So, uh, this got away from me a bit—the scene that relates directly to the prompt's scenario is absolutely going to be in here, it just ... grew a thing. (I'm not sure I can call it a plot, it's more like thousands of extra words of ridiculous setup/"everyone thinks they're doing it". ???) tl;dr: please forgive my longwindedness, OP, and I hope someone else decides to fill this more faithfully and more succinctly!
It takes a while for Batman and Superman to work things out, once Clark comes back from the dead.
It's not because Clark is angry about it. Far from it, actually. Bruce's reaction to Superman is about what Clark had expected—if Bruce is paranoid for it, then so was Dad, for thinking people who weren't paranoid would still react that way. Objectively speaking, Bruce's concerns have a lot of merit: Clark intends to always do the right thing, to never use his powers to cause harm; but that doesn't mean he'll be able to, and a road to hell paved by Superman's good intentions would be a thirty-five-lane superhighway. Clark gets it.
And in his own way, he wasn't any better. He hadn't tried to talk to Batman, hadn't bothered to track Bruce down and have it out even after he'd realized they were one and the same. He has superspeed—the first time the effects of Bruce's kryptonite shells wore off, he could have taken advantage, pinned Bruce down, explained that Luthor had Mom and was using them against each other. But he'd decided to punch Bruce in the face instead. He'd wanted to, by then, and he'd given in to that want instead of—
Instead of doing the right thing. So maybe Bruce wasn't wrong to be worried about him.
But they'd worked around it to take down Zod together, even if Clark died a little bit while they were at it. And then Clark comes back and—
He's not even sure exactly what he was expecting. That fifteen minutes fighting on the same side had balanced out fifteen minutes of smashing each other into sinks. That they could—respect each other, maybe, even if they didn't like each other. They barely knew each other well enough to do either, not really, but it had felt for a minute like they could get there. Bruce had fired that last shell at Zod just in time for Clark to run him through: perfect, like they'd planned it beforehand. Like they understood each other.
But Clark comes back and it's like none of that ever happened. Bruce Wayne is a smug, smarmy jackass, but Clark almost prefers him to Batman. If nothing else, some of the time it's actually Clark's job to push Bruce, to press him, to point out when he's being stupid. Superman has to try to work with Batman sincerely, no matter how unforgivingly monosyllabic he gets.
As far as Clark can tell, Bruce Wayne is one kind of jerk who spends a lot of time pretending to be another kind of jerk, even if Clark's not entirely sure which flavor is the pretense. And that's pretty much all there is to say about him.
They do reach kind of a balancing point eventually. They have to: the Justice League is important to both of them—or at least Clark assumes Batman wouldn't keep showing up otherwise—and in its early stages they can't afford to be seen at odds with each other. Especially not after the thing where Clark died while Bruce and Diana were right there. Thankfully the media seems to have left the question of where the kryptonite spear came from pretty much alone, but Clark can guess where people's minds might go if the cracks ever start to show.
Clark tries to be careful not to overstep, which helps. Gotham is Batman's; Superman doesn't intervene within its city limits unless asked. And at first, Bruce doesn't ask—but even he doesn't place his own pride above other people's safety. There are some problems Clark really is the best solution for.
"You know I wouldn't ask if it weren't really important," Bruce says, leaning toward Clark on one casual elbow, half his mouth tilting up into that slick Wayne smile. And it may be Clark Kent who's been invited up to his office; but it's Superman he's asking.
So: "Certainly," Clark says coolly, instead of the dozen other things he'd rather say to Bruce. "I'm willing to trust your judgment in this instance, Mr. Wayne."
Which is actually sort of true: Bruce doesn't like Clark any more than Clark likes him, which means he wouldn't ask if it weren't really important. Not exactly the kind of trust Clark wants to be able to put in Bruce—but it'll do in a pinch.
And today apparently is a pinch, because Bruce doesn't immediately make Clark regret having said it. He looks at Clark oddly, almost searchingly, for a long moment. And then he leans back in his ridiculously squishy desk chair, links his hands behind his head, and says, "Then I suppose I'll see you at seven, Mr. Kent."
It's only in retrospect that Clark realizes that's how it started.
At the time, the thought doesn't even cross his mind. Part of the reason Bruce asked him at all was because this event—a gallery opening—is something Clark Kent could reasonably be seen at without raising eyebrows, unlike some of the more exclusive parties Bruce Wayne attends. And they don't do anything particularly strange.
In fact, everything goes fine. No supervillains crash through the roof partway through; no one tries to hold the place up or take hostages. Bruce has reason to believe there's something going on behind the scenes, but in the next building over—and he's uncertain enough about who might be backing the activity, if there is any, that he doesn't want to actually go in. He doesn't even want to risk leaving any trace of Batman's monitoring tech. Which means he needs Clark to do a quick scan with the x-ray vision. That's all.
It's just that the easiest way to get uninterrupted time to do that is by heading off to the restroom. The simplest way for Clark to be sure he doesn't miss anything is for Bruce to be there with him: to tell him what to look for, to ask him to describe one thing or another in more detail. And it's only going to take five minutes, ten at the most—it's not worth breaking out Batman's earpieces for that, especially on the off chance their chatter might get picked up.
It doesn't even occur to him that anybody might have noticed, or that they'd think twice about it if they did. He finishes the check, Bruce hmms to himself and doesn't say anything about whatever conclusions he's drawing from what Clark's told him, and then they unjam the door and leave. Clark flashes a quick apologetic smile at the guy who was stuck outside waiting—he's looking at Clark and Bruce with narrowed eyes, one eyebrow climbing. Clark hopes he hasn't been there too long.
And then Clark heads back out to the party, and decides he might as well try a couple more hors d'oeuvres while he's here.
And it isn't—it doesn't even happen all that often. It's not like they're walking out of mens' bathrooms together twice a week or anything. Once, Bruce needs Clark's superhearing to eavesdrop on a meeting he can't get near, so they spend a little while standing together in a curtained alcove, voices low in between bouts of silence. Another time, he gets injured in an explosion; the easiest way to get him out of it and maintain Bruce Wayne's plausible deniability is for Clark to speed off for a suit from Alfred, and then help an extremely drunk Bruce Wayne get home from a nightclub three blocks over. He's a reporter, it's not that weird for him to occasionally be in the same place as a celebrity. He figures nobody will care.
FILL: tell all the truth (but tell it slant); Bruce/Clark, fake dating (1/?)
It takes a while for Batman and Superman to work things out, once Clark comes back from the dead.
It's not because Clark is angry about it. Far from it, actually. Bruce's reaction to Superman is about what Clark had expected—if Bruce is paranoid for it, then so was Dad, for thinking people who weren't paranoid would still react that way. Objectively speaking, Bruce's concerns have a lot of merit: Clark intends to always do the right thing, to never use his powers to cause harm; but that doesn't mean he'll be able to, and a road to hell paved by Superman's good intentions would be a thirty-five-lane superhighway. Clark gets it.
And in his own way, he wasn't any better. He hadn't tried to talk to Batman, hadn't bothered to track Bruce down and have it out even after he'd realized they were one and the same. He has superspeed—the first time the effects of Bruce's kryptonite shells wore off, he could have taken advantage, pinned Bruce down, explained that Luthor had Mom and was using them against each other. But he'd decided to punch Bruce in the face instead. He'd wanted to, by then, and he'd given in to that want instead of—
Instead of doing the right thing. So maybe Bruce wasn't wrong to be worried about him.
But they'd worked around it to take down Zod together, even if Clark died a little bit while they were at it. And then Clark comes back and—
He's not even sure exactly what he was expecting. That fifteen minutes fighting on the same side had balanced out fifteen minutes of smashing each other into sinks. That they could—respect each other, maybe, even if they didn't like each other. They barely knew each other well enough to do either, not really, but it had felt for a minute like they could get there. Bruce had fired that last shell at Zod just in time for Clark to run him through: perfect, like they'd planned it beforehand. Like they understood each other.
But Clark comes back and it's like none of that ever happened. Bruce Wayne is a smug, smarmy jackass, but Clark almost prefers him to Batman. If nothing else, some of the time it's actually Clark's job to push Bruce, to press him, to point out when he's being stupid. Superman has to try to work with Batman sincerely, no matter how unforgivingly monosyllabic he gets.
As far as Clark can tell, Bruce Wayne is one kind of jerk who spends a lot of time pretending to be another kind of jerk, even if Clark's not entirely sure which flavor is the pretense. And that's pretty much all there is to say about him.
They do reach kind of a balancing point eventually. They have to: the Justice League is important to both of them—or at least Clark assumes Batman wouldn't keep showing up otherwise—and in its early stages they can't afford to be seen at odds with each other. Especially not after the thing where Clark died while Bruce and Diana were right there. Thankfully the media seems to have left the question of where the kryptonite spear came from pretty much alone, but Clark can guess where people's minds might go if the cracks ever start to show.
Clark tries to be careful not to overstep, which helps. Gotham is Batman's; Superman doesn't intervene within its city limits unless asked. And at first, Bruce doesn't ask—but even he doesn't place his own pride above other people's safety. There are some problems Clark really is the best solution for.
"You know I wouldn't ask if it weren't really important," Bruce says, leaning toward Clark on one casual elbow, half his mouth tilting up into that slick Wayne smile. And it may be Clark Kent who's been invited up to his office; but it's Superman he's asking.
So: "Certainly," Clark says coolly, instead of the dozen other things he'd rather say to Bruce. "I'm willing to trust your judgment in this instance, Mr. Wayne."
Which is actually sort of true: Bruce doesn't like Clark any more than Clark likes him, which means he wouldn't ask if it weren't really important. Not exactly the kind of trust Clark wants to be able to put in Bruce—but it'll do in a pinch.
And today apparently is a pinch, because Bruce doesn't immediately make Clark regret having said it. He looks at Clark oddly, almost searchingly, for a long moment. And then he leans back in his ridiculously squishy desk chair, links his hands behind his head, and says, "Then I suppose I'll see you at seven, Mr. Kent."
It's only in retrospect that Clark realizes that's how it started.
At the time, the thought doesn't even cross his mind. Part of the reason Bruce asked him at all was because this event—a gallery opening—is something Clark Kent could reasonably be seen at without raising eyebrows, unlike some of the more exclusive parties Bruce Wayne attends. And they don't do anything particularly strange.
In fact, everything goes fine. No supervillains crash through the roof partway through; no one tries to hold the place up or take hostages. Bruce has reason to believe there's something going on behind the scenes, but in the next building over—and he's uncertain enough about who might be backing the activity, if there is any, that he doesn't want to actually go in. He doesn't even want to risk leaving any trace of Batman's monitoring tech. Which means he needs Clark to do a quick scan with the x-ray vision. That's all.
It's just that the easiest way to get uninterrupted time to do that is by heading off to the restroom. The simplest way for Clark to be sure he doesn't miss anything is for Bruce to be there with him: to tell him what to look for, to ask him to describe one thing or another in more detail. And it's only going to take five minutes, ten at the most—it's not worth breaking out Batman's earpieces for that, especially on the off chance their chatter might get picked up.
It doesn't even occur to him that anybody might have noticed, or that they'd think twice about it if they did. He finishes the check, Bruce hmms to himself and doesn't say anything about whatever conclusions he's drawing from what Clark's told him, and then they unjam the door and leave. Clark flashes a quick apologetic smile at the guy who was stuck outside waiting—he's looking at Clark and Bruce with narrowed eyes, one eyebrow climbing. Clark hopes he hasn't been there too long.
And then Clark heads back out to the party, and decides he might as well try a couple more hors d'oeuvres while he's here.
And it isn't—it doesn't even happen all that often. It's not like they're walking out of mens' bathrooms together twice a week or anything. Once, Bruce needs Clark's superhearing to eavesdrop on a meeting he can't get near, so they spend a little while standing together in a curtained alcove, voices low in between bouts of silence. Another time, he gets injured in an explosion; the easiest way to get him out of it and maintain Bruce Wayne's plausible deniability is for Clark to speed off for a suit from Alfred, and then help an extremely drunk Bruce Wayne get home from a nightclub three blocks over. He's a reporter, it's not that weird for him to occasionally be in the same place as a celebrity. He figures nobody will care.
He's wrong.