FAKE DATING PROXIMITY ALERT. Technically I guess we're not really there until next time, but still. AND IT ONLY TOOK 4K WORDS TO GET HERE. \o/
It takes another week for Superman to end up in the same place as Batman, and by then Clark's definitely grateful for it—the staring and the picture-taking have only gotten worse. Basically every day Cat can greet him with a completely new massive photo of his own face, deer-eyed and hapless, and more and more invasive speculation about whether he and Bruce are actually dating, or Clark is just—
("His boytoy," Cat had repeated mercilessly. "That's—"
"No, no," Clark had said hurriedly, "thanks, I—I know what it means," and then he'd made a break for it before she could read any further.)
Anyway.
This time it's actually Superman who needs Batman's help: the super senses are great for a lot of things, but Clark can't keep an ear on everything that's happening in every LexCorp building at once. If nothing else, he does need to sleep. But considering that Luthor's last big idea had left Clark six feet under for longer than he wants to think about, he can't really afford to not know what Luthor is up to, either.
Luckily, there's some LexCorp offices in Gotham these days, so Clark actually has some reason to think Bruce will lend a hand. (Not that Clark thinks Bruce would kill him, or would help Luthor do it. But if—if Batman decided it was for the best, in that clear-eyed stone-faced way he has; if he didn't help Luthor, but maybe just didn't stop him either—
It's uncomfortably easy to imagine, which is why Clark mostly doesn't let himself go there.)
So he meets Batman on a rooftop, overlooking one of LexCorp's industrial parks, and carefully broaches the subject of Bruce maybe doing a little extra monitoring. Just, if he happens to have sensors of some kind that Luthor might not detect, or can hack himself a back door into some of LexCorp's less secure servers.
And at first Clark thinks he hasn't done it carefully enough, because Batman turns to look at him sharply and doesn't say anything for a moment.
But then: "Should be possible," he allows, slow, and Clark can't tell whether it's actually grudging or it just sounds like it when it's said in Batman's growl. "The information can be pulled together into a report for you—Mondays?"
"Like—next Monday?" Clark says, startled. "You'll have it set up that fast?"
Batman looks away. "Do you want the reports or not," he says, and it's not really a question.
"Yes," Clark says quickly. "Yes, thank you. Thanks."
Batman doesn't say anything back—Clark briefly tries to imagine a friendly "You're welcome" in his modulated voice, and almost laughs out loud—but he does kind of nod stiffly.
Not the best warm-up act for the most awkward conversation in the world, Clark thinks, but not the worst. "There's something else I need to talk to you about," he blurts, before he can talk himself out of it; and Batman—winces? Moves, anyway, short and sharp, and to no purpose that Clark can see, which is unusual for Batman.
"So they're asking you about it, too," Batman says grimly, without even waiting for Clark to elaborate.
And—Clark blinks. It's turned into a genuine mess for him, sure, but that's because he's never been worth a story before in his life, at least not as Clark Kent. Bruce has been in the papers here and there basically since he was a kid—Clark hadn't really thought this would be more than a blip on his radar. A few more flashes in Bruce's face; one or two new questions added to the storm that get shouted at him after Wayne Enterprises press conferences; but nothing really out of the ordinary.
But Bruce's choice of words says otherwise. "And you—haven't been able to get them to stop," Clark hazards.
"Denial hasn't proven effective," Batman says, which, yeah, that's fair, considering how the media tends to work. A blanket "that's not what happened" without a convincing alternate explanation is the kind of thing that makes Perry slam a fist into his desk and say Dig deeper, Kent!
But surely Bruce has had to weather something like this before. "Then what is effective?" Clark says.
"Constructing an appealing narrative supported by the evidence," Batman says, "except they've beaten us to it,"—and it's Batman's voice, but the words are all Bruce Wayne. Which captures the weirdness of this entire interaction in a nutshell, Clark thinks: Superman is on a roof in Gotham at midnight, earnestly listening to Batman's social media advice. "Or removing the evidence."
"You mean—" Clark says, catching up, and then balks. "You're not leaving the League. And neither am I, not over this. We're—we're better when we're working together, you know that," because they are: he might have died, but so had Zod, and that would never have happened without Bruce, without Diana. And if either one of them needs the other but—but second-guesses, doesn't ask, just because of this circus, and then something happens—
"It's that," Batman says, "or stop denying it."
"Stop—oh." Clark swallows, and decides to start small. "Will that, uh. Will that help?"
Batman tilts his head a little, silent, and then looks away again; Clark can't help wishing he could see Bruce's face, just for a second. "In the short term, it'll get a lot worse—and then we'll hit saturation. That's what will make it yesterday's news. If it will cause problems for you—"
"No, no, it's—everybody at work thinks we already are," Clark admits. "Perry took me aside the other day to tell me if he's going to fire me for anything, it'll be for being late with the Mont-Simard piece, not for being Bruce Wayne's arm-candy." He clears his throat. "What about you?"
"The stock might take a small hit; nothing serious." Batman pauses, and then something in his voice changes, somewhere behind the modulator: "This is far from the most damaging thing the shareholders have ever seen Bruce Wayne do. You're actually a cut above his usual type."
It takes Clark aback somehow, hearing it, though he can't pinpoint why. Maybe it's just that it feels sort of—cold, hearing Bruce slot "Clark Kent, Daily Planet reporter" into the lineup and measure him out.
But that's what everyone else will do. Really, Bruce is almost doing him a favor, preparing him for it.
"Okay," Clark says aloud. "All—all right, then."
Batman doesn't answer; he just zips out a grappling line and drops away into the dark.
It doesn't feel like anything's really been decided; they didn't even—they didn't even say the word "dating", let alone preceded by, "So, okay, we're definitely going to pretend to be—" After a day or two, Clark starts to second-guess himself about whether the conversation even happened. Maybe he'd chickened out; maybe the increasingly dubious memory is just what he wishes had happened.
But then, the next time they end up in close quarters in civilian clothes, Bruce meets his eyes and Clark knows he didn't imagine a damn thing. Bruce raises an eyebrow and doesn't say anything; and that's not much to go on, but he's Batman, he must have a plan, so Clark nods.
And in the end it's perfectly simple. They don't rush the exit, that time—they don't make it look like they're trying not to get caught. Bruce smiles and leans in and waits until they've definitely been noticed, until someone's already leveled a smartphone at them and the red light is steady, before he takes his hand off Clark's arm.
That's all. It's not so bad. Nothing Clark can't handle.
FILL: tell all the truth (but tell it slant); Bruce/Clark, fake dating (5/?)
It takes another week for Superman to end up in the same place as Batman, and by then Clark's definitely grateful for it—the staring and the picture-taking have only gotten worse. Basically every day Cat can greet him with a completely new massive photo of his own face, deer-eyed and hapless, and more and more invasive speculation about whether he and Bruce are actually dating, or Clark is just—
("His boytoy," Cat had repeated mercilessly. "That's—"
"No, no," Clark had said hurriedly, "thanks, I—I know what it means," and then he'd made a break for it before she could read any further.)
Anyway.
This time it's actually Superman who needs Batman's help: the super senses are great for a lot of things, but Clark can't keep an ear on everything that's happening in every LexCorp building at once. If nothing else, he does need to sleep. But considering that Luthor's last big idea had left Clark six feet under for longer than he wants to think about, he can't really afford to not know what Luthor is up to, either.
Luckily, there's some LexCorp offices in Gotham these days, so Clark actually has some reason to think Bruce will lend a hand. (Not that Clark thinks Bruce would kill him, or would help Luthor do it. But if—if Batman decided it was for the best, in that clear-eyed stone-faced way he has; if he didn't help Luthor, but maybe just didn't stop him either—
It's uncomfortably easy to imagine, which is why Clark mostly doesn't let himself go there.)
So he meets Batman on a rooftop, overlooking one of LexCorp's industrial parks, and carefully broaches the subject of Bruce maybe doing a little extra monitoring. Just, if he happens to have sensors of some kind that Luthor might not detect, or can hack himself a back door into some of LexCorp's less secure servers.
And at first Clark thinks he hasn't done it carefully enough, because Batman turns to look at him sharply and doesn't say anything for a moment.
But then: "Should be possible," he allows, slow, and Clark can't tell whether it's actually grudging or it just sounds like it when it's said in Batman's growl. "The information can be pulled together into a report for you—Mondays?"
"Like—next Monday?" Clark says, startled. "You'll have it set up that fast?"
Batman looks away. "Do you want the reports or not," he says, and it's not really a question.
"Yes," Clark says quickly. "Yes, thank you. Thanks."
Batman doesn't say anything back—Clark briefly tries to imagine a friendly "You're welcome" in his modulated voice, and almost laughs out loud—but he does kind of nod stiffly.
Not the best warm-up act for the most awkward conversation in the world, Clark thinks, but not the worst. "There's something else I need to talk to you about," he blurts, before he can talk himself out of it; and Batman—winces? Moves, anyway, short and sharp, and to no purpose that Clark can see, which is unusual for Batman.
"So they're asking you about it, too," Batman says grimly, without even waiting for Clark to elaborate.
And—Clark blinks. It's turned into a genuine mess for him, sure, but that's because he's never been worth a story before in his life, at least not as Clark Kent. Bruce has been in the papers here and there basically since he was a kid—Clark hadn't really thought this would be more than a blip on his radar. A few more flashes in Bruce's face; one or two new questions added to the storm that get shouted at him after Wayne Enterprises press conferences; but nothing really out of the ordinary.
But Bruce's choice of words says otherwise. "And you—haven't been able to get them to stop," Clark hazards.
"Denial hasn't proven effective," Batman says, which, yeah, that's fair, considering how the media tends to work. A blanket "that's not what happened" without a convincing alternate explanation is the kind of thing that makes Perry slam a fist into his desk and say Dig deeper, Kent!
But surely Bruce has had to weather something like this before. "Then what is effective?" Clark says.
"Constructing an appealing narrative supported by the evidence," Batman says, "except they've beaten us to it,"—and it's Batman's voice, but the words are all Bruce Wayne. Which captures the weirdness of this entire interaction in a nutshell, Clark thinks: Superman is on a roof in Gotham at midnight, earnestly listening to Batman's social media advice. "Or removing the evidence."
"You mean—" Clark says, catching up, and then balks. "You're not leaving the League. And neither am I, not over this. We're—we're better when we're working together, you know that," because they are: he might have died, but so had Zod, and that would never have happened without Bruce, without Diana. And if either one of them needs the other but—but second-guesses, doesn't ask, just because of this circus, and then something happens—
"It's that," Batman says, "or stop denying it."
"Stop—oh." Clark swallows, and decides to start small. "Will that, uh. Will that help?"
Batman tilts his head a little, silent, and then looks away again; Clark can't help wishing he could see Bruce's face, just for a second. "In the short term, it'll get a lot worse—and then we'll hit saturation. That's what will make it yesterday's news. If it will cause problems for you—"
"No, no, it's—everybody at work thinks we already are," Clark admits. "Perry took me aside the other day to tell me if he's going to fire me for anything, it'll be for being late with the Mont-Simard piece, not for being Bruce Wayne's arm-candy." He clears his throat. "What about you?"
"The stock might take a small hit; nothing serious." Batman pauses, and then something in his voice changes, somewhere behind the modulator: "This is far from the most damaging thing the shareholders have ever seen Bruce Wayne do. You're actually a cut above his usual type."
It takes Clark aback somehow, hearing it, though he can't pinpoint why. Maybe it's just that it feels sort of—cold, hearing Bruce slot "Clark Kent, Daily Planet reporter" into the lineup and measure him out.
But that's what everyone else will do. Really, Bruce is almost doing him a favor, preparing him for it.
"Okay," Clark says aloud. "All—all right, then."
Batman doesn't answer; he just zips out a grappling line and drops away into the dark.
It doesn't feel like anything's really been decided; they didn't even—they didn't even say the word "dating", let alone preceded by, "So, okay, we're definitely going to pretend to be—" After a day or two, Clark starts to second-guess himself about whether the conversation even happened. Maybe he'd chickened out; maybe the increasingly dubious memory is just what he wishes had happened.
But then, the next time they end up in close quarters in civilian clothes, Bruce meets his eyes and Clark knows he didn't imagine a damn thing. Bruce raises an eyebrow and doesn't say anything; and that's not much to go on, but he's Batman, he must have a plan, so Clark nods.
And in the end it's perfectly simple. They don't rush the exit, that time—they don't make it look like they're trying not to get caught. Bruce smiles and leans in and waits until they've definitely been noticed, until someone's already leveled a smartphone at them and the red light is steady, before he takes his hand off Clark's arm.
That's all. It's not so bad. Nothing Clark can't handle.