Chapter Text
Clark Kent’s cellphone is a five-year-old Samsung Galaxy with a cracked screen and a Kansas area code. Superman’s phone is a sleek, state of the art Wayne Enterprises creation that gets service on the moon and can withstand a direct strike from a hammer. It feels so awkward in his hand, so smooth and thin, but Bruce insists he can’t use Clark’s phone for League work because it’s far too dangerous. He's turned out to be more correct than anyone knows.
He’s standing in the Watchtower’s observation bay, admiring the view and thinking about nothing in particular when it vibrates. He takes it from his pocket and reads the message that has just come through.
Your people’s musical notation is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
Clark smiles at his phone. I take it to mean you’ve worked it out? Well done.
The reply is almost instantaneous. Do not condescend to me. Do you have the blueprints for the instrument this piece was played on?
I don’t know, I'll have to check. Can’t it be played on Earth instruments?
I suppose I could manage a crude approximation. Though I’d have thought you would want to put a bit of effort into recovering your own culture.
You’ve already done so much. Thank you.
There’s no response for a bit, and then a ten-minute voice message comes through. Clark looks around furtively before hitting play. The elegant, lilting sound of piano music pours through the phone’s speakers. Perhaps it’s Clark's imagination, perhaps he’s only projecting, but he thinks the tune sounds mournful, even remorseful.
He listens to it all the way through twice before sending a reply.
It’s beautiful. Thank you.
The next message is an image, obviously snapped from a phone camera. It shows the symbols that Clark had been unable to translate on his own alongside modern Western musical notation. The page is scribbled over with endless comments, but he can still read the important parts easily.
I cannot believe you had such an egregious gap in your database, says Lex.
Clark smiles at his phone. I think the database was compiled in quite a hurry. Can I send you more?
“Who are you texting?”
Clark jumps guiltily and nearly fumbles his phone. A dark figure stands in the doorway. “Bruce! You startled me.”
“Strange,” says Bruce, walking forward. “Considering you’re capable of hearing everything on this satellite.”
“I’m sorry. I was lost in thought.” He puts the phone away. “Has there been an incident? Is the League needed somewhere?”
“When did you unblock him?”
Clark forces a laugh. “Unblock who, Bruce?”
Bruce crosses his arms. “Are you really going to insult my intelligence? When did you unblock him?”
“Just—just now,” says Clark. “Only just now.”
Clark’s never been very good at lying, and Bruce sees right through him. “Want to try that again?”
“It’s all harmless. I found some old Kryptonian musical notation that I couldn’t read, and he’s been able to translate it.”
Bruce breathes in very deeply.
“And he played some of it for me on the piano.”
“Clark.” Bruce comes around to stand beside him and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Listen carefully, and know that I mean it with all my heart when I say that you… are an idiot.”
“It kept him busy!” objects Clark. “If you can get him focused on something constructive, that’s less time he can devote to endangering the earth. The League hasn’t heard a word from him in weeks, have they?”
“What else did you send him?”
“What else? Nothing.” Clark shakes his head. “Do you think I’d hand him weapon schematics or something? I suppose I’ve given him some books—”
“About what?”
“Philosophy. Kryptonian philosophy. We’ve been discussing—”
“I’m going to jettison you.”
“It’s harmless, Bruce,” Clark insists. “If he manages to take over the world using an ancient alien philosophy textbook, he was bound to do it eventually anyway. And like I said, it keeps him occupied. When he has a project to focus on, he leaves the League alone.”
Bruce glowers at him, but Clark knows he’s got the upper hand now. There’s no disputing the facts: Lex is very easily distracted by Kryptonian culture, and a distracted Lex is a Lex that isn’t building weapons or coming up with convoluted, self-destructive schemes.
“Bruce, please,” says Clark. “Can’t you trust me on this one?”
“I do trust you,” says Bruce. “I don’t trust him.”
His phone vibrates again. It’s another voice message, followed by a message that reads, Tried it on the violin.
“I understand your concern,” says Clark, “but I’ve got it under control.”
“If you want someone to discuss it with you that badly, I’ll read your philosophy books.”
“I really appreciate the offer, Bruce, but you lose a lot of their nuance if you don’t read them in the original language.” Clark tries to give him a comforting smile. “If you want to learn, though, let me know. I can send you some materials.”
“Fine,” says Bruce. “Fine, yes, whatever, if it keeps you away from him.”
Clark smiles again, and Bruce stomps away. He waits to hear the distant ding of the elevator and for Bruce's heartbeat move to another level of the satellite before he withdraws his phone and composes a new text.
Are you doing anything this evening?