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Bruce had figured out Superman’s secret identity exactly 6 days into their acquaintance.
He’d met Metropolis’ favorite alien on a quiet Gotham rooftop as part of a courtesy visit. In hindsight, that was clearly Clark Kent’s Midwestern manners making an appearance in his superhero persona, the vigilante equivalent of greeting your new neighbors with baked goods or a casserole. At the time, Bruce had mostly felt suspicion. He’d shaken Superman’s hand, politely told him never to visit again and immediately set his satellites to track Superman’s flight patterns over Metropolis. From there, it hadn’t taken long to figure out the connection between Superman’s most visited places in the city – the Daily Planet offices and a small apartment block on the upper east side – and Clark Kent, investigative journalist, raised in Smallville, Kansas. Smallville, which by no coincidence was the location of an unusual meteor shower exactly 25 years ago – which happened to be Clark Kent’s exact age. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together.
At the time, Bruce had constructed a comprehensive profile on Clark Kent and felt secure enough in Superman’s good intentions (and perhaps more importantly, protected enough by the discovery of several exploitable vulnerabilities) that he felt comfortable entering into any kind of partnership with him. And it wasn’t until they’d known each other for two whole years, and become what most people would call friends, that Bruce found himself wanting anything more.
And unless he was very mistaken (which he wasn’t) Superman wanted the same thing.
“Hey, B!” Superman said cheerily when Batman entered the Watchtower’s monitor room. His smile was as blinding as ever, all white teeth and dimples and raw, unfiltered amiability.
“Superman,” he greeted him. “I thought I was with Lantern today.”
“You were. He wanted to trade, though. Something about a date?”
Bruce raised an eyebrow. “And you really had nothing better to do on a Friday night?”
“Actually, no. My Friday nights are generally pretty free. And besides, I wanted to see you.” That blinding smile turned crooked. “Two birds one stone, right?”
Bruce grunted. He suddenly felt very warm.
“So…you don’t mind?” Superman asked.
Bruce huffed out a soft laugh. “No. Not at all.”
Superman looked pleased. “Oh. Well then.” He pulled out the left chair, the one Bruce always preferred, and gestured to it with a little flourish. “Shall we?”
Bruce rolled his eyes, a little disgusted at himself for finding that endearing. He wordlessly took the proffered seat and settled in to watch the monitors as Superman took his own seat beside him.
The time passed in companionable silence. Silences with Superman were usually easy, his solid presence a comfort rather than a distraction. Watching screens for hours at a time was by far the most tolerable when Superman was his partner. Even…pleasant.
Tonight, though, Superman seemed to have something to say. “So. You’re also here on a Friday night.”
Bruce grunted in affirmation.
“You, uh, don’t have any other plans?” Superman asked. He sounded hesitant, almost shy. “No…date?”
“No.”
“Just this time? Or in general?”
“I’m not seeing anyone, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Superman shifted in his seat. “Well. It’s not not what I was asking.”
“Hn.”
“But also, more specifically,” Superman continued, “maybe you’re free after this? I thought maybe we could get…dinner? Or something.”
Bruce tore his eyes away from the monitors to look at Superman. “Dinner.”
“Or something,” Superman repeated. His body language was subtly nervous, but his expression was hopeful and determined. “A date. Does that sound like something you’d like? With me?”
Bruce’s heart stuttered.
He looked away. “I…don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Oh,” was the muttered response to that. “Okay.”
For the rest of monitor duty, the silence was distinctly less comfortable.
Bruce returned to the manor straight after monitor duty. After succumbing to the inevitable prodding about his ambivalent mood, he’d relayed the conversation with Superman to Alfred and Dick over a late dinner.
He’d expected mild surprise, or perhaps even sympathy. Instead:
“Dare I say, sir,” Alfred said, a note of weary in his voice, “that on this occasion you might be overcomplicating matters?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Alfred,” Bruce huffed irritably. “I’m making matters exactly as complicated as they need to be.”
“I see, sir. In that case, perhaps I have simply misunderstood. If I might clarify a couple of points?”
Bruce nodded. “Go ahead.”
“Thank you, sir. My understanding is this. Firstly, you have deduced that Superman would be interested in a romantic partnership with you. Secondly, you also desire such a partnership. And thirdly, that you turned him down when he asked.” He inclined his head. “The third point is where you lose me, I’m afraid. Why would you not agree?”
Bruce frowned. “Your understanding of the initial premise is flawed. He’s not interested in me. He’s interested in Batman.”
“Of course, sir,” Alfred said placidly. “Although I feel the irrepressible urge to remind you that you yourself are, in fact, Batman.”
“I don’t see why you do. I’ve hardly forgotten that fact.”
“But Superman’s interest in Batman does not equal an interest in you.”
“Obviously not.”
“Ah.” Alfred paused delicately, brow creasing ever so slightly. “I’m not entirely sure that it is obvious.”
Dick stuck his hand straight up in the air. “Um! I’m also confused.”
Bruce frowned, unsure how to word the explanation in a way they would understand. “Well, for one, Batman is a persona: he is me, but he is not. And for another, Batman and romance don’t mix. He is supposed be more myth than man, an embodiment of fear. Vengeance personified. The darkness itself come to life to provide retribution. He doesn’t date.”
“Yes he does,” Dick said petulantly. “I’ve seen you flirting with Catwoman.”
Bruce grunted softly. “That’s…different.”
“Why?”
Alfred glanced at Bruce, who was silently mired in obvious discomfort, and sighed softly. He interjected, “Perhaps, Master Dick, it would be best to let this one go.”
As a redirect, it was only a step above “you’ll understand when you’re older” but Dick reluctantly accepted it all the same. “Okay, fine. But still, why does it matter? Superman doesn’t think of you as vengeance or fear or whatever. You guys are friends.”
“Batman can have allies. Romantic relationships are something else entirely,” he explained. Romance would compromise Batman’s effectiveness, especially if it were with someone he worked with regularly. It would be far too easy to blur lines that should never be blurred. He could never allow it to lead anywhere.
Bruce didn’t want anything he started with Superman not to lead anywhere.
Although…
“If Bruce Wayne were to date him, that would be another matter entirely,” he said thoughtfully.
Dick wrinkled his nose. “What? Why?”
“Because Bruce Wayne does date, of course.”
Alfred was eyeing Bruce with a narrow-eyed expression, a mixture of disbelief and disapproval. “Master Bruce! I hope you’re not thinking of—”
“Alfred, what events have I been invited to in Metropolis this month?”
“—ah. I see that you are.” Alfred sighed. “Very well. I shall check the calendar while you are out on patrol tonight.”
“Thank you, Alfred,” Bruce said with a nod, already half-distracted formulating his plan. He stood. “I need my computer. I’ll be in the cave.” And with that, he left.
In the silence that remained, Dick frowned. “I still don’t get it. Why can’t they just date if they both like each other?”
Alfred sighed. “I don’t know, child. I don’t know.”
Dick folded his arms. “And does he know how weird it is when he keeps referring to himself in the third person like that? I feel like he doesn’t.”
“I suspect not.” He glanced at Dick’s plate. “Eat your broccoli, young man. Don’t think I can’t see you trying to feed it to Ace.”
Dick sighed. “Spoilsport.”
Two weeks later found Bruce at a gala in Metropolis, scanning through the crowd for a familiar mop of brown curls. It really shouldn’t be this hard to find Superman here, considering he was a head and shoulders taller than the majority of the attendees, but Bruce was less familiar with Clark Kent’s appearance than Superman’s. He scanned his gaze along the far wall, and—
Aha.
There he was. Clark Kent in all his glory, dressed like his wardrobe had been bequeathed to him by a morbidly obese 1940s newsman. That, along with his terrible posture and those hideous glasses, somehow melted the steel of him into benign ineptitude. The overall impression he gave off was mild-mannered, unobtrusive and ever so slightly out of his depth.
Still, the effect was significantly dampened when one knew what lay underneath the layers of tweed and polyester blend. From thereon, whatever spell the coke-bottle lenses and affected bad posture cast to make him seem unassuming was broken. Clark Kent may present himself in a way that was deliberately unflattering, but Superman could appear as nothing less than distressingly attractive at all times, whatever guise he was in.
Bruce could feel his heart rate ratcheting up as he approached, oddly excited. It felt strange to be so close to Superman when he wasn’t Batman. Different, somehow.
It wasn’t a bad different.
Clark didn’t seem to be paying him much attention as he drew close, seemingly deep in thought as he distractedly nibbled on a canape. Bruce smiled his most charming smile. “Hello, there. Have we been introduced?”
Superman— Clark Kent choked on a piece of shrimp scampi and turned to Bruce with wide eyes. Having successfully swallowed the shrimp, he said, “Um. No, I don’t believe we have. You’re…you’re Bruce Wayne, right?” He stuck out a hand for a shake. “Clark Kent, Daily Planet.”
“Charmed, I’m sure,” Bruce said airily, taking the hand and giving it two firm pumps. This was, he realized, the first time he’d actually touched Superman skin-to-skin, without the obstructing presence of Batman’s gauntlets. His hand was warm, the skin soft and dry. “A reporter, huh? I guess you’re here to cover the event?”
“Sure am,” Clark said with a smile. It was the same radiant smile as ever but tempered by sheepishness, endearing where his usual confidence was inspiring. “I’ve gotta say, Mr. Wayne, usually it’s me going up to the guests to ask questions, not the other way around.”
Bruce leaned against the wall and slipped his hands into his pockets, dialing his smile up from friendly to flirtatious. “Well, when I saw that a man as handsome as yourself was standing here all on his lonesome, I decided I couldn’t let that continue.”
“Oh,” Clark said. He turned pink. Fascinating. “I… That’s kind of you to say.”
He let his smile tilt into a smirk. “Well, I’ve been told I’m a generous man.”
Clark went even pinker. “Oh,” he said again. “Well. Since you’re here, I don’t suppose you’d mind if I asked you a few questions?”
“Not at all. Ask me anything,” he said with a wink. “And I mean anything.”
“Um, on second thought,” Clark said. “I think I just saw my coworker waving me over. I should.” And with that he turned and fled into the crowd.
Bruce stared at his retreating figure. Hm. That hadn’t gone as planned.
The next time he saw Clark— Superman, it was on the Watchtower. Superman approached him after a meeting after the others had left, forehead creased with apprehension. “B, could I talk to you for a second?”
“Sure.”
“Great,” Superman said. He took a deep breath. “Look, I wanted to say… I hope I didn’t make things too awkward with what I said last time in the monitor room. Clearly I misread the situation, but I want you to know that I respect your decision and I won’t bring it up again. I want you to feel comfortable working with me.”
The speech had the measured cadence of something rehearsed. He might have expected Superman to say something along these lines. He swallowed. “It’s fine. Really.”
“That’s good to hear,” Superman said, visibly relaxing. He stuck out his hand with a small, hopeful smile. “Friends?”
Batman looked at the hand for a long moment before he took it. He’d shaken Clark Kent’s hand only a few days ago. The sensation was markedly different. The protective barrier of the gauntlets had never felt thicker.
“Thanks for being understanding about this,” Superman said with a relieved smile. “I really didn’t want to make things weird between us.”
Bruce grunted. Superman was being so nice about the whole situation that it was actually a little uncomfortable. He knew he didn’t have the right to feel rejected as the one who’d actually done the rejecting, but he did all the same.
Perhaps that’s why he asked, seemingly apropos of nothing, “By the way, what’s your opinion on Bruce Wayne?”
Superman blinked, a little taken aback. “Bruce Wayne?” he repeated. And then, his mouth pulled down into a gentle grimace.
Bruce’s heart sank.
“I don’t really have one, to be honest,” Superman was saying. “But I know he has a certain reputation – and from what little I’ve seen, it seems to be deserved. Why? Do you suspect him of something?”
He suppressed a flinch. “No.”
“Ah, I should have known you wouldn’t tell me,” Superman said with a fond, teasing smile. Bruce’s stomach flipped. “Well, you just let me know if you want any help. See you around?”
Bruce nodded numbly. With a final, cheerful wave, Superman disappeared in a rush of air.
Clearly Bruce needed to change his approach.
“Looking back, I feel like I might have come on too strong last time,” Bruce said. “I don’t suppose you’d let me start over?”
Clark Kent’s answering smile was tight. He glanced around, presumably looking for whatever other Daily Planet reporter had been assigned to this particular event. “Um, Mr Wayne. I don’t—”
“I’ve read your articles,” he blurted out. Clark’s mouth snapped shut. “Your writing style is witty and acerbic and you’re always standing up for the little guy. You do important work. It’s admirable. I’ve…been a fan of yours for a while now.”
Clark was staring at him in mild shock, eyes wide and lips parted. Bruce pressed on. “I didn’t mean to give you the wrong impression last time, but I understand how I might have come across wrong. If you’d like, I’d be happy to offer you a real interview. It can just be that, if you’d like, but I…I would also like the chance to get to know you better.”
“Mr Wayne, I…” Clark began hesitantly. “This is really very unexpected. I’m…honestly flattered. But I’m not interested. It’s nothing personal, but there’s someone else. Someone I’m not over yet. So right now, I don’t really have the capacity to, uh…”
Bruce blinked at him. Superman was rejecting him. For Batman.
“Oh, for god’s sake.” Bruce sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Mr Kent, I need to talk to you in private.”
“Wha—” Clark began, confused. But Bruce had already grabbed him by the wrist, firmly enough that he couldn’t easily resist without using his strength. He dragged him into the hallway. “Mr Wayne? Where are we going?”
Bruce said nothing until they were alone by an empty storage closet. Clark looked at it and blanched. Only now did he wrench his hand away.
“Mr Wayne,” he hissed, “this is incredibly inappropriate. I don’t know what you’re expecting from me that requires this degree of privacy and I honestly don’t want to speculate, but I have already said that I’m not interested—”
“Shut up, Clark,” Bruce said. “It’s me.”
Clark paused, frowning in confusion. “It’s you? What do you…”
“I mean,” Bruce growled, mouth pulling into a scowl that he knew Superman would recognize, “it’s me.”
Clark stared at him for a long moment, eyebrows slowly creeping towards his hairline. Then he gasped. “It’s— It’s you.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying.”
Clark’s eyes darted around the hallway, no doubt checking for any witnesses, and then he was the one dragging Bruce into the empty closet. As soon as the door closed, he rounded on him, eyes scanning over him in disbelief. “B? You’re Bruce Wayne?”
“Obviously.”
“And you figured out that I’m— No, of course you did. Of course you did and just never felt the need to mention it.”
“In my defense,” Bruce said dryly, “your disguise is a pair of glasses.”
“Oh, shush,” Clark grumbled, seeming half-distracted by his own thoughts. And then his eyes widened in realization. “Oh my god. And you were flirting with me.”
Bruce shifted, uncomfortable. “Well. Yes.”
“But why? You… When I asked you out, you said no. You’re not interested in me.”
“That’s…not quite true,” he said stiffly. “Batman can’t be interested. It would be weakness, and I can’t allow that. He needs to be more than me. But that doesn’t mean I’m not interested. I thought that maybe as Bruce Wayne, I could allow myself what Batman can’t, but…” he grimaced. His cunning plan had not so much failed as never gotten off the ground in the first place. It was more than a little embarrassing for the League’s semi-official strategist.
Clark blinked. “Okay. Wow. I’m gonna be honest, I don’t really follow most of that, and we will definitely be getting into that whole mess later, but… Are you saying you’d be interested if you weren’t Batman?”
“In a sense. As Batman, I can’t really let anyone get that close. Unless…” he swallowed. “Unless they knew the whole of me. Then, maybe…maybe it could work. Maybe then it could be something real.”
Clark was looking at him with an expression that Bruce could only describe as wonder. “So…you decided to reveal your identity to me just so you could date me?”
Hesitantly, Bruce nodded. “Yes. If that’s…something you’d still want. I don’t mean to presume…”
“I would love to, B,” Clark interjected. He was beaming. “Or I guess…Bruce?”
Bruce’s stomach didn’t so much flip as do a series of tumbles. “Either works. Clark,” he said gruffly.
“Then…Bruce,” Clark said, blue, blue eyes dancing with joy. “I happen to know a great diner nearby. You wanna skip out early and grab some dinner? Or something.”
“Or something,” Bruce echoed, lips tugging into a smile. “I suppose I could be convinced. Lead the way.”