Archive of Our Own

1. Nightwing and Robin

"Superman! We need you here now!"

There were few sounds on the planet that could snap Clark to attention like a distraught cry from Nightwing. One second he was chatting outside a restaurant with the cook whose grease fire he'd extinguished during dinner service, the next he was hurtling toward Gotham too fast to trace. In the moments it took to arrive, he discerned that Dick seemed unharmed, but beside him somewhere in the dark outskirts of the city, Bruce's pulse had weakened alarmingly.

His feet hadn't yet landed on the dirt of the quiet forest when Dick was shoving an unconscious, bloody Batman into his arms.

"Take him to the cave," Dick gasped.

Clark wrapped his cape around Bruce without question and shot toward the manor, holding tight and concentrating on that sluggish heartbeat beneath the red fabric. In the Batcave, Alfred was ready to receive them, lowering Bruce's limp body onto the surgical table and tearing off his armor with Clark's help.

"Bring Master Dick here, please," said Alfred without glancing up, and Clark was back at Nightwing's side in an instant, leaves scattering between them. The vigilante climbed into Clark's open arms like he was still a preteen, and Clark lifted off into the sky for the umpteenth time that day.

"Are you okay?" he asked, forcing himself to sound calm.

"Yeah," Dick said shakily from beneath the cape.

"Where's the Batmobile?" The missing vehicle stuck out to Clark - otherwise it would've already delivered Bruce and Dick to the cave on autopilot.

"Totaled," Dick huffed, sounding pained. "B ejected my seat a second before this huge force slammed into us. Worse than anything Bane could do. B - he would've been stable, but a piece of metal got lodged in his stomach."

Clark already knew. He’d seen the injury shredding through the seemingly infallible Batsuit. And all the blood.

"Is the enemy still out there?"

"No, vanished. They had to be a metahuman. I - I was pulled into the case because it affected Bludhaven, but this goes even deeper than we thought."

They touched down inside the cave and rushed to Bruce and Alfred's side. Batman's tech had improved significantly over the years, especially after Bruce started collaborating with other heroes, and he was healing from his wounds much more swiftly than he would've at the beginning. But he had also lost a lot of blood and sustained heavy blunt trauma, and the healing process was too slow for Clark's liking.

Wearing gray pajamas and bloodstained surgical gloves, Tim was leaning over beside Alfred, but Dick summoned him to help retrieve the crushed scraps of the Batmobile with even more fancy tech.

"Thank heavens," Alfred sighed as Clark, still suited up, took over beside him. "I’d prefer for Master Bruce's children to not witness him like this."

This, being covered in horrible contusions from head to toe, with a deep cut under his right eye and the terrible scarlet wound in his abdomen. Though still unconscious, Bruce shuddered as chemicals coursed through his system and the healing pad above him did its work. A pile of glass and metal bits formed beside the surgical table where they worked rapidly, allowing his body to stitch together whole rather than around debris. The muted agony in every jerk and spasm, the restless fanning of his eyelashes, made Clark's jaw tighten like a screw.

At long last, there wasn't much left to do but maintain Bruce's vitals throughout the night. Everyone's things had been strewn about the cave in a way that would've made the man's eye twitch; Clark's cape, a pop of color, covered the entirety of his desk chair. Dick and Tim flitted in and out of the cave, as if their perching and staring could both ease Bruce's sleep and make him wake up. His thick black hair was a mess of sweat and dust, so Clark spent a few moments tenderly smoothing it back, avoiding his sensitive scalp, before remembering that the others were all present. He retracted his hand guiltily. Bruce wouldn't have been comfortable with his touch anyway.

Clark wasn't naive enough to believe that Bruce would've let their recent argument affect his work in the field, but that didn't lessen the pit in his stomach. The crux of it, Clark reminded himself, was that he couldn't control Bruce's actions and he didn't want to; if he ever gave reason for Bruce to doubt that, to fear the opposite, then their friendship would end and Clark would've failed not only him but all of humankind.

Clark pushed down this spiraling, however, for he sensed another person in the cave quietly pacing and working himself into an even worse state. Striding over to Tim, he asked, "May I borrow you for a minute?"

"Huh? Y-Yeah, sure."

They walked to the bench next to the training room installed inside the cave, out of earshot of Alfred and Dick. The monitor beeps and Bruce's steady heartbeat still thundered in Clark's ears, but Tim didn't need to know that. Clark started a breathing exercise, knowing the boy was disciplined enough to make himself follow along. Tim's frantic pulse steadied.

The words were harder to come by, but Clark broke their silence after a few minutes. "I can't believe they got the Batmobile. That'll hurt Bruce more than any injury he sustained tonight. He's been obsessed with it for ages. I don't have much of an interest in cars, but it was a work of art.

"I'm sure he'll remake it even better," he added, when Tim didn't speak, "with plenty assistance from you."

"...It'll be a time-consuming project," Tim admitted, and Clark took the slight relaxation of his shoulders as another win.

"Dick told me what happened," Tim said suddenly. "You got Bruce back quickly, but he was so pale. I've seen it... like this before, but..."

"Not worse." Tonight had been one of Clark's deepest fears come to life, and he hadn't even been the child separating the jagged bar from Bruce's flesh. In a way, he empathized with the anguish of witnessing a sharp, unforeseen decline in a parent's health. "I'm sorry, especially since you had to see him like this. He'll pull through, but I wish I'd been faster. It worries me that I didn't know. I didn't hear the moment of the impact. I didn't feel his heart stutter in his chest. I should've known."

It was an important confession, one Tim could comprehend. Tim lowered his gaze to his own lap, fingers interlocked. Silent and still, the way he had to be on stakeouts.

"Are you and Bruce together?" he asked.

The seriousness of his tone and the situation left no room for alarm or self-consciousness. Tim, in particular, was a protégé of Bruce who had always seemed mature for his age, but that didn't make him an adult. Everything had been so confusing for Clark at that point in life.

So he gave the teen an honest response. "I don't know."

"Is that why he's been weird about you lately?"

The throbbing in Clark's chest felt faint now compared to his anxiety over Bruce's condition. It was remarkable how much you could hurt over the people you loved. "Probably. I finally expressed my feelings to him a few weeks ago. He wasn't that receptive. Though I think he's more afraid of all the worst-case scenarios than how it'd likely go. There are years of history between us, after all."

Tim fidgeted. "He comes with a lot of baggage. And not just the emotional kind."

Clark tried to hear what Tim was saying - what he was actually saying. Tim had never been as cheerful around him as Dick or Jason when they were kids. He questioned his place, his belonging.

Clark shook his head vehemently. "His ties to other folks aren't baggage. They're a huge part of why I - care about him. Because he brought people like you into my life. I hope you understand how much of a privilege that is. I want to take care of you, Tim. Even if Bruce doesn't feel the same about me, you can call on me for anything. Kon tells me a lot about you. You both kind of worry me, but amaze me too."

Tim stared up at him with his emotions plastered all over his face, looking painfully young and endearing. Even if Clark hadn't been the one signing the adoption papers left and right, the depth of what Bruce felt for each member of his splintered family was no mystery to him.

"...Thank you," Tim mumbled, “and thanks for coming when Dick called. For the record, um, I think Bruce likes you back. He's just being all tortured about it."

Surprised, Clark cracked a helpless smile. "Thanks. Let's focus on helping him get better first, but I'm not giving up on him."

Tim sighed in relief. "That's good."

Clark urged him to get some sleep, saying he would stay with Bruce and Dick. Tim reluctantly retreated to his bedroom in the manor and, judging from the typing sounds, stayed up for another few hours. Alfred busied himself with attending to him and the other inhabitants of the property in a never-ending cycle, dismissing Clark's suggestion that he also rest.

Sitting with his legs folded at Bruce's enormous desk a few meters from the man himself, Dick was already scanning the footage and wreckage of his earlier life-threatening encounter. Clark assisted the examination with his super-senses, their teamwork as steady and in sync as always, until Dick sat back, stretched his arms above his head, and said, "Good luck with my dad, Clark."

Clark laughed for the first time since the grease fire incident. "You too?"

"Too? I'm your number one supporter!"

"That means the world to me, Dick. The world." Turning his head, Clark drank in the sight of Bruce's peaceful form and the vivid signs of life - and pain - blooming all over his bare skin. "I'm just waiting for him to wake up. I kind of have an idea of how it'll go."

The knee-jerk reaction would be avoidance and awkwardness but begrudging gratitude. No tears would be shed with Clark; his children were another story. He would grumble from a cocoon of plush blankets when forced to swallow food and demand information on the attack. Dick and Tim would return with all the case data, and Clark would offer his continued help. Bruce would complain and not want him to get involved despite the unknown metahuman's presence in Gotham.

To Clark's surprise, when Bruce cracked open his hazy gray eyes the next morning, that was not what occurred.

2. Lois Lane

"Explain to me again why you want me to scrap this well-researched, timely, important article that I threw myself in the crossfires for."

Lois leaned over Clark's desk, her eyes like daggers and hand gripping the top of her glowing laptop screen. She'd just shared her final draft of an article exposing an illicit but politician-funded weapons manufacturing operation spanning Metropolis and Gotham. The rest of the Daily Planet staff didn't pause their work or chatter, having grown used to their two star journalists in their own world.

"I don't want you to scrap it!" Clark protested, shrinking in his chair. "Just - please hold off on publishing it. Just for a few days."

"Good luck convincing Perry to adhere to your deadlines." Lois grabbed a pen to chew and folded her arms, but she was clearly waiting to hear more information. Fortunately for him and humanity, her eye for capturing the full picture was like no other.

Clark's voice dropped low. "If you wait, then you'll get an update from Batman on the case. He's been working it internally while you covered the other angles. I know you investigated the warehouses in-person, but he plans to dismantle them tomorrow night. All of them."

Lois contemplated this for a minute. "Well, you know I'm a fan of direct action. But I'm not letting him make the calls on what truths I'm allowed to report."

"He won't. Can't. Even if he's going to address the perpetrators directly, there are powerful people involved whom the law will refuse to hold accountable without public pressure. That's why your research is so vital. The article can go up the next morning, if that's alright with you."

"And when the public gives Batman all the credit for handing me this info?"

Clark grinned. Lois cared about justice more than anything, but that didn't mean she let anyone undervalue her or her work. Her ambition coexisted in tandem with her good heart.

"He won't hand anything to you directly. He'll leave a message that night for Metropolis on a radio scanner, which you've already been using to track operations. A separate message for Gotham later. They'll be addressed to certain local politicians. You can save the recordings and let the public know that what you write here at the Planet has Batman's tacit support. Along with Superman's, of course."

"Hmm," Lois muttered. "I guess that's acceptable. Convoluted, but unraveling a web of corruption's never simple. Embedding the radio messages will bring a ton of attention to the article too. I can convince Perry - he doesn't doubt my sources."

"Thank you, Lo. Thanks for collaborating with B on this. It means a lot."

"Hold up, I have a few more questions."

"Go for it."

"When did that obsessive grump get so candid with you about everything he's working on? And when did you agree to become his spokesperson? Last I heard, he would barely let you pat him on the back."

"Oh, uh..." A blush rose to Clark's face. He and Bruce had done a lot more than pat each other on the back by now. It turned out that Bruce Wayne's insane charisma wasn't all for show - or at least, the show entertained them both, and Clark enjoyed deconstructing and unraveling it. "He isn't that grumpy deep down. He just has a high barrier to trust, which is fair."

"Fair? You're the most trusting person I know. Pretty sure that caused several big fights between you two until they dwindled over the past year or so."

"I came around to his perspectives over time." Clark felt his face softening from the memory of all the times Bruce had shown him who he really was. "He thinks and feels so deeply, so much more than I once thought. The fact we aren't the same just makes me... happy these days."

"Came around? Or came inside him?" Lois asked bluntly.

The right armrest of Clark's office chair cracked down the middle, shedding black plastic chips onto the wheels and carpet below. He choked on spit, and only his invulnerable throat saved him from a thunderous coughing fit.

"Wh-Huh? That's not like you to say!" He fought to whisper, eyes bugged out and taking in Lois' smug visage.

"My methods for getting results are varied and diverse," she said with a smirk. "You react to unexpected sex talk like a medieval prince or something. Your reactions tell all."

"You just surprised me," Clark objected. Now that the initial shock was fading, a little nervousness sprouted up. He and Bruce had agreed to keep their relationship to themselves, because villains would love to know Superman and Batman were dating, and the rest of the world would love the details if Brucie Wayne was settling down. Though if anyone outside of his immediate family deserved the update, it was Lois. "I, uh, have not done that. Wouldn't, since B and I aren't together in that way."

"Liar, and not because you can't tell one. When someone implies you're dating someone you're not, you always leap to defend their honor, like dating you would be beneath them. Which it wouldn't be, by the way. You did it before we ever got together, then again after we broke up.

"Also with Cat at the museum opening, and Wonder Woman when that dipshit reporter asked you at that press conference... So the fact you didn't scramble to say the guy would never deign to sleep with you means he most likely does."

Clark buried his hot face in his hands, feeling both caught out and seen. "...Has anyone told you you're amazing at what you do?"

Lois' wine-red smile flashed between his fingers. "I have to hear it a couple times a month or I'll think I'm losing my touch."

Despite his embarrassment, Clark lowered his hands. "You're more than enough," he reminded her.

He'd known Lois longer than almost anyone else in Metropolis and grown in her presence from a fumbling country boy to a seasoned journalist and superhero. He found that her approval of his relationship mattered a lot, that he hoped she might learn how lovable the man whom she perceived as more of a shadow was.

The sunlight streaming through the tall office windows framed Lois' confident, tired figure like a photograph. Clark wondered if she'd gotten a single full night's sleep in the past month spent chasing down witnesses and guns. Sleep deprivation was serious for humans. He would have to cook her more recipes from his parents' kitchen - the nutrient-dense vegetarian ones Bruce liked too on the rare nights he crashed on the crappy bed in Clark's apartment.

"So are you, Smallville." Lois slid back into her chair, rolling it toward him. "Now, off the record, tell me everything you can about how you got to this point. I mean, the fucking Batman?"

3. Random Gotham goons

"Hey, handsome."

An inebriated mustached man leered at Clark Kent - or a version of him - over a pair of aviator sunglasses from a small table at the back corner of the bar. The man wore a checkered suit jacket, and his thin brown hair was slicked back into slight waves. Cigar smoke filled the dimly lit, low-ceilinged establishment, plunging unfriendly faces into shadow for any occupant who wasn't Kryptonian.

The very same smirking man had pinged Clark on their official JL communicator five minutes ago.

[DRUGGED USE ALIAS]

"Knew I'd find you here, Matches. Whatcha up to now?" Clark grunted, glaring through shaggy bleached bangs at the three men sitting around his lover. He didn't know why he’d had to paste on a handlebar mustache, while Matches Malone wore a sexy, if slightly sleazy, one. Bruce had given him a perplexed look when he pointed it out though.

Each man had a hand of cards, but they weren't playing for anything - at least, nothing physically present. Matches had laid his hand face-down on the wood, refusing to lose even in an altered state of mind.

"Nothin'! All above board business here, eh?" Matches slapped the back of a bald, heavyset man with large gems on each finger. Another person at the table laughed drunkenly, but the other two looked grim and suspicious. Clark would have to dial it up a notch.

"I've been hunting you all night. Boss wants a word with you on your fuckup," he snarled. He used his size to his advantage, squaring his shoulders and looming over the group with a bravado he normally never had to access.

"Well, I'm clearly in no condition to test... testuhfy," said Matches dismissively, meeting his gaze with bleary dark brown eyes. The slurring of his words was real, Clark noted. "But 'hunting', sweetheart? You might give a guy the wrong idea."

"That's it, get up." Clark fisted Matches' striped collar and yanked him fully over the table. Cards scattered, and he knocked over the half-full glass that had been sitting in front of Matches, spilling it on the sleeve of his own black cotton suit. The liquid did nothing to the fabric or his skin, but maybe they could run experiments on it. It was only Clark's guess that the foul-smelling alcohol was how somebody in this room had drugged him.

"Hey!" the laughing one protested.

Clark scowled. "Take it up with the Boss. Or this fool later."

Matches dropped his hand from where he'd unconsciously rested it on Clark's chest and craned his neck over his shoulder. "Gotta cut this, hrg, short, gents. My date's here."

Channeling Brucie in a way no one else here would grasp, Matches leaned in and planted a wet kiss on Clark's cheek, mostly catching the prominent sideburns with his lips. A smattering of snickers emitted from a few bystanders eager for violence to erupt.

Hoping his stoic face was sufficiently hard to read, Clark tugged Matches up by the back of his jacket like an unruly cat and heaved him toward the door. The other man stumbled, voice stuck in his throat, and it took everything in Clark to not support his weight. Through the heavy darkness, Clark scanned the room, glimpsing an empty syringe with glowing residue on top of a trashcan behind the bar. The bartender was polishing a glass a bit too vigorously, and he memorized her stony face, the curled black tattoo on her pointer finger.

Low chatter broke out around the bar at their abrupt exit.

"Who's he work for?"

"Prolly Lucy. All his crew are built like brick houses."

"I think I seen 'im around the docks before, last winter... but that operation went bust."

From the cards table:

"Moron doesn't realize he's about to get his ass beat."

"Malone always thinks more with his ass than his brains."

"Check out the other guy though. Looks like he'd be happy to oblige."

"Think this is like foreplay to them? I mean, what a fuckin' pair."

The bald man who'd sat to Matches' right remained silent. Just as Clark stepped out the door, someone in the bar muttered, "That is one ugly haircut."

The misty night, glugs of draining sewage, and normal levels of Gotham air pollution replaced the carcinogenic, if not hallucinogenic, atmosphere of the bar. Clark blew his hair out of his eyes; his henchman wig had been styled by Bruce in a particularly good-humored moment. Although they appeared to be alone in the alleyway, Clark made a show of shoving Matches into the passenger seat of his car, an old-school but dingy vehicle he'd retrieved from the Batcave, none too gently. He grumbled when folding himself into the front seat and took off into the night, driving down streets until he was comfortable that the cars in the vicinity were unaffiliated civilians.

While he executed this tried-and-true routine, Matches fumbled with the utility belt at the foot of his seat and injected himself with an antidote, gaining enough lucidity to utter that the chemicals he'd ingested just had to run their course before nausea made his teeth clench. Clark drove them down one of the many roads whose street cameras had been hacked by Batman years ago, playing altered footage from an enormous digital library.

Finally, they were on the road to their actual destination. Black, gnarled trees rose endlessly in the foreground then flew behind them. Only then, away from the rest of the city, did Clark allow the anger to swell inside him.

Matches was slumped against the car door, breathing shallowly, with his eyes shut and brow pinched. Despite the wig, sunglasses, and contacts, the detailed costume and subtle makeup, Clark hated the distressed expression underneath everything that was unmistakably Bruce.

Batman went toe-to-toe with serial killers, mob bosses, metahumans, and aliens every day and had the marks to prove it. Clark still traced over the white scar on Bruce's abdomen from the puncture wound years ago with sadness and reverence. Gashes, bruises, broken bones, poisons, fear toxins and other drugs - all manner of bodily injury Bruce endured on the regular. Even dedicating his life to improving Gotham didn't mean that some of its inhabitants would stop trying to harm each of his identities. For every problem he solved, another went global. Bruce wasn't fragile, and almost all his choices hurled him toward danger, but Clark couldn't help the desire to shield him from as much as possible.

They had argued about it in the past, and Bruce had labeled the urge patronization, but to Clark it was love.

Back at the Batcave, Clark super-speeded out of his disguise and lifted Bruce out of the car bridal-style. Wayne Manor was quiet and devoid of other people. Alfred was taking a rare vacation on the other side of the Atlantic; prior to his departure, he’d briefed Clark on a dozen of his own Bruce- and Robin-related contingencies. Tim was on a multi-day investigation with his teammates that both Bruce and Clark warned couldn't keep him from schoolwork for too long. And Damian was at a sleepover - Bruce refused to interrupt that with a minor thing like getting drugged.

It was supposed to be a relatively uneventful night for Matches, but whatever case he'd been working from that alias' angle had sunk its teeth in him.

"B, how are you feeling now?" Clark whispered, x-raying Bruce up close for changes over the last few minutes.

"Mrgh. The bar."

Clark gently prompted him for more intel. "Yes?"

"I wish..." Bruce mumbled into the crook of his neck. A spot of drool landed on Clark's skin; he wanted to gather it all on his fingertip. "Wish I could love you more openly. More as myself."

Clark's heart ached. Matches Malone's brief display at the bar was more than they ever allowed each other in public, and Clark hadn't even felt flustered, since the act had been a defense mechanism, not of Bruce's own volition.

Bruce Wayne didn't flirt with Clark Kent at press events, choosing to direct his attention toward the exasperated Pulitzer Prize-winning Lois Lane. They certainly couldn't show favoritism in the Justice League despite their 'best friend' status and Diana's occasional knowing remarks. It was no wonder each hour they succeeded in seizing for themselves was tinged with desperation. Clark couldn't get close enough to him, his skin or his breath.

Injury, more than anything, forced them to slow down. Such was the life of a superhero.

"Someday," Clark told his sick lover, floating over to a cot to help him strip, "we'll share a drink under an umbrella at a café, or dinner at a hole-in-the-wall restaurant. Or we can just lean on each other at the Watchtower after a hard mission. Or go further out to deep space - I don't think other aliens would mind."

Squinting, Bruce sloughed off Matches in layers of fabric and powder. His hair was a dark mess under the wig. "Possible. We'll have to evaluate. We have separate lives, there are significant risks... but I don't like it either. I miss you, Kal."

In response, Clark leaned in between Bruce's parted thighs resting atop the cot, nosing against his neck and inhaling tobacco and the cologne of an Italian mobster.

"I have to record my notes," Bruce muttered into his curls, "and swab my throat."

"Can I help?"

"Go away," Bruce lied.

"Okay, I'll make you some food before I submit my report."

"It's 2 AM. That's bad for metabolism."

"No, running on empty and no sleep is bad for metabolism."

Bruce rolled his eyes. They both remembered, in the early days of their partnership, all the occasions Superman had shown up atop a Gotham rooftop with greasy bags of burgers or baked goods. Back when Bruce didn't know his identity, he'd questioned why the Kryptonian was so enamored with homestyle cooking. But the whole time, Clark had been watching Batman take small bites of his offerings from under the cowl, assuming that the surge of affection he felt was born of amusement and admiration for the other hero. The introduction of Robin had provided another reason for Clark to hover.

"I'll be right back," Clark breathed before Bruce could retort, zipping up the stairs and landing in the manor's large, fully stocked kitchen. Time to put some of Alfred's caretaking plans into action.

4. Arthur and Zatanna

"You need to be quarantined."

Batman spoke in his signature flat tone, but the honesty spell afflicting Superman must have allowed the Kryptonian to detect the genuine upset within Bruce as well, because he got to his feet without protest.

Along with Zatanna, the pair had just landed on the Watchtower after an encounter with one of Zatanna's foes - "more a nuisance, really" - a young, acne-scarred sorcerer whose theoretical knowledge of magic was better than his aim. That often seemed to be the case these days, and Bruce had had enough of babysitting bored, maliciously ignorant people when greater villains lurked in the shadows, stockpiling weaponry or reclining on private planes. The incident would be logged accordingly, but it was a relief to have Zatanna already present onsite to confirm the damage rather than a dimension away. She had warned of the disorientation that would come with the sorcerer's sole successful spell, and Clark had indeed fallen on his ass in the Watchtower post-teleportation, making both of them chuckle and Bruce scowl.

Bruce couldn't even give Kal hell for tanking the sorcerer's spell with his typical recklessness, because Kal had tried to avoid it, but the magic twisted and wrapped around him until he was caught in its yellow seal. And perhaps he could've not involved himself, or perhaps he could've stopped the sorcerer more swiftly and forcefully... but he had apprehended the man without injury, and that was an indisputable win. The only consequence being that they temporarily had a floppy Superman liable to speak his mind on their hands.

Aware that Aquaman was scheduled to be on the tower, Bruce summoned the Atlantean to help tow Clark toward his standard-issue quarters on the tower. Clark moved willingly enough, but another tumble might send cracks spreading through the foundation of their space station.

"Don't talk about anything too serious or ask him follow-up questions," Zatanna warned Arthur when he arrived, Clark's head shooting up like an eager dog. "The spell that hit him will fade soon, and it isn't potent enough to make him spill details without prompting."

"I don't see the problem," said Clark, the breeziness of his speech at contrast with the leaden weight of his body. "I'm happy to chat with you about anything."

Arthur's reaction was characteristically unfazed, but the corner of his lip quirked up as he slung Clark's limp arm over his broad, golden-armored shoulder. "Walk with me, my friend."

Clark looked so touched as they headed off together, flanked by Bruce and Zatanna, that the latter snickered again. If it weren't for the tight ball of concern in his chest, Bruce might similarly find Kal's happy-go-lucky state amusing. But he wasn't the type to make light of injuries not his own, and Clark had almost no experience with losing control of his mental faculties - he couldn't even get drunk, for god's sake. Though Superman's natural cheer and easy smile boosted morale among the League, he conducted himself with clarity, calm, and reason, and Bruce knew he'd be uncomfortable behaving like this around their peers. Bruce just wanted to get him to his quarters safe from harm or misbegotten violations of privacy, be it the League's or his own.

When Clark proposed to him last month, he'd said that he would strive to be an open book, to honor Bruce as his equal and soulmate, and it struck Bruce yet again while stalking down the hallway how far they'd come, for he once would've leapt on the opportunity to extract information from the most powerful being on the planet. Nowadays there wasn't much Clark wouldn't show or tell if Bruce asked, even his loneliness and the extent of his self-sacrificial tendencies.

Maybe all his kinks, the hidden ones too. Hmm.

No, unethical.

Arthur, noble as he was, generally didn't care about others' secrets and thus sidestepped them less than if he did. He and Clark had struck up a conversation and were speaking at length about fruit, of all things, and their childhood access to produce. Bruce silently filed away the fact that Clark actually preferred blackberries over blueberries.

"When I enjoy something truly splendid, I procure it for Mera to try as well," said Arthur. "She has so far deemed mangoes the least offensive fruit."

Instead of fixating on the mangoes, Clark lifted a big hand and patted Arthur on the chest.

"I greatly admire your marriage," Clark said wistfully. "I really hope my marriage will be one like yours and Mera's."

Rounding a corner, Bruce didn't let a single muscle in his jaw or body jump. The statement sounded innocuous enough, and despite their ambling, the quartet had avoided interception and were nearing their destination.

"Thank you," said Arthur, flattered, recognizing the undeniable weight of the other's words. "You're a good man, you will find a good partner. Though mine is like no other."

"Oh, I'm getting married real soon," said Clark, a smile in his voice. "We just have to process the paperwork."

From the corner of Bruce's forward-facing gaze, Zatanna's dark brows arched astronomically high, but she was too smart - or caught off-guard - to interrupt as Arthur replied, "You have my congratulations. It is enough that you must vouch for their character."

"Thank you for saying that. They're, well... so good." Clark swayed in Arthur's arms, eyes glazing over with emotion. "Compassionate. Just passionate, too. Whip-smart and talented."

Warmth flared up inside Bruce's body, and he was glad to be half a step ahead, cape swirling behind him, so the flush spreading across his exposed skin went unnoticed. While he could wrap his head around the depth of Kal's love, he still couldn't fathom deserving it. His fiancé just had to stop talking.

"Sounds like a gem," Zatanna commented, glancing at Batman with hesitation, vacillating between curiosity and something like pity. The intended finality of her statement went unnoticed by Clark.

"The brightest in the universe, it feels like," he rambled. "If he stabbed me with Kryptonite, I would trust his decision completely."

"Oh?"

Arthur nodded. "That trust is what binds you together."

Zatanna quickened her pace, staring at Bruce. "Did you give this person access to your Kryptonite stores?"

Clark burst out laughing, jostling Arthur. "Of course he did!"

"We should talk about something else. Or nothing." Bruce tried to inject the precise amount of discontent into his words and narrowed lenses that would indicate his seriousness but not anger toward Clark. However, Clark wasn’t focusing on the mission, examining the fluorescent lights overhead.

"That may be wise," Zatanna agreed, slowing as a set of white doors slid open, and Clark's room, situated between Bruce's and Diana's, finally came into view. Placing them in the most secluded wing of the Watchtower had seemed strategic at the time.

"But I love talking about you," uttered Clark. "B. Br... No, Batman. Even though you don't let me most of the time. But it's understandable. Everybody knowing we're in love would lead to sticky situations."

Feeling thoroughly doused in syrup, Bruce stoically waded the last several meters to the door. It helped that Arthur was still dragging along his companion, and Zatanna hadn't stopped in her tracks to do a double- or spit-take the way others might have. In fact, they remained silent from behind while Bruce input the access codes to the room.

"Batman," Clark whispered to himself, guilty for the wrong reason.

"They know my identity, Kal," said Bruce flatly.

"Oh, phew."

Bruce turned around to allow the others inside the room, lenses zeroing in on Zatanna's wide eyes and pink face, her teeth digging into her lip with intense restraint. Perhaps they wouldn't have to address anything now. Arthur carefully deposited Clark on his bed, then straightened and said to both of them, "Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials."

Well.

"When this spell wears off, let's have a long chat," Zatanna added, having wrestled her voice back to normality. "I know you would've held it in otherwise, but seriously, congratulations. I'm happy for you two. This makes a lot of sense, to be honest."

"It does?" asked Clark, pleased, mirroring Bruce's own more serious question. Although her words echoed that of their other founder, he didn't think they'd been that affectionate in the field.

"The way you two bicker is steeped in love. I wondered whether you'd notice it or force your intertwined paths to divulge. I'm glad it was the former." She winked at their disparate expressions. "But my intuition's a little sharper than average, so I'm sure it'll be the shock you hoped it'd be whenever you tell the rest of the League."

Clark must've been thinking of the same person, since he piped up, "Diana already knows. And J'onn."

"Naturally."

"On that note. Don't breathe a word of this to anyone else," growled Bruce as Batman-ly as he could at both Zatanna and Arthur. "It isn't the time."

"Don't worry, I can keep a secret to myself, and only myself," said Zatanna more warmly than expected. "Just remember that I expect to be invited to a real celebration of your future vow renewals."

Bruce didn't despise the idea.

"I would love that," Clark replied, hands resting on the sheets and face shining with reciprocal warmth. "Now just isn't the right moment to bring our relationship to light - there's too much going on with the League, all the new members. But I couldn't wait any longer to marry him either. I love you so much, B."

"Aww," said Zatanna.

"Hngh," said Bruce.

"I will be informing Mera of today's events," Arthur chimed in, "but in the highest of spirits. We both swear to not divulge this secret information."

A heavy internal sigh collapsed Bruce's metaphysical lungs, but he didn't argue. If anyone had to know, if several of their fellow heroes had to know, then they could do worse than Zatanna, Arthur, Diana, and J'onn. And Mera. Certain individuals he might've had to threaten or subject to multiple instances of psychological warfare to keep his relationship under wraps. Yet some in the Justice League already knew his name, objectively more valuable information, and hadn't leaked it. Most superheroes were cagey for the preservation of their safety and normalcy; Batman being among the cagiest simply made sense in context.

"Thank you guys." Clark beamed.

Zatanna headed back toward the door. "We'll give you both a chance to rest and recover. I'll be in the lab."

"I will return to my duties," said Arthur. "Enjoy your time together."

The glare Batman shot through his lenses went unnoticed by the pair exiting the hallway. As soon as the room locks engaged, Bruce tore off his cowl, seeing his dim surroundings, the vastness of space outside the wide windows, and Kal's slouching figure as they really appeared.

"Oh dear." In the newfound silence, Clark's beatific grin was starting to slip. "Oh... geez."

"It's fine." Bruce allowed himself, in the privacy of the room, to unglove and push back a few of Clark's - his fiancé's - loosened curls. They weren't sweaty, which came as a relief. "A few more hours, and you'll be back to normal."

"Everything feels nice," sighed Clark, lying back swathed in the shadow of his bed, "so I know the consequences won't be so nice."

"It could've been worse. At least we weren't in enemy territory this time. There's a reason I asked Arthur to help over anyone else, and we took a longer route here."

"Thanks. You always have my back." Clark's renewed smile looked more focused.

Bruce's hand lowered, bruised knuckles brushing the smooth skin of his cheek and making Clark nuzzle into the touch. "You do too. On countless occasions."

"I try. I'll always try..."

Bruce shifted on the bed, pulling up a leg. "Is now the time to bring up all my battle plans recommending that you avoid assisting in combat involving magic users?"

"Well, no one got hurt. Except maybe my dignity. I trust that... nowadays... if there's somewhere I really shouldn't be, you'll have it handled. I'll fight for you, but I'll also hold back if you ask."

Kal's tongue was honest now, yes, but the way it normally was. How could one blame him for facing the world head-on?

And deep down, maybe Bruce didn't mind more folks knowing. He was owed a real date somewhere with his husband-to-be, after all.

"Mn. I love you too."

5. Alien diplomats

"Greetings, Batman of Earth, and Kal-El of Earth and Krypton. We welcome you to our 253rd interplanetary conference, 'Light of Each Dying Star'."

Bruce and Clark extended their arms, palms up, in a polite gesture of greeting. Their host, Amwi Sri, mirrored them with six arms. The stout four-foot alien had skin the color and texture of an elephant's and wore an impossibly rich, dark red cloak, secured by a purple brooch, over their hunched back. Their large, dry lips curved upward in a smile - an Earthism.

Clark was wearing his Superman suit, for it was easily recognized by alien diplomats who'd met or seen him before. In contrast, Bruce's clothing had been elevated above even his most luxurious tuxedoes, consisting of an intricate composition of dyed, folded silk and silver metal, dried yellow flowers, purple beads, and tassels crafted by one of Diana's many friends. Many diplomats would later ask to feel or photograph the outfit, forcing him to draw upon the gregariousness of Brucie Wayne.

Silk also concealed his hair and the upper half of his face. Stitched above his domino mask was a lace veil dotted with synthetic diamonds that stretched down to his chin. All in all, he looked like a customizable doll standing beside Clark, but a theme of the conference had been a celebration of the artistry of each planet's garments, and the League had decided against altering Superman's classic look on account of all his off-world missions.

The conference took place under a large dome on the old desert planet of Rovia, whose predominant species was mildly telepathic. Rovia shunned war and bloodshed and had helped broker peace among other planets on many occasions. A centenarian, Amwi Sri had been hosting the conferences for the past fifty years, and they had the zen aura of one who couldn't be surprised by much of anything. Earth had attended just once prior, with Hal and J'onn serving as representatives. Although many planets sent the same diplomats each cycle, Clark and Bruce had been elected to attend this round - Clark using up the majority of his PTO, Tim pretending Bruce was still attending Wayne Enterprises meetings - with Diana and Arthur slated for the next.

The conference agenda had been downloaded to their tablets weeks in advance. It would last six days and promote in-depth cultural exchange, joint research, and mutual aid against planetary threats. Normally, any summit of this length would make Bruce shudder, but stepping foot off his ship onto the landing platform and glimpsing the stunningly diverse crowd of attendees had filled him with exhilaration; he was still struggling to maintain his cool with so many educational experiences to be had. The last conference had been fruitful for Earth, especially the knowledge of how other societies adapted to extreme weather conditions. But too much ignorance and evil still permeated international decision-making, even with people like Lex Luthor finally stripped of their wealth.

The first item on the agenda, Amwi Sri informed the couple, was an introductory banquet; most cultures didn't deviate from this order of events. After getting settled in their room, Bruce and Clark immediately headed for the main hall, which had dark blue, sky-high ceilings but no windows. The only light source apart from the main stage was a massive glowing, rotating sphere suspended in the air. They located their assigned table and seats made of compacted sand, and other diplomats filtered in and sat beside them as Amwi Sri and Rovian government officials began their welcome speeches.

The meal was served hot and featured a medley of non-toxic root vegetables and fragrant herbs, with exceptions for the attendees who couldn't digest them. The varying portion sizes on each leafy tray had been adjusted to be slightly over each species' ideal caloric intake, but requests for seconds were always welcome, read the card on each table.

Bruce wasn't sure how much he enjoyed the taste, but the texture of each vegetable was pleasing, crispy on the outside and fluffy on the inside. Clark, who on occasion enjoyed a snack of erasers, staples, or wood chips, dined with gusto. Bruce had studied his husband's tastebuds in detail and could approximate what he was experiencing.

Emboldened by the pair across the table who were hand-feeding each other with gauntlets, Bruce finished eating and slid his sturdy leaf over to Clark, who devoured his leftovers in two bites. All the way back at Wayne Manor, Alfred bemoaned the way Cass had adopted this strategy from him and that Clark was helpless to deny her.

Following the meal, guests were encouraged to remain in the hall, making introductions or greeting acquaintances and old friends from across the universe. Emblazoned with the House of El's crest on his chest and cape, Kal's appearance drew a great deal of attention, but the first figure to approach was a willowy green-skinned diplomat shrouded in thick sheets of living, shimmering multicolored moss. They were about Clark's height and a few inches taller than Bruce.

The diplomat extended their long arms, palms up. "A light upon you, representatives of Earth."

"A light upon you, representative of Juoh!" replied Clark, eyes widening.

"Kal-El, Superman. I have heard so much about you. My name is Goran." Even through the translator, their voice sparkled like tinkling glass, resonant and beautiful.

"It's great to meet you, Goran!" replied Kal. "Your community was so kind to me and Green Lantern during our mission on Juoh. I'll never forget it."

Bruce recalled the mission log in detail. More vividly, he recalled Clark's eloquent accounts of the planet Juoh while they lied together in bed, voice heavy with relief that their people had been saved from extinction.

"It was only right, given how you helped in our moment of crisis," Goran replied. "I am so glad to meet you here! May I speak with you alone after this event? I have been so curious about Earth and Krypton, but mostly about you, a child of two worlds."

"I'm sorry," said Kal, meaning it. "This is my and Batman's first time attending this conference or visiting Rovia, so we plan to stick together at all times. But I'd love to answer your questions - I have some for you, and I'm sure my companion does too."

The high-pitched trill Goran made was translated into a laugh. "Do not worry, I have no nefarious plans. I merely wish to get to know you better, Kal-El."

Batman narrowed his eyes.

"Oh, no!" Kal protested. "I meant no offense! I wasn't worried - the thought didn't even cross my mind. Batman and I just made a joint decision."

A long, continuous trill. "I see you are as friendly and animated as my comrades said. Come, it is only a conversation in my chambers. You are free to examine me as much as you like in return. No doubt other attendees would love to socialize with your companion in the meantime."

Reaching out a glove, Bruce gripped the inside of Clark's bicep. "Your hospitality is appreciated. However, Kal and I are due for another conversation with Amwi Sri. We have a lot to learn about Rovia and the conference itself, so our apologies, but we can't linger."

He tugged on Kal's firm arm, knowing Kal wouldn't resist. Not if he was the one tugging. Kal craned his neck and exchanged some sort of look with Goran, because they trilled and didn't respond as Bruce dragged him out of the hall into one of the many empty side corridors.

"I know you've read the files on Juoh and all the conference attendees front to back," Clark spoke when they stopped, his words echoing down the curved pathway. Bruce's pulse was too elevated for the occasion. "Goran is a linguist and historian. Juoh never made contact with Krypton, but it kept astrological observation records for hundreds of years. They probably did just have some burning questions for me."

"I'll apologize later. Regardless, they wanted your clothes off," Bruce retorted, knowing the gleam in their orange eyes. Their people weren't that different from humans or Kryptonians.

"T-To observe my biology, maybe!"

"You do realize they can observe your biological processes for professional and personal reasons, right?" said Bruce dryly.

He watched the understanding dawn on his husband. He supposed it was better - not just for his own romantic prospects, but their world - that Clark was unusually oblivious about advances toward him, rather than seducible or corruptible.

"I wouldn't have gone either way," sighed Kal, slumping. Bruce felt a wave of remorse. "I don't know how to handle situations like that. I can't tell them that I'm taken, only that I'm not interested. And I never am, B."

"Hm. The research angle worked for me," Bruce pointed out.

Kal snorted. "I was letting you use the Fortress' tech years before we got together. And I was the one who confessed to you, remember?"

"That's because you didn't understand that my scientific inquiries had a personal element," Bruce sniffed. "I was interested in what makes you you, not just Superman or Krypton."

"Well, I thank my lucky stars that I'm one of your special interests." Back to smiling, Clark swooped in for a hug, which Bruce rarely sidestepped these days.

"Batman, Kal-El. A light upon you," said Amwi Sri pleasantly from behind them. They sprang apart like schoolchildren about to be reprimanded by a lecturer. "I sensed that you were looking for me."

The three inhabitants of the hallway extended their arms simultaneously. Amwi Sri's top two arms waved in a circle, a gesture of calm.

"No need to apologize to me," said their host before either man could speak. "There is nothing wrong with an embrace. We welcome it, provided it is wanted by all parties involved."

"We... appreciate that outlook," replied Kal, clasping his hands behind him politely. Bruce didn't point out that concealing one's hands was considered shifty on this planet; as hosts to a congregation of individuals whose homes spanned galaxies, the Rovians at the dome reserved their judgments for intention. "Thank you for your speech earlier. As well as for our invitations, on behalf of Rovia. It's been an honor."

"The honor is ours. Sharing our experiences and discoveries makes the vastness of our universe all the more amazing than frightening. For those of us who have the ability to communicate, being able to ask each other questions is even more of a miracle." The two tubular feelers on Amwi Sri's head quivered, as if searching for a signal. "I myself have a question for you. You two are bonded, but you do not wear the customary rings on your fourth fingers. Is there a reason?"

Bruce and Clark glanced at each other.

Cat's out of the bag. Or perhaps it had never crawled inside at all.

"What do you mean by bonded?" was Bruce's response. Per J'onn, Rovians did not have the same social structures or traditions surrounding marriage. There was no legal prioritization among the types of bonds recognized by their governments, and anyone could join into a bond with others.

"Your 'essence marks' are layered atop each other," said Amwi Sri. "Think of them as incorporeal human fingerprints. They cannot be perceived by your senses, but they are uniquely yours. The variety and pattern of the marks align with that of long-term, exclusive romantic and sexual partners. This form of love and connection is coveted but uncommon on Earth, yes? But your files do not introduce each other as your partner or spouse."

Clark's eyes were upon Bruce again, but when Bruce didn't speak, contemplating the existence and implications of these marks, the Kryptonian answered, "...Yes, I would agree with you. On Earth, people struggle to be honest with each other and themselves. We might act with too much cruelty or impatience to love or be loved as wholeheartedly as we're all capable of. I'm not sure if your society deals with similar issues. What Batman and I share is uncommon, and it gives me strength, so I don't take any of my happiness for granted, but we do have reasons for hiding our relationship.

"Even here outside of the Milky Way, we decided we didn't need to be open about it because of force of habit, and the tiniest risk that the information might transmit back to Earth. Walking through an entire crowd of people who know or can assume we're married is something we've never experienced. But I think it would be fulfilling."

Clark grew more emotional as he spoke, and damn it, Bruce felt himself getting a touch misty-eyed under the veil still pinned to his head. He blinked away the moisture. The part of him that enjoyed inconvenient, dramatic displays, that lived in Batman and Brucie and the person he was in private, had fantasized about pulling his husband close under the chandeliers of a Gotham ballroom and letting Clark's arms loop around his waist. Or kissing Clark's cheek after a League mission and watching their team explode.

Amwi Sri's black, beady eyes swiveled to focus on both of them at once. Bruce couldn't know for sure, but their gaze felt non-judgmental.

"Thank you for your insight," said their host. "So the secrecy is necessary, but it also brings you sadness?"

"Yes," Kal confirmed. "That sounds about right."

"Interesting. I find these are some of the most important details when it comes to understanding another culture. Yes, some on my planet are also afflicted by miscommunication and pointless cruelty, although we learn to perceive each other's emotions and wants from a young age. It takes constant but worthwhile work to address our issues with one another before they fester, eroding trust and breeding hatred. The most worthwhile work of all. May you two come with me to the observatory?"

Clark looked at Bruce, who nodded. It was one of the places he most wanted to go during the conference. "Of course."

They crossed paths with curious diplomats on their way to the observatory housed within the dome, the only place exposed to the outside elements that native Rovians enjoyed. Bruce had to put on a spacesuit just to be safe, but the intense heat and dryness were the only harmful factors, as the air close to ground was breathable.

The view through the telescope, which penetrated the weather and atmosphere like a needle through linen, was nothing short of breathtaking, crossing space and time itself to show what was happening across the galaxy. Panning across the gap in the dome, Bruce saw thousands of stars at different stages, as well as more inhabited and inhabitable planets - in shades of red soil, violet plant life, and white vapor - than Earth had managed to discover prior to other worlds making contact. It made his problems and Earth seem so small, while emphasizing how precarious its conditions and precious its lives were. It was worth nurturing, not abandoning to escape to Rovia or Juoh or the planets of other attendees. Bruce wanted to know all about them, but he only had one home, and it wasn't someone else's.

Bruce watched Clark's face when he looked through the telescope next. He knew Clark would have similar feelings about Earth, but far more about the absence of Krypton in the greater universe. In moments like this, Clark was millions of lightyears away from everyone, not just a simple boy from Smallville.

"I wanted you to see our observatory," Amwi Sri told them, "as it is your first time here, and the newer civilizations always have a strong reaction. Do you know why the name of this conference is 'Light of Each Dying Star'?"

"Because we are made of star-stuff," said Bruce.

"Yes. It is not that we welcome the chaos of supernova, but we all came from one. The death of a star may end all surrounding life, especially if we are not prepared or interconnected, but the event releases the 'nutrients' of new life. Supernovae expelled the elements that formed us. They affect the climate of planets thousands of lightyears away. New stars are born from the shockwave.

"From death comes awareness. From consequence comes meaning. Change is inevitable; hope is a choice. The risks you fear may also grant you much to gain. Life exists within these contradictions, and there would be no life without them.

"And there is one more thing I wish for you to consider, with regard to your secrets. You know it already, Kal-El. And you have tried to believe in it over and over, Batman. Most people are good. This is true among any society that evolves consciousness, for no one was born to be alone. If confronted with a clear choice, most of your people will try to protect you the way you have protected them, in their clumsy, unsure ways. Even if the ones they are protecting you from are other people."

---

Twelve hours later, the fiery sun had dipped beneath the horizon, Bruce and Clark had talked to attendees until Bruce's low voice was hoarse and then some, they had taken another trip to the observatory to view the night sky with the naked eye, and now they were resting in their room. Sometime during the day, the Rovians had combined their beds into one. Their profiles remained unchanged, but Amwi Sri said they would receive amenities befitting their status. The bottle of fragrant pink oil was another addition to their room - Bruce glared back at Clark's grin before packing it in his bag.

Even there, they had much to discuss, trading opinions on the other diplomats' personalities, presentations, and proposals late into the night. Only when they were lying face-to-face in bed, with warm air rising from the floor and curling around them, did Bruce allow himself to bring up their host's words.

"Something I never let myself imagine, when it came to the scenario of us revealing our marriage to the world, was the support we might receive," he admitted to Clark quietly. "Our superhero personas, that is. I only considered how the public knowing our personal information hinders our work, but... they were happy for Dinah and Oliver."

"I have thought about it," said Clark, pressing closer until their vision was taken up by each other's pupils. "Our actions affect a lot of people. We have so many LGBT supporters, and the Justice League has always stood with and fought for them, but they don't know that it's personal for us, not just Diana. I want them to know that someone out there could make them feel the way you make me feel."

Bruce took Kal's hand, the only one he'd held in recent memory that was bigger and wider than his, though also smooth and unblemished. He still touched Kal's body with a hint of hesitation and disbelief that he was allowed.

"It'd be meaningful, that's true," he acknowledged. "But what Amwi Sri said - I don't want people protecting Batman. I hate the public even discussing Batman, much less sharing theories about my identity or traits. I've learned my lessons about needing to be a symbol of hope, not just fear, but Batman isn't meant to be a public figure. Not like Wonder Woman or Booster Gold. Bruce Wayne gets enough attention, and I've worked incredibly hard to separate the two."

"That's fair," Clark agreed. "If it's anyone's time to come out, it's mine."

Bruce inhaled. "You would?"

"Yup." His husband sounded cheerful. "People can say what they will about Kryptonians. It'll be fun - Kara'll get a kick out of it. More importantly, I think I could make a positive change."

"I'm glad you're optimistic."

"You can't say that sarcastically anymore when it's one of the reasons you married me."

"Your levelheaded assessment of reality is another." Bruce was struck with an irritating thought. "I don't like the idea of all the men who'll start begging to be with you."

Clark giggled. "Even if that were to happen, which I doubt, the only part I'm interested in is your reactions."

Bruce scowled, and Clark met his squinty gaze with far more adoration than warranted. "Sleep, honey. It'll be nice to wake up at the same time for once."

All at once, Bruce did feel sleepy. He never felt safer than he did in Clark's arms in bed. However, more thoughts were formulating in his head that he wanted to express. "Maybe it's time for me too. For Bruce Wayne. To clean up my image... and settle down, once and for all."

Kal said something in surprise, but Bruce was too tired to respond, feeling a light kiss on his forehead right before succumbing to sleep.

At the next communal meal in the main hall following their sleep cycle, Goran of Juoh approached their table again, wearing a different arrangement of mosses. Bruce and Kal rose to their feet and returned their greeting.

"Batman. I would like to apologize to you for disregarding you last cycle, in my haste to meet Kal-El," Goran said first, bowing with their long, thin fingers pointed outward and steepled. "Excuse my lack of control."

"No need." Bruce bowed as well, speaking uncomfortably loudly to be heard over the din of conversation. "I know Kal aided your planet, and he made an impression. I apologize. Again. My response was inexcusably rude, even more so in this setting."

Goran's narrow shoulders swayed in another expression of amusement. "No harm done. Your files marked you as colleagues, not lovers. I understand possessiveness is a common trait among human pairs. It was fascinating to witness it up close!"

Bruce's lips flattened beneath his mask. Clark laughed and blushed, placing a hand on the small of Bruce's back.

"Though if both of you are open to it, I would be happy to stretch your boundaries in a more pleasurable setting," added Goran.

"No thank you," Clark cut in lightly, but the pressure on Bruce's back increased fractionally. A small shiver ran up Bruce's spine at the vague impression of that coiled power.

"Then I will see you at Earth's presentation later today." Goran finally backed down, their face tinting a deeper shade of green. "My research partner has a more restrained character, perhaps they would make a better conversationalist there?"

"No, it's really okay," Clark replied. "I mean, we don't intend to engage in any sort of, uh, physical activities with other diplomats. Except maybe combat practice. But there's nothing wrong with being forthright, and it'd be hypocritical for me to judge. Kryptonians would've been scandalized by how casually most humans speak. I'm just amazed we can communicate through these translators."

"Then you are getting into the spirit of this conference," said Goran. "Thank you for your graciousness."

Goran departed with a final shimmer, and in the minute before another attendee roped them into conversation, Bruce gave Kal an assessing look. As if it were possible to calculate his lovableness through the precise, thoughtful tilt of his head, the bounce of his signature curl, and the subtle variety of hues in his eyes. It was no wonder that Goran was enamored with him by anecdote and looks alone.

Instead of saying any of that, Bruce noted, "The team you worked with on Juoh seemed very complimentary of you. That wasn't included in the mission log."

"Sorry, B. I didn't really think they were." Kal considered it. "We were all in crisis mode at first. They didn't sugarcoat the danger, which I appreciated, since Hal and I didn't have much time to prepare before we landed. After we fended off the invaders together, they opened up a lot more."

"Which means?"

"They were just grateful to be alive. Complimentary, sure, about our teamwork and strength. Hal was eating it up, but I assumed flirting was a form of banter for their team, and they meant nothing of it. But... looking back on it now, that probably wasn't the case."

"Kal."

"A light upon you both, representatives of Earth!"

Bonus. The ones who knew before

There were five people who didn't stumble upon the secret of Clark and Bruce's relationship, but were deliberately informed. Diana was the first person they ever told together. She hadn't known the exact timeline of their partnership, pining, and dating phases, but when they finally briefed her in awkward League terminology, she smiled and said, "I understand now. Since you love each other and have loved each other for years, if not prior to our first meeting."

"Wait, we weren't even together then!" Clark exclaimed, raising his hands.

"We could barely stand each other, but that was more my fault than his," Bruce acknowledged. If the Clark from back then had heard that, he'd be doing loop-de-loops.

Diana lifted a thick brow. "I've learned over the course of my life that there are countless ways to express love. For example, your methods for showing love to me are dissimilar, and not only because it took you, Bruce, far longer to put a name to it. Sometimes concern and interest are the foundational roots for care and love."

Bruce only nodded. Clark was helping throttle many of his deep-seated emotional intimacy issues, but Bruce still found himself being too cold to his partner and teammates. Even his kids and Alfred. His childhood urge to get away, hide away, hadn't left him yet, but it was fading like all the bruises on his skin.

He did love Diana. It was impossible not to love her heart of gold and strength of conviction. As superheroes, she and Clark had a way with comforting civilians that he lacked, except around children. He couldn't imagine two better people to have allied with in the pursuit of justice for all, although a small part of him felt that he didn't deserve his spot beside them.

But Diana disagreed with that voice with a passion, and she appeared to be not just supportive of but moved by his relationship with Kal.

"I am happy you found a true and lasting love in each other, my friends," she said, wiping a tear. She and Clark hugged with tears in their eyes. Bruce tried to shed his cloak of discomfort and display the sincere emotions making his chest feel heavy. It was worth it, he was finding, to feel and suffer for it later.

---

J'onn had seemed aware of the thing between Clark and Bruce from perhaps the start but avoided being speculative. His knowledge showed in the form of nods, head tilts, and silence where their teammates had questions. He didn't find Clark's slight snippiness toward the League when Batman was injured shocking, nor Bruce's despondency mixed with anger after an argument with Superman.

Shortly after the two heroes' romance blossomed, whenever the Trinity and J'onn found themselves the sole occupants of a room, whether preparing for a mission or recentering during a busy period, Clark and Bruce dropped the facade that they weren't together, or engaged, or married. Their behavior didn't change much, but the faint relief and looseness were apparent to their comrades. The couple discussed their living arrangements in Gotham and Metropolis as casually as Diana and J'onn brought up their own life developments. Diana's enthusiasm and J'onn's quieter support made their relationship feel more normal than it felt in any other context, even if the conversations were being had with an Amazonian princess and Green Martian.

After all, the way love could both burn and heal, the way it was the greatest source of sorrow and joy, was understood by J'onn more than most humans. It gladdened him, he told Clark and Bruce plainly, that their love had a calming and restorative nature, for they could cause astronomical damage if it soured or was turned against them.

Following his remark, Bruce typed up several more contingencies for stopping himself or Clark in the event of loss of reason and shared them with Diana and J'onn.

"I won't need this, but thank you," said Diana, taking the packet.

"This was not my intent," J'onn commented. "It was a compliment..."

---

Among all of Bruce and Batman's work connections, one had made a particularly strong impression on one Alfred Pennyworth. Superman was such a polite young fellow, the butler told Bruce after the first few times the Kryptonian had been invited to the Batcave. Someone who could be a true friend, as long as he wasn't hiding any evil secrets. Superman genuinely seemed either amazed or confused by the things at the cave and manor, as if his origins had been humbler or more alien. The first time he whipped up scrambled eggs and pancakes in the manor's kitchen, Alfred knew it to be the former.

"Master Dick looks up to Master Clark quite a bit," he said to Bruce one night, watching the young Robin chatter excitedly after returning home from a patrol that Superman had graced with his presence.

"Good," Bruce grunted, unwrapping his knuckles in his chair. A cup of steaming earl gray sat untouched on the desk beside him. "He's the best role model Dick could have."

"Extremely high praise, by your standards."

"Yes, well, I was wrong about Clark at first. Even though he is impulsive, naive, quixotic, and annoyingly cheerful."

Alfred granted himself a small smile. "I, for one, am pleased that you have opened yourself up to a new companion who is not trying to harm or kill you. Unless that's a risk."

"It's unlikely, at least in this universe. Or of his own free will." Bruce frowned. "He's just too... bright. It doesn't suit me. Batman belongs in the shadows."

"And Bruce Wayne, sir?"

Bruce kept facing the plethora of monitors; perhaps he thought himself subtle, but Alfred sensed he was avoiding eye contact. "I'm not a fan of UV radiation. Clark metabolizes it."

This simplistic, almost childish statement he stuck by for years, until neither he nor Clark was a young fellow anymore, and Alfred's hair had more gray than black. Bruce stubbornly stuck by it through new alliances and relationships, further unimaginable loss, and constant threats on his city and the mercurial world, denying his unhealthy ever-growing feelings for Clark, then denying that Clark could possibly return them.

Yet for all the twists and turns that their lives underwent, the long periods when a romance between them wasn't even a thought, on the morning Bruce approached Alfred with his abdomen freshly scarred over, that very moment felt inevitable. Unstoppable.

"A fortnight ago, Clark..."

Bruce paused, standing beside Alfred in the manor gardens. The raised stone walls and pathways, marked in each corner by a pavilion, blocked the wind from disrupting the plants, but a light breeze snuck its way in regardless. The corn poppies Martha Wayne had so loved were flourishing this season in their rightful place at the head of the grounds. Bruce and Alfred watched them flutter and dance, a copper watering can resting between their feet.

"Clark and I are together now," Bruce restarted, his words halting but clear. "Dick and Tim know. Unfortunately, they witnessed it happen yesterday."

"I'd gathered as much, given their state of exhilaration when they dashed up into the house last night," Alfred replied lightly. "...I wish you and Master Clark well."

Saying things like he was thrilled for Bruce, that he had hoped for a love like this for him, lied outside of their scope. Despite that, Alfred couldn't help adding, "That man has changed you, sir. He is one of the rare people you have loved in daylight. Rather, he has brought you into that light. In turn, I've seen how he calms down with a word or touch from you. He would protect the lads with every fiber of his being."

"That's inherent in who he is." Bruce's pensive, almost sad expression made him look all the more like his mother, though he was barely conscious of it. "It feels selfish to demand so much of his time, when other children and... crabby adults could benefit from it."

"I doubt there's any need to apologize for expanding his family. Loneliness afflicts Master Clark too, from what he's told me. I dare say he enjoys the way being with you does not only mean being with you."

In fact, more than five people learned about their relationship from Batman's corner of mentees and lost children alone. Jason was the only one who refused to grace them with his reactions to their relationship developments, until Bruce informed him about their engagement. Then he gave the biggest reaction of all, before threatening to set fire to multiple establishments if they ever brought up that moment again.

---

Growing up, Clark didn't have the great, big extended family that some of his friends and neighbors did, but what he did have couldn't be called lacking. The remnants of his Kryptonian heritage filled him with a melancholy that no one could dispel, but the beauty of Martha and Jonathan Kent was that they didn't try to do so. They encouraged him to accept every part of himself and all the sadness and opportunities that came along. Even without his powers, he was always meant to do what was right, not easy.

Thus, seeing Clark face a predicament that couldn't be moralized or resolved was worrisome yet intriguing to his parents. His relationship with Batman started out touchy, and the Kents first heard the frustration in Clark's voice over the phone as he complained about his brooding coworker's criticisms and suspicion.

"He tells me not to rush into situations, but then he hides his plans from me. He's using me as a decoy so he can run off and do his own thing."

"Well, that's not very nice," Martha spoke loudly into the phone speaker in the privacy of her kitchen.

"He isn't nice. I can accept it if he's being his true self, but I can tell he's aware of manners and basic decency, he just chooses to show none of that to me."

Jonathan frowned, feeling as hurt by that as his son sounded. "I'm sorry. You can't control how other people behave, just yourself. Sounds like that's how he's used to doing things. Is he putting anyone in danger?"

"Yes! I could do real damage if he doesn't tell me all the facts. Or he could get injured, without me being there to save him."

"How'd he react when you told him that?"

"He didn't care. I mean - I guess I haven't told him in as many words."

"This - This coworker of yours, is he unique?" asked Martha. Over the phone, that meant 'super-powered'.

"Uh... I'm not sure. You'd certainly think so, but being me, I don't notice anything. He has a whole arsenal of fancy tools, and he knows how to use them."

"If he's just a regular person, he's delicate," Martha reminded Clark. "His defenses are up. It's not fair, honeybee, but maybe he needs to know what you're like when you're mad to be okay with trusting you."

"He doesn't know you like we do," agreed Jonathan, "but we don't know him either. If he's helping all those people like you say, there's lots of good in him."

"You're just not on the same wavelength yet," added Martha.

The other end of the line was quiet, until Clark let out a soft breath. "You're right. I wasn't going to stop trying. But I'll try harder to understand him, instead of making him understand me."

"That sounds great," said Martha.

"Thanks, Ma, Pa. You both know exactly how to help."

"Being on the same wavelength is why I married your pa," said Martha. Clark chuckled tinnily as Jonathan blushed, looking shy.

From then on, Clark's talk of Batman, then B, then Bruce progressed in ways none of the Kents could've imagined, even himself. Bruce was fascinating, infuriating, and reckless in his own right, as well as caring, funny, and beautiful. His words cut like knives, and his wet, clumped eyelashes resembled ink. The feelings Clark developed in later years were dissimilar to the sort of hero worship he'd had for Lois, or the infatuation for Lana.

It was also the morning after he and Bruce first kissed in the Batcave when Clark touched down at the Kent residence and snuck in through the window to his old bedroom. His ma was already up, having just fed the chickens like she did every morning after his pa passed. Her hearing was still good enough to inform her of his arrival, so she greeted him while facing the stove, cracking two extra eggs into the sizzling pan. Clark walked up behind her and kissed her white hair. Her wrinkled hand went up and patted his face.

"How was your week?" she asked. "I saw you on the TV three times."

"Busy," said Clark, exhaling. "How was yours?"

Martha caught him up on her friends’ lives and the antics of all the farm animals as he set the table. They ate breakfast together, and Clark gathered a list of chores to spend the day attending to.

"What's got a bee in your bonnet?" Martha spoke up before he stepped foot out the back door, towel slung over his shoulder. "You've looked antsy all morning. Or excited?"

Clark shifted by the doorway, staring at the field of grass behind their house where he'd spent so many seasons running around with his parents and friends. "Well, Ma, to be honest... He's okay now, but two nights ago, Bruce was seriously injured in the field. Dick called my name, and I was able to bring them back home. Bruce woke up the next morning - he installed those healing pads, thankfully - and we had a long conversation about each other and our feelings, because - I didn't mention it earlier, but two weeks ago I told him I loved him, and he didn't say much then, but I could tell he’d held something back in his eyes, and yesterday we spent the entire day together, then he told me he loved me too and I kissed him."

Martha gasped no fewer than three times while he spoke, her hand drifting to her chest. "I... I'm so glad he's alright. And that's wonderful news! You've loved him for a long time now."

"I know." He'd been aware of his feelings for Bruce long enough that Jonathan had known of them too. His pa had been so supportive, Clark hoped he was hearing today's updates and feeling satisfied too. Clark swallowed his grief. "It doesn't feel real, but he also loves me, for some reason."

"Oh, hush," said Martha. "You'll be an amazing partner to him. If you aren't, then I didn't raise you right."

"I'm grateful I had you and Pa," said Clark, getting choked up. "B had Alfred, but not someone like you to guide him. I needed you both so many times."

"Oh, come here, Clark." Martha tearfully took her much taller son into her wide embrace, squeezing him; he squeezed back with equal pressure. "Bring Bruce over soon. I can't wait to see him again."

"He loves your apple cobbler recipe," said Clark, muffled against her shoulder. "Tim likes chocolate stuff, I believe."

"We'll bake them a cake. And the cobbler. I have to make a good impression on my potential grandchild!"

"Oh my Rao." Clark shoved his burning face in his hands, backing up against the doorway. The fence had never been patched and the field weeded so quickly in the history of the Kent farm.

+1. Society

"Hey, Bats! I thought I was the one with the special ring."

Green Lantern, light of everyone's lives, walked up to Batman with his arms splayed. At least he'd had the foresight to arrive on the Watchtower early to avoid disturbing their meeting. Other League members were zipping around the station, but the majority hadn't arrived yet.

"Stop referencing civilian life in costume," Batman droned, the automated script less growly and more monotone after years.

"Come on, you don't even stick to that rule anymore. Last meeting I was talking about my date plans and all."

"How did that go?" Superman asked, floating over with a pep in his glide.

"Amazing, thanks. Sorely needed - agh, I'm getting distracted. Bats, did you tie the knot, or is all the press this morning about 'Bruce Wayne's shocking new wedding ring' a cover for something? I didn't even know you were with someone. What's the story?"

Clark watched them curiously. Despite their ribbing to downright antagonism, Hal and Bruce's relationship had always fit a more interesting definition of friendship.

"There is no story," said Bruce, which was true in theory. "I got married."

Hal shot off the ground in a burst of green light. "Whoa, congrats! When? To who?"

He was subjected to Batman's quiet scrutiny as the other man pondered not the questions but whether to divulge the answers. The sapphire-studded ring Bruce had worn at the event wasn't even his real wedding ring, which Clark had crafted in the Fortress; it had belonged to his own mother, though Clark had knelt with it and proposed to Bruce again to make it a suitable alternative.

"The papers were signed a year ago," Bruce answered. "We haven't had a ceremony yet. The latter is my personal business."

"Damn, that's a long time," Hal remarked. "Can't you at least tell me about them? Are they a civilian? One of the thousand colorful characters in Gotham?"

"Almost all of us are also civilians. And no."

Hal gasped. "They aren't from Gotham? How else were you supposed to marry Her by proxy?"

Bruce sighed. Clark could tell his husband was starting to get a headache. Their texts reflected how long of a day it'd been for him: debuting his ring at a charity event last night, releasing vague PR statements only confirming his marital status through several news outlets, and investigating The Penguin's recent whereabouts accompanied by Selina's delighted commentary. No place was an escape; Clark decided he'd try to fly Bruce to the Kent farm this weekend.

But even with the overwhelming media attention, the disparaging comments about faithfulness and gold-digging and secret pregnancies, Clark had seen the videos online of Bruce last night. Glimpses of his small, content smile as he rubbed his ring under the flashing cameras. Just as they wished, the message was loud and clear: Bruce Wayne was officially off the market, and he would never get back on it.

Not if either of them had anything to say about it.

In all honesty, Clark didn't feel good about keeping Hal in the dark, but Bruce was the one who spoke up first. "Lantern, if you really want to know who my partner is, the timeline of all the important events, then ask the Flash. He knows, as of today."

Hal pouted. "I get that Supes has info privileges, but why'd you tell Barry but not me?"

"I didn't. He figured it out."

---

The staff of the Daily Planet quickly clued into the fact that their colleague Clark Kent had gotten married, presumably over the weekend. They had enough camaraderie that the occasion wasn't even overshadowed by all the hullabaloo around wealthy philanthropist, CEO, and famous fop Bruce Wayne's abrupt marriage. Lois' gaze zeroed in on the wedding ring the second she walked into the office on Monday, and then she was jumping into Clark's arms and pretending to shake him. Jimmy caught on next and made a fuss that drew everyone else's attention, and then everyone was crowding around his desk to give their congratulations.

"Let me see your ring!" Cat demanded. She was happier for Clark than one might assume, but he knew her better than most.

"It's, um, nothing much," he said modestly, letting her grab his left hand.

She looked up at him right away. "Don't be embarrassed, no matter how simple it is - a ring is a symbol of love, not how much money you spent! Personally, I think a plain gold band is the classiest option anyway. Or, ah, silver."

She let him take his hand back without further scrutiny.

"Thanks, Cat," said Clark, smiling. Her heart was in the right place.

"Of course! You should introduce your wife to us sometime. Or husband? I know you like to keep things lowkey, but I'm sure she's great."

Clark pictured her reaction to Bruce sleepily shuffling up to meet them in a loose black t-shirt and sweats. "That'd be swell."

Business swiftly returned to usual after that happy, lively morning. Perry emailed him his congratulations and an offer of additional PTO for a honeymoon, which Clark appreciated. With his long tenure, Clark was liked and respected in the office, but not a firecracker like Lois and, writing aside, most notable for his erratic schedule. Despite that, most of his colleagues assumed his private life was nothing crazy, not like the international and occasionally inter-dimensional news they reported.

Following the charity event, Bruce switched to wearing his Kryptonian ring on a daily basis. It was in fact a subtle silvery band but denser and nigh indestructible, with diamond shapes and waves etched on the surface and an un-photographable pearly glow. During meetings and at restaurants, he turned the ring this way and that to observe the luster and strange colors it took on, even in low light.

Paparazzi captured what they called his 'lovestruck' behavior, staking out Wayne Manor for shots of his new spouse - and promptly getting attacked by his kids' traps. A torrent of speculation surrounded which celebrity or filthy rich person had locked him down; it was only a matter of time before Bruce let slip during an interview that he had a husband, not a wife. He was notable enough that they would comment on him in the same breath as Superman, who’d recently rocketed up beside Diana as one of the world's most famous bisexual figures.

But Bruce found he couldn't muster an inkling of regret or fear. Accepting risk really did come with reward.

---

A few weeks later, Jimmy, finally finished with his massive photo assignment, collapsed in his chair between Lois and Clark's desks.

"It's been a minute since we saw you," Lois commented, chewing her pen.

"My project was long but pretty low-risk this time," said Jimmy, "which I think is the reason I didn't run into either of you. How’ve you guys been? Clark, how's married life? I know you've been seeing that guy for a while, but I bet it feels different."

Clark smiled. He would have to tell Lois and Jimmy the whole, unfiltered truth. Soon. It was rather unfair that only Lois had met the 'real' version of his husband, but Bruce had finally gathered enough data on Clark's other best friend to be willing to chat with him. In other words, he was less shy about it.

"It is different," Clark answered. "The physical reminder matters more to me than I thought it would. I love touching this," he glanced down at his ring, "and feeling like he's by my side in any instance."

"Can I take a closer look? You know, the first thing I noticed is that it's an interesting color, not just silver."

"Of course." Clark wriggled it off his finger and handed it to Jimmy.

"Yup, this is a nice ring." Jimmy held it up to the sunlight and spun it. The tiny etched lines seemed to catch fire, glowing orange. "A really nice ring. Say, it kinda looks the same as -"

"Bruce Wayne's?"

All of them flinched in their chairs - even Clark couldn't have predicted Perry taking an interest in their conversation. Their boss was standing by their desks with his arms folded, looking down at the ring with no expression.

"It shouldn't have taken you this long to notice, Olsen," said Perry, shaking his head.

Clark stared wide-eyed at his boss. Jimmy's head whipped back-and-forth between them.

"Perry, I can explain..."

"Explain what, Kent? You two met, fell in love, I suppose. Now you're both gawking like saps at your matching rings in public. Unless you really did marry him for the money like those two-bit tabloids claim, but the fact you didn't put in your two-weeks' notice right after Wayne's announcement means you're working here for something other than the salary."

"With all due respect, chief, we all do that," Lois quipped.

Perry rolled his eyes.

"Wha- but how did this start?" asked Jimmy, still stuck on the way Clark wasn't denying his husband's identity. "I know Wayne knows Lois and Cat by name, but he's never shown a lick of interest in the rest of us!"

"Sorry, Jimmy." Wincing, Clark slipped the ring back on. "I was planning on telling you soon, I promise. It's a long story, but, uh, we did meet through work..."

"On that note, you're off all assignments on Wayne," Perry ordered. "If it's a long story, don't share it here."

Clark snapped back to attention, nodding. It was only fair, but he would miss witnessing Bruce gossip with Cat and annoy every other member of the Planet. At least he could still listen in.

With that, Perry shuffled back to his office, muttering to himself the whole way. "Must've been that article he wrote about Wayne's participation in that hotdog eating competition or something back when he started here. See? All my rookie assignments have a purpose. Ended up sparking the most significant alliance between Metropolis and Gotham since, well, Superman and Batman."

Clark, Lois, and Jimmy watched him go.

"...I think that was him being supportive," Lois remarked.

"I think it was," said Clark, mostly touched, a touch concerned.

"Wait a second," whispered Jimmy, placing an unsteady hand on the back of Clark's chair. "If you're Superman, and you're married to Bruce Wayne, who's from Gotham, then does that mean Wayne is..."

His jaw dropped. Lois threw her head back and laughed and laughed.

"What's so funny, Lo!" Cat called from across the room. "And what did Perry want?"

"What the hell happened to Jimmy?" Steve looked disturbed.

"Everyone get back to work," shouted Perry from behind his door. "Now!"

Clark couldn't help it, he started laughing too. He and Bruce had been in good hands from the beginning.