FIC: So Lengthy a Session With Shade
Title: So Lengthy a Session With Shade
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Rating: PG
Warnings: None needed
Word Count: 2500Summary: An impulsive kiss leads to a confrontation and a realization.
Notes: Happy very belated birthday to the wonderful hitokaji ! She asked for "Clark confess his love to Bruce. Bruce rejects Clark. Clark is heart-broken. Bruce learns how he feels the same way with Clark." Thanks for all of your lovely art and your wonderful presence on my flist! Also thanks to damos for beta work above and beyond the call of duty, making this more co-written than usual. :)
And if sun comes
How shall we greet him?
Shall we not dread him,
Shall we not fear him
After so lengthy a
Session with shade?
--Gwendolyn Brooks
“B, are you sure you don’t need backup?”
Batman dodged a vicious punch from Harley Quinn, throwing himself to the side. “I’m fine, O.” Her foot connected with his side, and he grunted. The Gotham skyline whirled around him, forty stories up. His leg muscles burned with exhaustion.
“I’m just saying that you’ve taken on the Penguin, Clayface, the Scarecrow, Killer Croc, Mad Hatter and a small army of his mind-controlled minions, and Two-Face in the last five hours, and you might, you know, want a little assistance taking on Harley and Joker at the same time.”
“I’m fine.” Acid sizzled against the side of his cowl. Batman took the opportunity to slam his head against Harley and was gratified to hear her yelp as the acid-drenched leather whacked her.
“Massive Arkham breakouts don’t usually happen when Nightwing and Robin are both on different continents, B. I really think--”
A cackle behind him warned him enough to drop. A corrosive scent of gunpowder, a glancing impact to the side of his head, hard enough to leave the world swinging dizzily. He lashed out, felt a snapping of bone beneath his hand and heard the Joker’s howl of outraged pain.
Then Harley’s foot took him square in the chest. He staggered backward, just two steps.
One step too many.
Air beneath his feet. He released a grapple, heard Harley snarl and bat it out of the air with a metallic ching, and then he was falling.
“B! B! Ah hell--” Oracle’s voice cut off and left him in silence, falling faster, nothing to break it.
And then there were arms around him, stopping his fall so gently that he didn’t even catch his breath. Summer-blue eyes full of concern, dark hair framed by scarlet cloth caught in the wind. Superman’s face was stricken, sharp as a blade with worry, a blade that pierced Bruce through. “I almost didn’t--” Clark murmured, and then suddenly bent his head and brushed a kiss across Bruce's lips, a light touch that deepened quickly into something else, something that made the skyline careen wildly around Bruce, made his chest tighten like he was in deep water, too deep, too fast, no air. He was gasping when the kiss ended, but Clark’s face was bright and open as ever, limned with a joy that was almost terrifying in its beauty.
“Get me back to Joker,” Bruce growled.
“You’re hurt--” Superman stopped and shrugged, still smiling as if he would never stop again. “Okay. Let’s get them.”
He swooped back to the rooftop where Joker was cursing and swatting at a solicitous Harley, dropping Batman lightly in front of the pair. “You take Quinn,” said Batman. “Joker is mine.”
Harley put up a surprisingly good fight against Superman, but he had her wrapped in scrap-metal handcuffs by the time Batman had finished with the Joker. Batman lit a flare, dropped it next to them on the roof. “I’m fine,” he said for the third time that night, brushing off Superman’s support. “I don’t need your--”
He didn’t get to finish the sentence; the world grayed around the edges as exhaustion, injury and shock caught up with him, and his knees started to buckle. He felt Superman scoop him up, felt the world drop away below him, far and small.
The memory of that kiss was a small, bright light that followed him into the dark, a cinder that burned his dreams.
: : :
There was a sensation of someone stroking his hair, smoothing it back from his forehead. He opened his eyes to find himself on a cot in the cave, his cowl off.
He struggled upward, pulling on his cowl as he did. He wasn’t sure he liked to think of Superman stripping it off him while he was unconscious, watching his naked face in sleep.
Clark was looking at him, still smiling slightly. “Welcome back,” he said.
He seemed to be waiting for something. “Thank you,” Batman said at last, grudgingly.
The smile widened. “Alfred is making dinner, he asked me to get you upstairs when you felt up to it. Shall I change to civilian clothes first?”
Bruce heard leather creak and unclenched his fists. “Alfred isn’t responsible for the dinner invitations here.”
For the first time, Clark’s placid certainty slipped a notch. “I’m sorry. I just thought that I might be staying. I mean, after what happened--”
“After you kissed me?”
A short pause. “You kissed me back,” Clark said, his tone even. The smile was still there, hovering around his lips, waiting for an excuse to blossom back into radiance.
“Adrenaline,” Batman said. “Mixed with natural gratitude.” He shook his head as Clark hesitated. “Let it go, Clark.”
“Let it go?” The smile was entirely gone now, the handsome face like a gathering thunderstorm. Bruce thought of Zeus, of lightning. “After you kiss me like that--after years of--of--”
“Years of what?” Bruce felt something tightening his chest. “Can you not tell the difference between friendship and flirting? Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Nothing so light as flirting, and you know it.” Superman’s face was rigid with rage. “But we had--I understood that we--” His fists clenched and he hissed a breath between his teeth. For a moment he looked angry enough that Batman thought he might throw a punch at him.
Bruce didn’t realize that he’d glanced over at the vault holding the Kryptonite ring until he saw Clark’s face go entirely bleak, devoid of anything but fury. “That’s what you think of me,” Clark said between gritted teeth. “That’s what you think of me.”
Batman said nothing.
Superman took a deep breath. “Then I’ll go,” he said.
“That would be best,” Bruce said.
The cave was empty.
After a while, Bruce struggled to his feet. He scanned the cave, checked the security. He was alone. A sense of vast relief washed over him. That was best. It was safest to be alone. He couldn’t--
He couldn’t--
His legs were trembling with exhaustion as he stripped off the costume and headed to the shower. The cave swung in strange loops and the distant whisper of the bats sounded alien and threatening. He drowned them out with the rush of hot water.
He braced his hands against the shower wall, letting scalding water sluice over his body, washing away grime and sweat. Dimly, as if from a great distance, he realized he was shaking, his heart pounding. He heard himself taking a whooping gulp of air, then another as delayed reaction ratcheted through his body.
He had been afraid of Superman, he realized with a dim, remote sense of wonder. For some reason that was a strange thought, to be afraid of a man able to tow moons and fight archangels. Who wouldn’t be terrified of that, of being loved by such a being, like sharing a bed with a star in naked glory, merciless and pure, burning all to ash...
He had been afraid.
His side stung sharply and curls of pink faded into the water at Bruce’s feet. He didn’t remember getting cut.
He was still afraid.
There was a long, thin line down his side, beading with blood now that the scab had washed away. When had he gotten cut tonight?
This is important, part of him said. Bruce struggled to put aside the vision of Superman with his eyes blazing red and focus past the panic reaction. Killer Croc had talons, Two Face and Penguin had bullets, Clayface bludgeons, Hatter’s minions only their mad hands and feet. Someone had cut him with a fine, thin blade.
A scythe.
He saw it again, the feint and cut, the curving silver blade skimming by him. A scythe.
Wielded by the Scarecrow.
His blood in crimson curls across the tile.
He had been afraid. Afraid of Clark. He was afraid now.
No.
He staggered out of the shower soaking wet, shoving dripping hair back to grab a towel and head for the medical lab. He drew a vial of blood. Put a drop on a slide and fed it to the machine. Shaking in the cold, damp air, water pooling around his bare feet. No.
The results came back. He knew the familiar curves and spikes in the readout at a glance. He held the vial in his hand for a long moment.
In a swift, furious motion, he hurled it at the wall of the cave, shattering it.
Then he prepared the anti-toxin and injected himself.
He watched dully as his blood dripped down the wall of the cave, watched until his heart stopped pounding and his limbs stopped trembling. The irrational fear backed away, to be replaced by a different kind of dread. No use avoiding it.
He punched up the surveillance footage of the last two hours, rewatched the conversation he’d just had with Superman.
“After you kiss me like that--after years of--of--” Clark’s face on the screen, his voice in the speakers, were nothing like Bruce remembered them. His stammering wasn’t building rage, it was confusion. His face held no fury, only pain. When Batman’s gaze flicked toward the vault, the pain had shifted into a moment of incandescent desolation. After that it had been only the superhero mask, the face Superman always wore after a fight, when he was broken and bleeding inside and didn’t want anyone on his team to know. “That’s what you think of me,” the Clark on the screen murmured, his voice distant. “That’s what you think of me.”
And he was gone once more.
Bruce was shaking again, not with fear now. Nor with cold, although he realized dimly he was still dripping wet and wearing only a towel in the chill of the cave. I must look ridiculous. The thought was lucid and ironic and seemed to have nothing at all to do with the part of him that was trembling so hard he could barely stand. Ridiculous.
“Batman.” The voice from the speakers was Green Lantern’s. “We’ve got a situation in Star City.”
“What kind of situation?” It was amazing how easily he could call up the necessary voice, crisp and efficient.
“A big one. Reports of up to twenty top-tier villains working together. Grodd, Giganta, Doctor Light, Captain Cold, Toyman, Deathstroke, Silver Banshee, Livewire--a lot more. Superman and Wonder Woman are already on the scene.”
He was already pulling on the suit over clammy skin. As he buckled the boots he was pleased to see the tremors in his hands were almost gone. “Teleport now,” he said.
The cave faded away and he was in the middle of chaos. Superman and Solomon Grundy were slugging it out, with a cackling Toyman hurling exploding cymbal-clapping monkeys in for good measure. Batman knocked a few of the monkeys out of the air with batarangs before they could reach Superman. “On your left,” he said as he fell into place next to Superman.
Superman grunted and blocked a punch from Grundy.
Batman parried a razor-edged slinkie. He hated fighting Toyman. Superman staggered against him, then lurched away. Batman tried to find that still center in the vortex the two of them always seemed to create, the place of calm where their movements were in perfect sync. But it was no good, of course. They weren’t in sync, and every motion felt like ripping at a scab that wasn’t healed. Superman fought cleanly, calmly, devoid of rage--but he wouldn’t meet Batman’s eyes, and there was no point left where their souls could pivot on the edge of danger together. Another slinkie whirred past Batman’s head and he felt the coils catch at his shoulder, tearing cloth. Too dangerous. Someone was going to get hurt.
Well. If it couldn’t wait, it couldn’t wait. Perhaps it was just as well, Batman thought as Toyman was scooped up by Wonder Woman and replaced by Captain Cold.
“Fear toxin!” he yelled over the whine of Cold’s gun.
Superman spared him the briefest of glances as Grundy regrouped from a throw. “What?”
“Scarecrow hit me with fear toxin. I was under its effect. Just took anti-toxin.” Better to keep things simple for now, unembellished by grief or regret.
Grundy was charging at Superman, howling. Superman stepped deftly out of the way and used Grundy’s momentum to hurl him so far that he was only a dot on the horizon. “Oh come on,” Superman growled. “Fear toxin? That’s convenient.”
Batman kicked Cold’s pistol away; Cold immediately pulled some insane contraption off his back and started shooting icy rays everywhere. Bruce set his teeth in annoyance--not at the ice rays. “Convenient? You’re the one who gets mind controlled and attacks me every few months. You could cut me a little slack when it’s my turn.”
A short pause while Batman dropped to the ground to dodge a shimmering beam. Then Superman began--unexpectedly, unbelievably--to laugh. An apoplectic Cold leveled the beam at Batman again, but Superman stepped in front of him and intercepted it, holding his cape up before his face like a shield. Ice rimed the edges of the scarlet cloth as Clark looked down at Bruce. “You’d never use a pathetic excuse like that if it wasn’t true,” he said, holding out his hand to Batman to help him up. “So you’re telling me you were afraid of me?” His tone was quizzical.
Bruce took his hand and let himself be hauled upward. From the other side of the cape the cold gun let out a sad little wheeze and gave up. “Of what you represent,” Batman said.
And there it was, in the middle of battle; Clark met his eyes and the world clicked back into place, they were in sync again. “And what do I represent?” Superman asked, flicking his cape to the side for an instant so Batman could hurl a batarang and knock out Captain Cold. He was almost smiling again, his voice bantering, his eyes full of affection.
Batman wanted to match his tone, but a sudden flash of memory--Clark’s face on the monitor, desolate and lost--made it impossible. Instead he cast his cape around Superman and quickly kissed him, black and scarlet cloth swirling like veils around them, blocking out the battle for an instant.
The kiss ended as the veils dropped, revealing Deathstroke, Copperhead, Lady Shiva, Heat Wave, and Black Manta charging at them from some distance. Superman was smiling now. “This could be a challenge,” he noted.
He could have been talking about the villains.
“I’m not afraid,” Batman said.
He could also have been referring to the villains.
“Of course not,” said Superman. “Kiss me again before they reach us.”
Batman did.
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Rating: PG
Warnings: None needed
Word Count: 2500Summary: An impulsive kiss leads to a confrontation and a realization.
Notes: Happy very belated birthday to the wonderful hitokaji ! She asked for "Clark confess his love to Bruce. Bruce rejects Clark. Clark is heart-broken. Bruce learns how he feels the same way with Clark." Thanks for all of your lovely art and your wonderful presence on my flist! Also thanks to damos for beta work above and beyond the call of duty, making this more co-written than usual. :)
And if sun comes
How shall we greet him?
Shall we not dread him,
Shall we not fear him
After so lengthy a
Session with shade?
--Gwendolyn Brooks
“B, are you sure you don’t need backup?”
Batman dodged a vicious punch from Harley Quinn, throwing himself to the side. “I’m fine, O.” Her foot connected with his side, and he grunted. The Gotham skyline whirled around him, forty stories up. His leg muscles burned with exhaustion.
“I’m just saying that you’ve taken on the Penguin, Clayface, the Scarecrow, Killer Croc, Mad Hatter and a small army of his mind-controlled minions, and Two-Face in the last five hours, and you might, you know, want a little assistance taking on Harley and Joker at the same time.”
“I’m fine.” Acid sizzled against the side of his cowl. Batman took the opportunity to slam his head against Harley and was gratified to hear her yelp as the acid-drenched leather whacked her.
“Massive Arkham breakouts don’t usually happen when Nightwing and Robin are both on different continents, B. I really think--”
A cackle behind him warned him enough to drop. A corrosive scent of gunpowder, a glancing impact to the side of his head, hard enough to leave the world swinging dizzily. He lashed out, felt a snapping of bone beneath his hand and heard the Joker’s howl of outraged pain.
Then Harley’s foot took him square in the chest. He staggered backward, just two steps.
One step too many.
Air beneath his feet. He released a grapple, heard Harley snarl and bat it out of the air with a metallic ching, and then he was falling.
“B! B! Ah hell--” Oracle’s voice cut off and left him in silence, falling faster, nothing to break it.
And then there were arms around him, stopping his fall so gently that he didn’t even catch his breath. Summer-blue eyes full of concern, dark hair framed by scarlet cloth caught in the wind. Superman’s face was stricken, sharp as a blade with worry, a blade that pierced Bruce through. “I almost didn’t--” Clark murmured, and then suddenly bent his head and brushed a kiss across Bruce's lips, a light touch that deepened quickly into something else, something that made the skyline careen wildly around Bruce, made his chest tighten like he was in deep water, too deep, too fast, no air. He was gasping when the kiss ended, but Clark’s face was bright and open as ever, limned with a joy that was almost terrifying in its beauty.
“Get me back to Joker,” Bruce growled.
“You’re hurt--” Superman stopped and shrugged, still smiling as if he would never stop again. “Okay. Let’s get them.”
He swooped back to the rooftop where Joker was cursing and swatting at a solicitous Harley, dropping Batman lightly in front of the pair. “You take Quinn,” said Batman. “Joker is mine.”
Harley put up a surprisingly good fight against Superman, but he had her wrapped in scrap-metal handcuffs by the time Batman had finished with the Joker. Batman lit a flare, dropped it next to them on the roof. “I’m fine,” he said for the third time that night, brushing off Superman’s support. “I don’t need your--”
He didn’t get to finish the sentence; the world grayed around the edges as exhaustion, injury and shock caught up with him, and his knees started to buckle. He felt Superman scoop him up, felt the world drop away below him, far and small.
The memory of that kiss was a small, bright light that followed him into the dark, a cinder that burned his dreams.
: : :
There was a sensation of someone stroking his hair, smoothing it back from his forehead. He opened his eyes to find himself on a cot in the cave, his cowl off.
He struggled upward, pulling on his cowl as he did. He wasn’t sure he liked to think of Superman stripping it off him while he was unconscious, watching his naked face in sleep.
Clark was looking at him, still smiling slightly. “Welcome back,” he said.
He seemed to be waiting for something. “Thank you,” Batman said at last, grudgingly.
The smile widened. “Alfred is making dinner, he asked me to get you upstairs when you felt up to it. Shall I change to civilian clothes first?”
Bruce heard leather creak and unclenched his fists. “Alfred isn’t responsible for the dinner invitations here.”
For the first time, Clark’s placid certainty slipped a notch. “I’m sorry. I just thought that I might be staying. I mean, after what happened--”
“After you kissed me?”
A short pause. “You kissed me back,” Clark said, his tone even. The smile was still there, hovering around his lips, waiting for an excuse to blossom back into radiance.
“Adrenaline,” Batman said. “Mixed with natural gratitude.” He shook his head as Clark hesitated. “Let it go, Clark.”
“Let it go?” The smile was entirely gone now, the handsome face like a gathering thunderstorm. Bruce thought of Zeus, of lightning. “After you kiss me like that--after years of--of--”
“Years of what?” Bruce felt something tightening his chest. “Can you not tell the difference between friendship and flirting? Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Nothing so light as flirting, and you know it.” Superman’s face was rigid with rage. “But we had--I understood that we--” His fists clenched and he hissed a breath between his teeth. For a moment he looked angry enough that Batman thought he might throw a punch at him.
Bruce didn’t realize that he’d glanced over at the vault holding the Kryptonite ring until he saw Clark’s face go entirely bleak, devoid of anything but fury. “That’s what you think of me,” Clark said between gritted teeth. “That’s what you think of me.”
Batman said nothing.
Superman took a deep breath. “Then I’ll go,” he said.
“That would be best,” Bruce said.
The cave was empty.
After a while, Bruce struggled to his feet. He scanned the cave, checked the security. He was alone. A sense of vast relief washed over him. That was best. It was safest to be alone. He couldn’t--
He couldn’t--
His legs were trembling with exhaustion as he stripped off the costume and headed to the shower. The cave swung in strange loops and the distant whisper of the bats sounded alien and threatening. He drowned them out with the rush of hot water.
He braced his hands against the shower wall, letting scalding water sluice over his body, washing away grime and sweat. Dimly, as if from a great distance, he realized he was shaking, his heart pounding. He heard himself taking a whooping gulp of air, then another as delayed reaction ratcheted through his body.
He had been afraid of Superman, he realized with a dim, remote sense of wonder. For some reason that was a strange thought, to be afraid of a man able to tow moons and fight archangels. Who wouldn’t be terrified of that, of being loved by such a being, like sharing a bed with a star in naked glory, merciless and pure, burning all to ash...
He had been afraid.
His side stung sharply and curls of pink faded into the water at Bruce’s feet. He didn’t remember getting cut.
He was still afraid.
There was a long, thin line down his side, beading with blood now that the scab had washed away. When had he gotten cut tonight?
This is important, part of him said. Bruce struggled to put aside the vision of Superman with his eyes blazing red and focus past the panic reaction. Killer Croc had talons, Two Face and Penguin had bullets, Clayface bludgeons, Hatter’s minions only their mad hands and feet. Someone had cut him with a fine, thin blade.
A scythe.
He saw it again, the feint and cut, the curving silver blade skimming by him. A scythe.
Wielded by the Scarecrow.
His blood in crimson curls across the tile.
He had been afraid. Afraid of Clark. He was afraid now.
No.
He staggered out of the shower soaking wet, shoving dripping hair back to grab a towel and head for the medical lab. He drew a vial of blood. Put a drop on a slide and fed it to the machine. Shaking in the cold, damp air, water pooling around his bare feet. No.
The results came back. He knew the familiar curves and spikes in the readout at a glance. He held the vial in his hand for a long moment.
In a swift, furious motion, he hurled it at the wall of the cave, shattering it.
Then he prepared the anti-toxin and injected himself.
He watched dully as his blood dripped down the wall of the cave, watched until his heart stopped pounding and his limbs stopped trembling. The irrational fear backed away, to be replaced by a different kind of dread. No use avoiding it.
He punched up the surveillance footage of the last two hours, rewatched the conversation he’d just had with Superman.
“After you kiss me like that--after years of--of--” Clark’s face on the screen, his voice in the speakers, were nothing like Bruce remembered them. His stammering wasn’t building rage, it was confusion. His face held no fury, only pain. When Batman’s gaze flicked toward the vault, the pain had shifted into a moment of incandescent desolation. After that it had been only the superhero mask, the face Superman always wore after a fight, when he was broken and bleeding inside and didn’t want anyone on his team to know. “That’s what you think of me,” the Clark on the screen murmured, his voice distant. “That’s what you think of me.”
And he was gone once more.
Bruce was shaking again, not with fear now. Nor with cold, although he realized dimly he was still dripping wet and wearing only a towel in the chill of the cave. I must look ridiculous. The thought was lucid and ironic and seemed to have nothing at all to do with the part of him that was trembling so hard he could barely stand. Ridiculous.
“Batman.” The voice from the speakers was Green Lantern’s. “We’ve got a situation in Star City.”
“What kind of situation?” It was amazing how easily he could call up the necessary voice, crisp and efficient.
“A big one. Reports of up to twenty top-tier villains working together. Grodd, Giganta, Doctor Light, Captain Cold, Toyman, Deathstroke, Silver Banshee, Livewire--a lot more. Superman and Wonder Woman are already on the scene.”
He was already pulling on the suit over clammy skin. As he buckled the boots he was pleased to see the tremors in his hands were almost gone. “Teleport now,” he said.
The cave faded away and he was in the middle of chaos. Superman and Solomon Grundy were slugging it out, with a cackling Toyman hurling exploding cymbal-clapping monkeys in for good measure. Batman knocked a few of the monkeys out of the air with batarangs before they could reach Superman. “On your left,” he said as he fell into place next to Superman.
Superman grunted and blocked a punch from Grundy.
Batman parried a razor-edged slinkie. He hated fighting Toyman. Superman staggered against him, then lurched away. Batman tried to find that still center in the vortex the two of them always seemed to create, the place of calm where their movements were in perfect sync. But it was no good, of course. They weren’t in sync, and every motion felt like ripping at a scab that wasn’t healed. Superman fought cleanly, calmly, devoid of rage--but he wouldn’t meet Batman’s eyes, and there was no point left where their souls could pivot on the edge of danger together. Another slinkie whirred past Batman’s head and he felt the coils catch at his shoulder, tearing cloth. Too dangerous. Someone was going to get hurt.
Well. If it couldn’t wait, it couldn’t wait. Perhaps it was just as well, Batman thought as Toyman was scooped up by Wonder Woman and replaced by Captain Cold.
“Fear toxin!” he yelled over the whine of Cold’s gun.
Superman spared him the briefest of glances as Grundy regrouped from a throw. “What?”
“Scarecrow hit me with fear toxin. I was under its effect. Just took anti-toxin.” Better to keep things simple for now, unembellished by grief or regret.
Grundy was charging at Superman, howling. Superman stepped deftly out of the way and used Grundy’s momentum to hurl him so far that he was only a dot on the horizon. “Oh come on,” Superman growled. “Fear toxin? That’s convenient.”
Batman kicked Cold’s pistol away; Cold immediately pulled some insane contraption off his back and started shooting icy rays everywhere. Bruce set his teeth in annoyance--not at the ice rays. “Convenient? You’re the one who gets mind controlled and attacks me every few months. You could cut me a little slack when it’s my turn.”
A short pause while Batman dropped to the ground to dodge a shimmering beam. Then Superman began--unexpectedly, unbelievably--to laugh. An apoplectic Cold leveled the beam at Batman again, but Superman stepped in front of him and intercepted it, holding his cape up before his face like a shield. Ice rimed the edges of the scarlet cloth as Clark looked down at Bruce. “You’d never use a pathetic excuse like that if it wasn’t true,” he said, holding out his hand to Batman to help him up. “So you’re telling me you were afraid of me?” His tone was quizzical.
Bruce took his hand and let himself be hauled upward. From the other side of the cape the cold gun let out a sad little wheeze and gave up. “Of what you represent,” Batman said.
And there it was, in the middle of battle; Clark met his eyes and the world clicked back into place, they were in sync again. “And what do I represent?” Superman asked, flicking his cape to the side for an instant so Batman could hurl a batarang and knock out Captain Cold. He was almost smiling again, his voice bantering, his eyes full of affection.
Batman wanted to match his tone, but a sudden flash of memory--Clark’s face on the monitor, desolate and lost--made it impossible. Instead he cast his cape around Superman and quickly kissed him, black and scarlet cloth swirling like veils around them, blocking out the battle for an instant.
The kiss ended as the veils dropped, revealing Deathstroke, Copperhead, Lady Shiva, Heat Wave, and Black Manta charging at them from some distance. Superman was smiling now. “This could be a challenge,” he noted.
He could have been talking about the villains.
“I’m not afraid,” Batman said.
He could also have been referring to the villains.
“Of course not,” said Superman. “Kiss me again before they reach us.”
Batman did.