside his mangled fire poker and accepts it. Clark’s skin is warm against his, their hands fitting perfectly together.
“Happy birthday, B.”