Music of the Spheres 2: Conversations
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Disclaimer: The boys belong to DC and to each other, but not to me.
Notes: "Music of the Spheres" is a series set in the combined universes of "Batman Begins" and "Superman Returns." Other stories and notes on the series here.
Rating: G
Summary: Batman stops by Metropolis for some observation and a couple of chats; Bruce and Clark go on a not-a-date.
Word Count: 3082
The ancient philosophers imagined the universe to resemble a complex clockwork consisting of concentric crystalline spheres, nested inside one another, which carried the sun, moon, and planets in their motions and made the “music of the spheres” as they revolved. --Columbia Encyclopedia
Batman managed to find a sliver of shadow among the glaring lights of Metropolis and crouched in it with a sense of relief. He pulled out a pair of binoculars and focused carefully on the rig far out in the bay. Click. Now he could see movement on it. He frowned. Midnight was an odd time to be hanging out on an offshore rig. Click. Slightly more magnification revealed a group of five or six figures. Click. Was one of them Luthor? Click.
A huge red "S."
Batman reared back, dropping the binoculars. Superman caught them effortlessly, handed them back. "Is it my turn tonight?" He cleared his throat theatrically and struck a dramatic pose, reciting in his resonant voice. "'What are you doing here? Get the hell out of my city.'"
"Don't sneak up on me like that."
"I don't 'sneak up on' people. Generally speaking it's pretty obvious when the man in a bright red and blue suit is happening by." Was that the very slight curve of a smile on that too-perfect face? "Unless they happen to be extremely absorbed in something...more interesting." Superman turned to follow Batman's gaze; the almost-smile slipped away.
"Is there something happening on that rig I should be interested in?" said Batman.
"It depends. On why you're interested."
"What do you think Luthor is up to?"
"Luthor and Wayne." The alien said the names as if they went together. Batman stifled a grimace. "They're almost certainly looking for something they can use to harm me."
"Have they found anything?"
"I haven't seen or heard any sign that they have yet. But you're probably thinking to yourself--correctly--that I'd have no reason to tell you if they had."
Batman didn't know exactly what to say to that, so he settled for glaring out over the too-bright city.
Superman tilted his head suddenly to the side, oddly bird-like. "I'm...there's something going on uptown I need to check. Library." He darted away slightly in the air, then stopped. "Would you like to come along?"
Batman snorted. "Why would you need my help?"
"One should never reject help." Another flicker of something like a smile. "Besides, you did say you wanted to understand me better. Live-action would be better than tape, don't you think?"
Batman silently readied a grapple as his answer. He launched himself from the rooftop as the Kryptonian sailed away.
: : :
"Just how fast do you think he's capable of moving?" Batman's voice was conversational as he watched the street below. The man he was addressing said nothing. Nothing coherent, at least.
"Even rocket launchers do nothing at all to him. Very impressive, don't you agree?" Batman reached out and gave a light push to the man who was hanging upside down next to him, propelling him out over the thirty-story drop for a moment. "Honestly, I can't imagine why you people even bother."
The hanging man glared at Batman. They had reached the crime scene to find members of what was probably Intergang trying to break into an library by blowing the doors off. Superman had taken care of the falling debris and the robbers in the library proper, and now was mopping up--where had Intergang gotten a tank? Not that it seemed to be doing them any good.
In the chaos, Batman had noticed one particularly greasy-looking mook trying to slip away. Said ringleader was now dangling by his feet and engaged in a rather one-sided conversation with Batman about the futility of being a villain in Metropolis. He gibbered something, caught his breath, and managed a fully coherent utterance. The man did have some guts.
"We're not total saps, you know! We got plans. Contingency plans."
Batman moved until his face was very near the gang member's face. He smiled. The other man blanched.
"What kind of contingency plans?"
: : :
Superman dropped off a tank full of criminals, sealed shut like a sardine can, at the police station. He noted the slimy-looking man trussed up neatly on the steps. Batman had apparently been busy. He went back to the building where he had found the other man earlier, not really expecting to find him there now. To his surprise, there was a black shape standing on the roof, a Gothic shape incongruous against the stark Art Deco lines of the building.
"Thanks for the help."
"My pleasure." Batman's mouth was curved in what was unmistakably a smile. It looked...odd. Though not unpleasant. "You won't believe what they're going to try and use against you."
Kal wasn't even sure he wanted to know. He made a sound that could have been encouraging, and Batman broke into an actual throaty chuckle.
"They're searching the world for--" he shook his head, "--magicians." Batman snorted incredulously. "What are they going to do, pull bunnies out of hats and throw them at you? Oh, I know--they can conjure up a bunch of scarves and dazzle you until you don't notice their crimes." He shook his dark head. "Honestly. Criminals really are a cowardly and superstitious lot. No wonder I scare the crap out of them."
Kal snorted in echo of Batman's mocking mirth, trying not to show the sudden worry that seized him. Jor-el had had little to say about the alternate quantum worldview humans dismissively called "magic," but everything he had said made it clear that Kal-el wanted little to do with it.
"Well, thanks for the heads-up." He tried to keep his tone light.
"Just thought you'd like to know and be on your guard in case David Copperfield shows up in Metropolis or something. He's a dangerous one. Hoo." He sighed as if he hadn't laughed in a very long time. Which seemed quite likely. "Anything else I can do for you, Superman?" His tone was dry and still slightly mocking.
"You can call me Kal, for starters."
A pause. Superman knew perfectly well why the Dark Knight didn't want to call him by his name, wanted to keep him as a silly title. The silence stretched on. He was almost ready to turn and fly away when the voice came again from the shadows. "Anything else I can do for you...Kal?" Was the tone just a bit less mocking? He was ashamed and alarmed again by how much he wanted it to be.
The human heart is still subject to monstrous deceits.
The human was still waiting for his answer. "I'm keeping track of Luthor here. Wayne's based in your city, your responsibility. Will you keep an eye on him?"
Batman inclined his head gravely. "He does bear watching."
: : :
The cave was cold and clammy, as usual. Bruce rubbed his hands together briskly, then clicked the computer screen to open up the window that showed Clark Kent's hotel room. Nasty little place. His editor couldn't even be bothered to spring for a hotel with Internet access. Kent was hunched over his laptop, typing. Notecards scattered the table. He was frowning in concentration.
Bruce minimized the window. No need to have Kent on his screen all the time if the man wasn't going to do anything interesting. All he ever did was type, read, and sleep. He often came in very late--two or three o'clock, according to the camera logs--but that was probably because he was hitting an all-night Internet café. Clark Kent didn't look to be the kind to be out savoring Gotham's nightlife.
Bruce polished up a few more of the bat-shaped shuriken, checked his lines for flaws and fraying, and did a little repair work on the car. He came back and re-opened the camera feed window. Kent was shuffling though his notes. He glanced at his watch and looked alarmed, then grabbed a suit and went into the bathroom to change.
Bruce found this ingrained habit of changing in the bathroom intriguing. It was a sign of paranoia in a man who otherwise seemed quite stable. Maybe Batman should slip back in and install another camera in the bathroom. He kind of hated to invade the man's privacy at that level without good evidence against him, though.
Kent came out of the bathroom wearing a gray flannel suit--not the most stylish, but he looked passable in it. Which reminded Bruce that he had to change as well. He was supposed to be meeting the reporter in just over an hour.
: : :
Clark paused in front of the gleaming brass doors of "La Lune," the restaurant Wayne had said to meet him at. It looked...stuffy. And pretentious. He really disliked places like this. But if he wanted to get access to the billionaire with Luthor's ear...he sighed and went in.
An obsequious maitre d' immediately ushered him to what had to be the best seat in the restaurant, where Wayne was already waiting for him. The playboy looked utterly at home surrounded by brass and mahogany, lounging in his burgundy chair gracefully, like some kind of exotic cat. He rose to shake Clark's hand. "I hope Gotham's been treating you well, Mr. Kent."
"I have few complaints." Mostly because bedbugs can't get through my skin, fortunately.
Wayne beamed vacantly. "Glad to hear it." He didn't seem much like the intense man Clark had met in the ruins of his house yesterday. An automatic response to different surroundings...or a deliberate, structured persona? And if the latter, why?
They ordered dinner, Clark just picking a couple of items that seemed most edible. After the waiter left, Wayne leaned forward. "Now, Mr. Kent. You said you had information about my business partner? Some reason I shouldn't work with him?"
Clark sighed to himself. "An associate of mine...she witnessed his actions in relation to the crystal continent. Luthor was behind its creation, he was hoping to sell the new continent for real estate."
The man across the table frowned. Oddly, he was more handsome when he frowned than he was with that empty smile. "That's about the craziest scheme I've ever heard of. Doesn't make much practical sense."
"I think his real motivation was more the rush of power, to be honest. The thrill of doing something to see if it could be done, of reshaping the world in your own form."
"Why doesn't your associate come forward with this information?"
"She has no evidence beyond her word, and..." Clark grimaced. "She was technically trespassing at the time. She and her son went onto Luthor's ship without permission and were trapped there. He tried to kill both of them."
Wayne looked incredulous. "She took her son with her trespassing on someone's property? That's practically child endangerment!"
Clark pushed his glasses up on his nose. "She...let's just say she tends to get fixated on a story." Lois... "Anyway, with no evidence, and the fact that she was technically breaking the law herself, she hasn't been able to do much with the information. But it's true, I swear," he assured the billionaire hastily.
The man across the table pursed his lips thoughtfully. "It does fit. And I have suspected as much..." he said reluctantly. He looked at Clark. "I'll take your words under advisement. I...I want you to know that I'd never want to be associated with a project that would hurt people."
"Hurt humans, you mean." He heard the bitterness thread his voice and wished he could call his words back, as dark eyebrows rose in surprise. But he had said them. "Finding something you can stop an alien with...that's a different thing, isn't it?"
Wayne looked at his well-manicured fingernails. "Why does he mean so much to you, Mr. Kent?"
"I'm sorry?"
A level glance from blue eyes, no hint of vapidity now. "I've been doing some research on you. You disappeared from Metropolis just after Superman vanished. Now you're back, and he is too. I think I know what you were off doing for five years."
"You...you do?" Oddly, the emotion he felt was closer to relief than panic, but he didn't have time to look at it closely as Wayne continued.
"You were looking for him, weren't you? You went hunting for him, hoping to find where he had hidden himself. That's what you've been doing for the last five years. Looking for Superman, in all the lonely places in the world an alien might find to hide."
Clark said nothing, knowing that his silence would be taken for assent. It was even true, in some ways.
"So my question is, why? Why do you think he's so important? Why do you trust him? I want to understand."
Clark floundered. "I just--I just think he does what he can to make the world better. He loves humanity. He wishes he could save them all, all the time."
Wayne's hands played with a spoon, staring down at his distorted reflection in the silver. "How can someone with his level of power ever see us as valuable? Aren't we insignificant, unimportant to him?"
This conversation was terribly difficult. "All I can do is judge him by his actions. Does he treat humans like they're valuable?"
Wayne spoke softly. "He left." There it was again, the impassible crystal wall that stood between him and humanity now. He had failed them.
"Maybe he made a mistake."
"Gods can't afford to make mistakes."
"He's no god, Mr. Wayne." He didn't know what else to say anymore. Thankfully the food arrived and derailed the conversation.
Bruce Wayne looked blindly at his plate and started cutting. He was annoyed at how much it upset him that the alien had simply left, after all that hope and all that promise. Further proof that humanity was better off without gods.
"Are you...really going to eat that?" The reporter's voice was mild but clearly disapproving. Bruce looked down at his plate: veal and foie gras.
"Do you have a problem with eating meat, Mr. Kent?"
The other man gestured at his salmon. "Eating meat has its place in the cycle, but I prefer to consume without cruelty when I can. Do you know what is done to make that stuff?" He pointed at the food on Bruce's plate.
Bruce cut off a piece of veal. "I do, as a matter of fact." He speared a piece of foie gras to go with it. "The animals are penned up from birth in the darkness, unable to move freely, and force-fed against their nature." He carefully, deliberately put the food in his mouth, chewed and swallowed. "The results are delicious."
Clark Kent looked at him curiously. "Is it delicious, Mr. Wayne? Really?" He didn't sound accusing, he sounded legitimately wondering.
There was a long pause. Bruce heard his fork clink against the plate with a strange sort of finality. He looked across the table. "No. Actually, it doesn't taste that good at all.
"And why don't you call me Bruce?"
He realized at that moment that he had never seen Clark Kent smile. Because he was certain he would have remembered what it did to his face if he ever had.
"How's about you show me a restaurant in Gotham you actually like...Bruce?"
: : :
Bruce watched Kent--watched Clark--wolf down another slice of mushroom pizza. The neon sign that spelled out "Sal's Pizza" in the window cast flickering light across the reporter's face.
"Better?"
"Much. Thank you." Clark licked his fingers. "So, why are you working with Luthor?"
"Would you believe me if I said it was because I thought he was dangerous and I wanted to keep an eye on him?"
"Nope."
"Okay, honestly, I do believe the world needs some options in case Superman ever goes rogue. We've all seen what Kryptonians like Zod are capable of. Even if Superman is trustworthy, it's good to have a safeguard." Clark looked sad. He was awfully fond of the alien. "But Luthor's clearly dangerous. If I wasn't doing it to keep an eye on him before, I'm certainly doing so now."
Clark reached for another piece of pizza. "Oh. And here I thought you were hoping to get insights into his impeccable fashion sense."
Bruce stared at him. Clark looked innocently back, deadpan. Bruce chuckled despite himself. "Why, Clark Kent, I do believe you've found yourself a sense of humor."
The limpid gaze clouded somewhat. "You know, I used to have a sense of humor. Really I did, I swear. I...think I've misplaced it, recently."
"Wandering the desolate places of the Earth will do that. The isolation, the emptiness." Once the words were out, he suddenly realized they sounded far too knowing, and Clark flashed him a startled glance.
"Exactly. You spent the last five years away from Gotham yourself."
"Totally different." Bruce waved a slice of pizza carelessly, trying to backtrack. "I was carousing across Europe most of the time. Wine, women, and song and all that."
Clark frowned. "Still. It sounds like at your heart, you felt very alone."
For some reason, Bruce couldn't bring himself to gainsay the reporter this time, but he did try to keep his voice light. "Well, that's the human condition, isn't it? Isolation, alienation, we're all alone at the core."
"The human condition." Clark looked at Bruce. "Hm." A pause. "This is...really good pizza."
"The best in Gotham."
"I wouldn't have expected you to know about places like this. Aren't you supposed to be hobnobbing with the upper crust all the time?"
"Gotham's a lot more than crust, and I love all of it. I'll have to show you the best falafel in town sometime." For no very good reason, this sentence made Clark beam again.
It was getting late. He ought to be heading back. Back to work. Back to the cave. He looked at Clark, who was polishing off yet another piece of pizza and sighing happily to himself.
"You've given me some information on Luthor, but I haven't given you much in return."
"You've given me your promise not to trust him, that's enough for me."
"I still feel I owe you more." He smiled winningly at the man across the table.
"So, Clark...how do you feel about a little breaking and entering?"
Disclaimer: The boys belong to DC and to each other, but not to me.
Notes: "Music of the Spheres" is a series set in the combined universes of "Batman Begins" and "Superman Returns." Other stories and notes on the series here.
Rating: G
Summary: Batman stops by Metropolis for some observation and a couple of chats; Bruce and Clark go on a not-a-date.
Word Count: 3082
The ancient philosophers imagined the universe to resemble a complex clockwork consisting of concentric crystalline spheres, nested inside one another, which carried the sun, moon, and planets in their motions and made the “music of the spheres” as they revolved. --Columbia Encyclopedia
Batman managed to find a sliver of shadow among the glaring lights of Metropolis and crouched in it with a sense of relief. He pulled out a pair of binoculars and focused carefully on the rig far out in the bay. Click. Now he could see movement on it. He frowned. Midnight was an odd time to be hanging out on an offshore rig. Click. Slightly more magnification revealed a group of five or six figures. Click. Was one of them Luthor? Click.
A huge red "S."
Batman reared back, dropping the binoculars. Superman caught them effortlessly, handed them back. "Is it my turn tonight?" He cleared his throat theatrically and struck a dramatic pose, reciting in his resonant voice. "'What are you doing here? Get the hell out of my city.'"
"Don't sneak up on me like that."
"I don't 'sneak up on' people. Generally speaking it's pretty obvious when the man in a bright red and blue suit is happening by." Was that the very slight curve of a smile on that too-perfect face? "Unless they happen to be extremely absorbed in something...more interesting." Superman turned to follow Batman's gaze; the almost-smile slipped away.
"Is there something happening on that rig I should be interested in?" said Batman.
"It depends. On why you're interested."
"What do you think Luthor is up to?"
"Luthor and Wayne." The alien said the names as if they went together. Batman stifled a grimace. "They're almost certainly looking for something they can use to harm me."
"Have they found anything?"
"I haven't seen or heard any sign that they have yet. But you're probably thinking to yourself--correctly--that I'd have no reason to tell you if they had."
Batman didn't know exactly what to say to that, so he settled for glaring out over the too-bright city.
Superman tilted his head suddenly to the side, oddly bird-like. "I'm...there's something going on uptown I need to check. Library." He darted away slightly in the air, then stopped. "Would you like to come along?"
Batman snorted. "Why would you need my help?"
"One should never reject help." Another flicker of something like a smile. "Besides, you did say you wanted to understand me better. Live-action would be better than tape, don't you think?"
Batman silently readied a grapple as his answer. He launched himself from the rooftop as the Kryptonian sailed away.
: : :
"Just how fast do you think he's capable of moving?" Batman's voice was conversational as he watched the street below. The man he was addressing said nothing. Nothing coherent, at least.
"Even rocket launchers do nothing at all to him. Very impressive, don't you agree?" Batman reached out and gave a light push to the man who was hanging upside down next to him, propelling him out over the thirty-story drop for a moment. "Honestly, I can't imagine why you people even bother."
The hanging man glared at Batman. They had reached the crime scene to find members of what was probably Intergang trying to break into an library by blowing the doors off. Superman had taken care of the falling debris and the robbers in the library proper, and now was mopping up--where had Intergang gotten a tank? Not that it seemed to be doing them any good.
In the chaos, Batman had noticed one particularly greasy-looking mook trying to slip away. Said ringleader was now dangling by his feet and engaged in a rather one-sided conversation with Batman about the futility of being a villain in Metropolis. He gibbered something, caught his breath, and managed a fully coherent utterance. The man did have some guts.
"We're not total saps, you know! We got plans. Contingency plans."
Batman moved until his face was very near the gang member's face. He smiled. The other man blanched.
"What kind of contingency plans?"
: : :
Superman dropped off a tank full of criminals, sealed shut like a sardine can, at the police station. He noted the slimy-looking man trussed up neatly on the steps. Batman had apparently been busy. He went back to the building where he had found the other man earlier, not really expecting to find him there now. To his surprise, there was a black shape standing on the roof, a Gothic shape incongruous against the stark Art Deco lines of the building.
"Thanks for the help."
"My pleasure." Batman's mouth was curved in what was unmistakably a smile. It looked...odd. Though not unpleasant. "You won't believe what they're going to try and use against you."
Kal wasn't even sure he wanted to know. He made a sound that could have been encouraging, and Batman broke into an actual throaty chuckle.
"They're searching the world for--" he shook his head, "--magicians." Batman snorted incredulously. "What are they going to do, pull bunnies out of hats and throw them at you? Oh, I know--they can conjure up a bunch of scarves and dazzle you until you don't notice their crimes." He shook his dark head. "Honestly. Criminals really are a cowardly and superstitious lot. No wonder I scare the crap out of them."
Kal snorted in echo of Batman's mocking mirth, trying not to show the sudden worry that seized him. Jor-el had had little to say about the alternate quantum worldview humans dismissively called "magic," but everything he had said made it clear that Kal-el wanted little to do with it.
"Well, thanks for the heads-up." He tried to keep his tone light.
"Just thought you'd like to know and be on your guard in case David Copperfield shows up in Metropolis or something. He's a dangerous one. Hoo." He sighed as if he hadn't laughed in a very long time. Which seemed quite likely. "Anything else I can do for you, Superman?" His tone was dry and still slightly mocking.
"You can call me Kal, for starters."
A pause. Superman knew perfectly well why the Dark Knight didn't want to call him by his name, wanted to keep him as a silly title. The silence stretched on. He was almost ready to turn and fly away when the voice came again from the shadows. "Anything else I can do for you...Kal?" Was the tone just a bit less mocking? He was ashamed and alarmed again by how much he wanted it to be.
The human heart is still subject to monstrous deceits.
The human was still waiting for his answer. "I'm keeping track of Luthor here. Wayne's based in your city, your responsibility. Will you keep an eye on him?"
Batman inclined his head gravely. "He does bear watching."
: : :
The cave was cold and clammy, as usual. Bruce rubbed his hands together briskly, then clicked the computer screen to open up the window that showed Clark Kent's hotel room. Nasty little place. His editor couldn't even be bothered to spring for a hotel with Internet access. Kent was hunched over his laptop, typing. Notecards scattered the table. He was frowning in concentration.
Bruce minimized the window. No need to have Kent on his screen all the time if the man wasn't going to do anything interesting. All he ever did was type, read, and sleep. He often came in very late--two or three o'clock, according to the camera logs--but that was probably because he was hitting an all-night Internet café. Clark Kent didn't look to be the kind to be out savoring Gotham's nightlife.
Bruce polished up a few more of the bat-shaped shuriken, checked his lines for flaws and fraying, and did a little repair work on the car. He came back and re-opened the camera feed window. Kent was shuffling though his notes. He glanced at his watch and looked alarmed, then grabbed a suit and went into the bathroom to change.
Bruce found this ingrained habit of changing in the bathroom intriguing. It was a sign of paranoia in a man who otherwise seemed quite stable. Maybe Batman should slip back in and install another camera in the bathroom. He kind of hated to invade the man's privacy at that level without good evidence against him, though.
Kent came out of the bathroom wearing a gray flannel suit--not the most stylish, but he looked passable in it. Which reminded Bruce that he had to change as well. He was supposed to be meeting the reporter in just over an hour.
: : :
Clark paused in front of the gleaming brass doors of "La Lune," the restaurant Wayne had said to meet him at. It looked...stuffy. And pretentious. He really disliked places like this. But if he wanted to get access to the billionaire with Luthor's ear...he sighed and went in.
An obsequious maitre d' immediately ushered him to what had to be the best seat in the restaurant, where Wayne was already waiting for him. The playboy looked utterly at home surrounded by brass and mahogany, lounging in his burgundy chair gracefully, like some kind of exotic cat. He rose to shake Clark's hand. "I hope Gotham's been treating you well, Mr. Kent."
"I have few complaints." Mostly because bedbugs can't get through my skin, fortunately.
Wayne beamed vacantly. "Glad to hear it." He didn't seem much like the intense man Clark had met in the ruins of his house yesterday. An automatic response to different surroundings...or a deliberate, structured persona? And if the latter, why?
They ordered dinner, Clark just picking a couple of items that seemed most edible. After the waiter left, Wayne leaned forward. "Now, Mr. Kent. You said you had information about my business partner? Some reason I shouldn't work with him?"
Clark sighed to himself. "An associate of mine...she witnessed his actions in relation to the crystal continent. Luthor was behind its creation, he was hoping to sell the new continent for real estate."
The man across the table frowned. Oddly, he was more handsome when he frowned than he was with that empty smile. "That's about the craziest scheme I've ever heard of. Doesn't make much practical sense."
"I think his real motivation was more the rush of power, to be honest. The thrill of doing something to see if it could be done, of reshaping the world in your own form."
"Why doesn't your associate come forward with this information?"
"She has no evidence beyond her word, and..." Clark grimaced. "She was technically trespassing at the time. She and her son went onto Luthor's ship without permission and were trapped there. He tried to kill both of them."
Wayne looked incredulous. "She took her son with her trespassing on someone's property? That's practically child endangerment!"
Clark pushed his glasses up on his nose. "She...let's just say she tends to get fixated on a story." Lois... "Anyway, with no evidence, and the fact that she was technically breaking the law herself, she hasn't been able to do much with the information. But it's true, I swear," he assured the billionaire hastily.
The man across the table pursed his lips thoughtfully. "It does fit. And I have suspected as much..." he said reluctantly. He looked at Clark. "I'll take your words under advisement. I...I want you to know that I'd never want to be associated with a project that would hurt people."
"Hurt humans, you mean." He heard the bitterness thread his voice and wished he could call his words back, as dark eyebrows rose in surprise. But he had said them. "Finding something you can stop an alien with...that's a different thing, isn't it?"
Wayne looked at his well-manicured fingernails. "Why does he mean so much to you, Mr. Kent?"
"I'm sorry?"
A level glance from blue eyes, no hint of vapidity now. "I've been doing some research on you. You disappeared from Metropolis just after Superman vanished. Now you're back, and he is too. I think I know what you were off doing for five years."
"You...you do?" Oddly, the emotion he felt was closer to relief than panic, but he didn't have time to look at it closely as Wayne continued.
"You were looking for him, weren't you? You went hunting for him, hoping to find where he had hidden himself. That's what you've been doing for the last five years. Looking for Superman, in all the lonely places in the world an alien might find to hide."
Clark said nothing, knowing that his silence would be taken for assent. It was even true, in some ways.
"So my question is, why? Why do you think he's so important? Why do you trust him? I want to understand."
Clark floundered. "I just--I just think he does what he can to make the world better. He loves humanity. He wishes he could save them all, all the time."
Wayne's hands played with a spoon, staring down at his distorted reflection in the silver. "How can someone with his level of power ever see us as valuable? Aren't we insignificant, unimportant to him?"
This conversation was terribly difficult. "All I can do is judge him by his actions. Does he treat humans like they're valuable?"
Wayne spoke softly. "He left." There it was again, the impassible crystal wall that stood between him and humanity now. He had failed them.
"Maybe he made a mistake."
"Gods can't afford to make mistakes."
"He's no god, Mr. Wayne." He didn't know what else to say anymore. Thankfully the food arrived and derailed the conversation.
Bruce Wayne looked blindly at his plate and started cutting. He was annoyed at how much it upset him that the alien had simply left, after all that hope and all that promise. Further proof that humanity was better off without gods.
"Are you...really going to eat that?" The reporter's voice was mild but clearly disapproving. Bruce looked down at his plate: veal and foie gras.
"Do you have a problem with eating meat, Mr. Kent?"
The other man gestured at his salmon. "Eating meat has its place in the cycle, but I prefer to consume without cruelty when I can. Do you know what is done to make that stuff?" He pointed at the food on Bruce's plate.
Bruce cut off a piece of veal. "I do, as a matter of fact." He speared a piece of foie gras to go with it. "The animals are penned up from birth in the darkness, unable to move freely, and force-fed against their nature." He carefully, deliberately put the food in his mouth, chewed and swallowed. "The results are delicious."
Clark Kent looked at him curiously. "Is it delicious, Mr. Wayne? Really?" He didn't sound accusing, he sounded legitimately wondering.
There was a long pause. Bruce heard his fork clink against the plate with a strange sort of finality. He looked across the table. "No. Actually, it doesn't taste that good at all.
"And why don't you call me Bruce?"
He realized at that moment that he had never seen Clark Kent smile. Because he was certain he would have remembered what it did to his face if he ever had.
"How's about you show me a restaurant in Gotham you actually like...Bruce?"
: : :
Bruce watched Kent--watched Clark--wolf down another slice of mushroom pizza. The neon sign that spelled out "Sal's Pizza" in the window cast flickering light across the reporter's face.
"Better?"
"Much. Thank you." Clark licked his fingers. "So, why are you working with Luthor?"
"Would you believe me if I said it was because I thought he was dangerous and I wanted to keep an eye on him?"
"Nope."
"Okay, honestly, I do believe the world needs some options in case Superman ever goes rogue. We've all seen what Kryptonians like Zod are capable of. Even if Superman is trustworthy, it's good to have a safeguard." Clark looked sad. He was awfully fond of the alien. "But Luthor's clearly dangerous. If I wasn't doing it to keep an eye on him before, I'm certainly doing so now."
Clark reached for another piece of pizza. "Oh. And here I thought you were hoping to get insights into his impeccable fashion sense."
Bruce stared at him. Clark looked innocently back, deadpan. Bruce chuckled despite himself. "Why, Clark Kent, I do believe you've found yourself a sense of humor."
The limpid gaze clouded somewhat. "You know, I used to have a sense of humor. Really I did, I swear. I...think I've misplaced it, recently."
"Wandering the desolate places of the Earth will do that. The isolation, the emptiness." Once the words were out, he suddenly realized they sounded far too knowing, and Clark flashed him a startled glance.
"Exactly. You spent the last five years away from Gotham yourself."
"Totally different." Bruce waved a slice of pizza carelessly, trying to backtrack. "I was carousing across Europe most of the time. Wine, women, and song and all that."
Clark frowned. "Still. It sounds like at your heart, you felt very alone."
For some reason, Bruce couldn't bring himself to gainsay the reporter this time, but he did try to keep his voice light. "Well, that's the human condition, isn't it? Isolation, alienation, we're all alone at the core."
"The human condition." Clark looked at Bruce. "Hm." A pause. "This is...really good pizza."
"The best in Gotham."
"I wouldn't have expected you to know about places like this. Aren't you supposed to be hobnobbing with the upper crust all the time?"
"Gotham's a lot more than crust, and I love all of it. I'll have to show you the best falafel in town sometime." For no very good reason, this sentence made Clark beam again.
It was getting late. He ought to be heading back. Back to work. Back to the cave. He looked at Clark, who was polishing off yet another piece of pizza and sighing happily to himself.
"You've given me some information on Luthor, but I haven't given you much in return."
"You've given me your promise not to trust him, that's enough for me."
"I still feel I owe you more." He smiled winningly at the man across the table.
"So, Clark...how do you feel about a little breaking and entering?"