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“Dick, can you please just sit still?” Bruce sighed.
Dick jumped on top of a table, flipping sideways to land on the chair Bruce had originally directed him to when they came down to the cave.
“No can do, old man! If you’re going to keep me cooped up down here, the least you can do is let me move around.”
Dick jumped out of the chair and did a cartwheel.
Bruce sighed again. All he wanted to do was finish this case. He was so close to hitting a breakthrough, one that would make all the pieces fall into place, but Dick had been banned from unsupervised time in the manor after he broke the third replacement chandelier. Not because Dick might break the chandelier again, Bruce could replace any material object, but because sound didn’t travel well between the manor and the cave, and Bruce couldn’t replace Dick. Falling glass chandeliers were dangerous, more so when no one was around to hear them and the small child swinging from them when they fell. And so, since Alfred had gone out for the day, Dick was down in the cave – or Batcave, as Dick had been calling it – to be supervised.
“How much longer is this case gonna take?” Dick said, walking over to Bruce in a handstand. “Can’t I help?”
“No. Not this one. I don’t want you involved in this kind of case yet.”
Dick righted himself, crossing his arms and glaring in a way that promises revenge. Last time Bruce had seen that expression, the sugar in the bowl next to his coffeemaker had been replaced with salt. The time before that, Dick had asked the cute Daily Planet reporter Bruce was talking to at a gala – and hoping to invite home with him – if the man was going to be Dick’s “new mom.” Bruce still couldn’t decide which incident had been worse. He feared for whatever this time’s revenge might be.
“How about some time on the computer?” Bruce offered, hoping to soothe the hurt feelings. “You could play some games.”
“You mean the Batcomputer,” Dick corrected, already settling into the seat and logging in.
He was using Bruce’s login. Bruce hadn’t given that to him. Dick was smiling again, though, so Bruce was sure his apology had been accepted, and revenge would not be had. Games on the Batcomputer: just as effective as ice cream and a delayed bedtime. Bruce was killing this whole parenting thing.
Finally, silence. Bruce worked on his file, Dick tapped away at the computer’s keys. Then the printer started up.
“What are you doing?”
“I found the craziest file in your Justice League folder with the translated Kryptonese files. Supes must have just finished adding it.”
“Why print it? Is it important?” Bruce asked, suddenly on edge.
He still hadn’t accepted that his friends colleagues in the league were to be trusted. Superman especially. He was just… too likeable. Too pretty. It was suspicious. Bruce felt more on edge around him than any of the others, his palms sweaty, throat dry, and heart beating faster than his typical resting rate whenever Superman looked at him. He felt tongue-tied, so much so that he never spoke around the other members of the league. And then there was that strange, fluttery feeling in his stomach. He chalked the feeling up to anxiety.
If this file that Dick had found indicated that Superman was dangerous, then at least it proved his strange anxiety correct.
“I’d say so! It’s a list of Kryptonian courting rituals,” he handed the printed list to Bruce with a flourish. “Guaranteed to let him know you’re interested.”
“Interested in what? Why would I want this?”
“Holy clueless, Batman.” Dick rolled his eyes. “Can we go see if Alfred’s back? I’m hungry.”
Bruce nodded and tossed the paper into the trash, resolving to return to his case later that evening.
After patrol had finished and Dick had been put to bed, Bruce returned to the cave to continue his work before Alfred inevitably tracked him down to make him go to bed as well. Something was nagging at him, though, drawing his focus from the evidence he was examining. The paper in the trash can caught his eye, and he kept coming back to it. He should at least read it, he decided. Information was always useful.
Bruce really didn’t plan on using any of the information from the Kryptonian courting ritual document. But it just so happened that he had memorized the document on his first readthrough, as he often did, and it remained on the forefront of his mind at the next Justice League meeting. When his cape shifted as he stood up, fluttering behind him, he noticed Superman’s eyes on him, reminding Bruce of one of the items from the list.
Interest can be shown in small ways at first, like shaking a cape to attract attention.
He gave his cape another experimental and subtle shake. Superman’s gaze remained. Bruce shifted again, letting the cape billow. He felt the normal fluttering – the anxiety – again, but there was something else to it. Maybe, he thought, the feeling wasn’t anxiety? He hurried out of the room to process, letting his cape fly out behind him.
Well. Robin had a point, Bruce conceded. It had been nice of him to give Bruce the file like that, Bruce might not have realized what he was feeling otherwise. He decided to try harder at convincing Alfred to let Dick have cereal for dinner more often as a reward.
Bruce studied the file again, resolving to be fully prepared for the next time he saw Superman. He thought that the third item, sharing meals, seemed like a reasonable next step. When he received the call that the entire league was needed for an incident with a villain in Central City, Bruce stuffed an orange into one of the more protected pouches of his utility belt.
The battle was simple, by the numbers, and the villain was taken down quickly. Before Superman could fly away after the quick debrief, Bruce held out a hand to stop him.
“Everything okay, Bats? You aren’t hurt, are you?”
Bruce shook his head, pulling out the orange and inspecting it for damage. In his concentration around making sure the orange was alright, and then peeling it, he forgot to reply. He broke it in half and held one half out to Superman, suddenly nervous that the other man might not accept.
“...Thank you?” Superman said, sounding confused, but taking and holding the orange.
Was he not interested? Did he not like oranges? Bruce froze. ‘Oh!’ he realized, ‘Sharing food must have meant that he was supposed to eat too.’ He shoved his half of the orange into his mouth in one bite in his haste to participate. Then, he waited, watching the orange held in Superman’s hand to see what he would do.
“Oh, you want… okay.”
Superman ate the orange, though not as quickly as Bruce. He actually took time to separate the sections. Bruce felt embarrassed, but also excited. Even with the awkwardness of Bruce having practically shoved half an orange down his throat, Superman had accepted his gift!
“Thank you Batman,” Superman said, smiling as he finished eating. “That was kind of you to share with me.”
Bruce nodded. Before he could reply, which he wanted to do this time, his comm beeped with an alarm in his ear, reminding him that it was time to go if he didn’t want to be late picking Dick up from school. He rushed off, waving at Superman as a goodbye, making sure to let his cape swish out dramatically behind him.
🦇🦸
Batman was acting… strange. Stranger than the usual strange behavior of an eldritch bat-cryptid, at least. Clark and the league still hadn’t come to a consensus on what Batman actually was, or if there were any more members of his potentially endangered species. They didn’t know what his powers exactly were either, but Clark was positive that he had come to an understanding of who Batman was as a person.
Clark had really come to like his cryptid friend. Batman couldn’t speak, communicating mainly through grunts, growls and head motions, but the two of them understood each other. They didn’t need words. And sure, he definitely appreciated Batman’s… form, but that was something he kept mainly to himself and Lois, who he couldn’t hide anything from.
Lois had kindly/crudely pointed out that Batman, whatever he was, passed the “Harkness Test,” meaning that Batman displayed greater than human intelligence, had indicated that he was mature for his species, and could communicate, so Clark was free to crush away. Free even to invite him on a date, which he didn’t exactly plan on doing, despite Lois’s laughing insistence that he should. He didn’t want to endure the rejection.
That day at work, he had abandoned his work to gossip with Lois, and had been describing the orange incident from a few days prior. He couldn’t figure out what it meant. Lois barely looked at him, looking something up on her computer.
“Maybe he’s courting you,” Lois suggested.
“I’m sorry, courting?” Clark asked.
Lois shrugged. “You said it yourself – not much is known about his species, maybe he takes after bats in more than just the name.”
She turned her computer so that Clark could see the screen, which was open to a page on the courting and mating habits of a few different bat species.
“Sharing food, wing displays,” she pointed out as she scrolled through the article. “Looks like The Batman wants to mate with you.”
She winked suggestively. Clark sputtered.
“I emailed you the page, have fun!”
Clark didn’t exactly believe her, but looked through the page anyway when he got home. Maybe she had a point? The website also mentioned a few species that would grunt or hum in special ways to show interest, and Batman had always grumbled at everyone in the league, but sometimes the sounds he directed at Clark were different. Clark had always chalked this up to a sign of approval, or an indicator of the trust and friendship between them. Maybe Bats had meant it as a little more than that. Clark was definitely not opposed.
He looked through the article to decide how to respond. It looked like white-throated round-eared bats gifted potential mates a termite nest to become a home for themselves and their mate. Clark and Batman were a bit too large for that, but it gave Clark an idea.
🦇🦸
At the end of their next meeting, Bruce was stopped by Superman before he could leave.
“Batman! Wait!”
He waited, humming in acknowledgement and question, and giving his cape a flourish. Was Superman blushing?
“I brought you something. I hope it’s alright,” Superman told him as he handed him a large wrapped box.
Bruce’s brow furrowed as he carefully undid the paper.
“It’s a termite nest,” Superman said.
Bruce just stared. Why would he want a termite nest? At least it was empty and devoid of termites.
“And, well, I just wanted to let you know that I’ve keyed you into the Fortress of Solitude. You can get in without me whenever you need. So you could stay there, if you ever wanted.”
This was on the courting ritual list! Bruce wasn’t sure what the termites had to do with anything, but “providing a home” was definitely on there. It seemed that Superman returned his affections. Bruce blushed too, glad that his cowl hid it, and fluffed his cape. He didn’t know what to say.
“I should go,” said Superman, flourishing his own cape the way Bruce had. “I hope you like it,” he finished, gesturing to the termite nest.
Bruce nodded, but before he could properly thank Superman he was already flying away.
Bruce made sure that the termite nest was given a place of honour on his desk, after Alfred had double checked that it was empty and cleared it to be allowed inside the manor. He didn’t understand why Dick giggled every time he saw it, but Bruce was proud of the strange present.
🦇🦸
Clark searched through the colognes on the store shelf, testing all of them. He needed to find one that was perfect. He didn’t normally wear cologne, it was a lot on his hypersensitive nose. Since the termite nest had gone over so well, though, Clark decided that it couldn’t hurt to try this too.
He sometimes caught a subtle hint of cologne coming from Batman, so subtle that it would have been impossible for anyone but Clark to notice, so he was sure that it really was just for him. The article Lois had sent said that sac-winged bats used special perfumes to attract mates, so this seemed like a good next step. He found a cologne, one of the cheaper ones that he actually really liked, and bought it.
The cologne seemed to be doing the trick. Batman’s attention was locked on him the next time Superman called a meeting, just to test it out. A lot of people’s attention had been on him, actually, because before that day Superman had never worn cologne. Clark was getting a lot of compliments. None of those compliments were as important to him as the fixed, intense stare from Batman.
The visible half of his face was carefully blank, as usual, but Clark sometimes caught the smallest twitch of his nose, particularly when he fluttered his cape pointedly in Batman’s direction.
🦇🦸
Bruce didn’t know what Superman was thinking, but that cologne was terrible. He knew that the list had included wearing special fragrances as part of the courting behaviors, but did it have to be this? Bruce decided that he needed to act, especially after Superman sat down next to him when Diana stood up to present something too. Assistance with grooming was on the list, luckily for him.
Bruce decided to start with a distraction. After taking in Dick, he had started carrying lollipops around with him to give to children he came across on patrol. He took one out and popped it in his mouth, to keep up with the sharing aspect of the shared food item, then took it out of his mouth and laid it on the table on top of its wrapper so he could hunt through his belt for another lollipop for Superman. Dick kept eating his lollipop stock, so Bruce had them hidden separately so he didn’t run out as quickly. Before he could pass Superman the other one he’d found, Superman had picked up Bruce’s lollipop, making eye contact with him as he popped it in his own mouth. Well, eye-cowl contact. That worked too, Bruce decided.
Superman turned back to the meeting, still with the lollipop in his mouth. Bruce went back into his utility belt for the other thing he had started carrying around after taking in Dick: a bulk pack of wet wipes. Moving slowly so as not to startle Superman, Bruce brought the wet wipe up to his neck, where the cheap cologne smelled the strongest, and started to scrub.
Superman jumped in surprise, but accepted it, relaxing into Bruce’s touch. Bruce went through three wet wipes, but eventually Superman was back to smelling normal, which Bruce liked much better.
Bruce ordered him a nicer bottle of cologne with similar notes later that evening.
🦇🦸
Clark was irritated at having been asked to go interview Bruce Wayne at the latest Wayne charity event. Cat was sick, though, and Lois had refused to go once she heard that the assignment was in Gotham, cackling and telling him that she hoped he saw his man. Secretly, Clark hoped the same.
He got ready reluctantly, wearing his best ill-fitting suit and even spraying on some of his new cologne. When he arrived at the event, Clark looked around to find Bruce. The sooner he got this interview over with, the sooner he could leave and wander around Gotham in hopes of catching sight of Batman.
He found Bruce over by the bar, laughing uproariously with a group of businessmen.
“...and that’s why I never go to yacht parties without bringing my own lifeguard!” He was saying as one of the men clapped him on the shoulder.
“You are too much, Brucie,” one of the people nearby said.
“Excuse me, Mr. Wayne,” Clark cut in. “Clark Kent, Daily Planet. May I have a moment of your time?”
“Well, aren’t you forward,” Bruce drawled. “Not that I mind, coming from a man like yourself.”
Ah, it seemed that this would be a full-Brucie interview. Clark had had the misfortune of one of those before, which was luckily interrupted by Bruce’s young son. It had almost worked on him, too. Bruce was persuasive in a way that Clark would have found cute if it wasn’t for his crush on Batman.
But Brucie… this was exactly why Clark didn’t want to do this. Cat would have been able to take the intoxicated flirting in giggly stride, but Clark just couldn’t.
“Why don’t we take this somewhere a little quieter,” Bruce suggested, leading Clark away.
Clark carefully ignored the wolf whistles from some of the men in the background. It was strange, he thought as he watched Bruce walk ahead of him. Aside from a few stumbles, Bruce didn’t actually seem drunk. Clark couldn’t even smell any alcohol on him.
They made it to a private office just outside the party. Bruce inhaled deeply. Clark pulled out the notecards of prepared questions from his pocket, but before he could ask any, Bruce was ripping off Clark’s glasses with a growled “You!”
Clark covered his face with his hand.
“Mr. Wayne, my glasses, please?” He asked, holding out the hand not being used to protect his identity.
“I can’t believe your only disguise is a pair of glasses, Superman!”
He decided to play dumb.
“Superman? Where?”
Bruce said nothing, then sighed in a way that seemed familiar.
“Superman, or Clark, I suppose, I recognize that cologne. Don’t you think you should get separate fragrances for your separate identities? Though I guess I am talking to the man who thinks that glasses are a useful disguise… But you didn’t even know I’d be here, so why wear that one?”
Clark barely heard Bruce’s ramble over his own mounting panic. How could Bruce have recognized the scent? He hadn’t worn it to anything outside of that one league meeting! Clark opened his eyes and uncovered his face. No point in hiding if Bruce so clearly knew.
Bruce had stepped away and was digging through one of the desk drawers. He came back with a pack of wet wipes, surprising Clark when Bruce started scrubbing at his neck.
“I know this comes from one of your Kryptonian rituals, but Clark, this cologne is a disgrace. I’ve got a different bottle for you if that’s alright. See if you like it once I’ve gotten this off of you. Honestly, what is this? Axe body spray?”
This was familiar. This had happened before, Clark realized. His eyes, now open and uncovered, caught sight of a termite nest sitting on the corner of the desk. That was his termite nest!
“Batman?” He asked in disbelief.
“Yes, Superman?”
Clark’s jaw dropped. “But you’re Bruce Wayne! Bruce Wayne is a human! Batman is some kind of bat cryptid!”
The scrubbing paused. “You thought I wasn’t human?”
Clark shook his head in disbelief. A small part of him was ecstatic that Batman was human, it made him feel a little more confident in his decision to pursue him. Nonverbal communication and understanding was alright, but Clark definitely didn’t mind someone he could truly converse with. And now he could see the rest of Batman’s – Bruce’s – face, which was… wow.
“No one in the league thinks you’re human. For a while the running theory was vampire, then the personification of Gotham’s darkness, then bat cryptid. Kind of like Mothman, I guess? A few of them have money on it.”
Bruce just stared, hand hovering with the wet wipe by Clark’s neck, so Clark kept talking.
“And then when you started doing all of those courting and mating rituals from various bat species-”
“What do you mean, bat species?” Bruce interrupted.
“You know, wing flapping like hammer-head bats, sharing food like vampire bats… Did I misread this?”
“No… I… Those were Kryptonian courting rituals!”
“What?” Clark asked. “Kryptonians don’t have courting rituals.”
Bruce’s face dropped.
“Dick!” He yelled.
Clark blanched. “I’m sorry?”
Bruce sighed heavily, and yes, that was all Batman. “Not you, Clark. Dick!”
“Yeah, Bruce?” said a voice from the hallway.
A small boy, Dick, dropped down from what seemed like the ceiling.
“Woah, it’s Superman! Hi, Superman!”
Clark scrambled for his glasses.
“You want to explain yourself?” Bruce asked him.
“Explain what?” Dick replied.
“Explain where exactly that document on ‘Kryptonian courting rituals’ actually came from?”
Dick just laughed and left the room.
“And to think I let you have sugary cereal for dinner!” Bruce called after him.
“I’m sorry, Clark,” he continued after Dick was gone. “It seems that my son tricked me by giving me a list of what I was led to believe were translated Kryptonian courting rituals from the JLA files on the Batcomputer.”
Clark just chuckled. “Bat mating, Kryptonian courting. Whatever it was, it worked, didn’t it? We were both doing them, so…”
“So…?” Bruce echoed.
“So we both feel the same, right?”
Bruce nodded.
“You want to get out of here? I think I’ve spent enough time at the gala for tonight,” Bruce said.
Clark smiled. “I’d love to.”
Bruce smiled too, a tiny quirk of the lips that Clark might have missed if he didn’t know Bruce’s lower face so closely.
“I’m going to need to hear more about why exactly you thought I was a cryptid.”
“Of course.”
“But before that, I don’t suppose you’ve heard about the habits of the short-nosed fruit bat?” Bruce asked.
Clark blushed. Yes, yes he had.