Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was a starry night out over Bristol, Gotham city, when Dick had asked everyone to stick around after dinner. Sparse lights from Wayne Manor illuminated the lawn and drew shadows on the trees that surrounded bat-cow's barn, which is where they gathered. 

"Okay," Dick tried to break through the quiet murmur that had started swelling between the group of adolescents, adults and one elderly man, who all had ample practice hiding their quiet murmur from both the world's greatest detective and the investigative reporter who could hear the grass whisper on the other side of the earth. Luckily the two men in question were currently occupied with watching Mar’i in the manor's living room. And knowing his own 5-year-old daughter dick knew there would be no chance that Clark had an opportunity to lose his focus and listen in. 

Quickly, the buzz died down. They looked at him expectantly. 

Dick started talking. “As you all know, their ten year anniversary is coming up." There was no need to introduce who he was talking about, everyone present already knew. It was, after all, a mere three weeks before May 10, 2030. They would really have to hurry. 

A hum went about the room at that however, before they all quieted down again. Dick looked around the space. Some of them were sitting on hay bales, looking up at him expectantly (Kara, Duke, Stephanie and his beautiful Kory), leaning against bat-cow's pen (Tim, Kon), or sitting on top of the wooden enclosure (Jason, Chris). Right in front of him, Barbara sat with Alfred standing behind her, having pushed her wheelchair to the barn in order to be able to forgo his cane for the short trek through the grass. Damian was standing a considerable distance away, over by bat-cow, feeding her with the fabricated indifference of a 22-year-old unimpressed with being back in his parental home, but clearly having missed his pets. And only Jon sat on the ground, not caring about the hay and dirt on his jeans and perhaps remembering the days on the farm in Hamilton, long ago. Cass, of course, stood beside Dick, and calmed his nerves with a single look. 

"So, what? This meeting is to come up with a gift?” Jason stated from his lookout. 

“Ooh, we could enter them in that baking contest!” Stephanie proposed. 

“And watch the disaster?”

“Is that really a gift?” 

“It would be a gift to me.” 

“Steph!” Kara bumped Stephanie's shoulder, but she just shrugged, her short hair bouncing in the process. 

“Those two need something more than funny, Steph,” Kory added. Dick smiled at her. She looked so beautiful, her bump had just barely started to show. 

“We watch it down at the station all the time. It's funny.”

“How about cooking classes then?” Duke asked. “Useful and fun.” 

“Very thoughtful Duke, but also potential disaster. And you were close, Jay,” Dick said. The nickname didn't spur Jason into angry rants or cynical retorts anymore like it used to back when they were in their teens and early twenties. Over the years, Jason had grown closer to the family again, and welcomed his siblings with open arms. “We do need a gift. Cassandra has already come up with something. But we're gonna need everyone's help to pull it off,” Dick explained. He grinned. Time for the reveal. "Cass?" He said, giving his sister the spotlight. 

Cass stepped in next to him. "A fakecation," she explained, clicking the extra k with her tongue. The buzz around the room became louder, more incessant, challenging and questioning. Because how could they ever accomplish that ? 

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Bruce would rather die than go on vacation.”

“It's a fake cation,” Cass said again. “A fake vacation. But it's actually real.” 

Stephanie got up. “Okay, now you're not making any sense, Cass.”

Cass crossed her arms. “It makes perfect sense,” she said, but made no further move to expand on what she meant.

“Okay, but explain. Like actually,” Duke said. “Do they think they're going on vacation but they're not? Or do they not know it's a vacation?” 

Others started chiming in, discussing the meaning of the word fakecation. The room broke out into a cacophony of sound and disbelief and speculation. Bat-cow mooed. "Shhh, don’t let them hear us.” Dick motioned them to all to be quiet. Sometimes talking to his siblings felt exactly like talking to his five year old daughter. Luckily, this time, they listened just as well as Mari and got quiet again. 

Cass took her time looking around the room, making eye contact with everyone. “It's up to us to give them a tenth anniversary, because we all know they're not gonna do it themselves.” Most of the group nodded quietly at that. "They need this," she said. Agreement sounded around the space.

"When's the last time those two have gone on a date?"

"More than three months ago, Chris, and that simply will not stand," Alfred clipped in, sharing his two cents. 

“So, what? We’re not just sending them on vacation right? They’d never agree,” Tim brought in, detaching from his post next to Kon, his interest piqued at the prospect of a ruse. Even at 31 years old, he still loved the idea of messing with people's heads. Maybe he welcomed the change of pace it provided from being full time CEO of WE ever since Bruce had stepped down two years ago. 

“Of course not, that’s why we’re sending them away under the ploy of a mission. A trap if you will.” 

“Fakecation,” Cass repeated, once again over-pronouncing the k. 

“Hmm. This calls for a powerpoint. Miss those days,” Kara smiled, reminiscently. And those had been the days of pranks, often played on each other and not infrequently on their combined family's patrons. Though if any of those had been successful was a story for another day. 

“You’re correct. Which is why we made one,” Dick beamed. “Cass?” Cassandra moved to the middle of the barn, where she 3D-projected their presentation from her phone into the space opposite bat-cow, so all of them could watch. A map of Spain was projected in the room, together with renderings of Superman and Batman, who landed on the south coast. 

“They will be going on an interception mission, in Barcelona,” Dick started, but got interrupted by the group again. Appreciative humming was mixed with questions of why there? and any particular reason? , and remarks such as not as exotic as their honeymoon… , but then again, that had been to the planet Ortuc. Dick sighed. He continued: “Bruce will only go this far away from Gotham if he considers the threat his personal responsibility or one of the JL’s responsibilities, and dangerous enough to harm people. Which is why we’re going with aliens, and a weapon drop. We just have to figure out from where.” He held up his hand, and before the group had a chance to start discussing which alien race would be considered a threat, but also not too much of a threat, while still being believable in coming to earth, he changed the topic to a more mundane one. Cass clicked to the next holograph. 3D-schematics of the location for the faux mission came up. 

“They’ll be staying at a 4-star hotel close to the city, already booked and paid for,” Dick explained. “So we’re not changing the location anymore. We have already worked out most of the details, but we still need disguises for them, fake IDs, backstories, the works. Then, the rest of the mission parameters, a believable trail. And finally, a division of their workload between all of us.” Divide and conquer, Bruce had always taught him. Break the project up into much smaller, manageable tasks. 

“It will be hard, but together we can pull this off,” Cass added. “Without either of them suspecting a single thing.” She grinned. 

Everyone had gathered much closer, the secret was born and connecting them all, a single shared goal to work towards: to give their fathers a vacation. And to hopefully fix the rusty but still spinning gears between them, Dick thought. He had faith in his siblings. “So, let’s divide the work, shall we?” 

And so, the meeting in bat-cow’s barn continued for a while, until everyone knew exactly what to do. And finally when the night was much starrier, it was time for them to leave and go back to their respective homes with shopping lists, mission requirements, and half-finished drawings and schematics in tow. 

Chapter Text

Clark Kent ascended the front steps to Wayne Manor, his tread heavy. Carrying his work bag in one hand and some paperwork in the other, he jumbled with his keys to push them into the door, turn, and let himself into his home. 

No one greeted him. 

He extended his hearing and located Alfred's slow heartbeat in the library, where he was most likely having a nap. He found Bruce's in the cave. A smile crept onto his face as he realized Dick was down there with Bruce. Dick's visits were sparse nowadays, with how busy he was, but not any less welcome. He would go down to greet his husband and their eldest son soon, after putting away his papers and work stuff in his home office. He hung up his coat in the manor's extensive foyer and took off his glasses. 

The events of his day burned behind his eyes that refused to get tired but still had to process so much. A fire in Guatemala, Lex's latest attempt to manipulate the guards at Blackgate, a run-in with Terra-man, interviews and self-imposed deadlines left him with almost no time to spare to simply be, and consider everything. But then again, such was life when you were Superman and simultaneously running your own biweekly publication. At least he had made some considerable progress securing an interview with a notable inhabitant of the Suicide Slums today, which would hopefully finally give him the ability to finish his Intergang article series. 

Never in a million years had he thought he would ever leave the Daily Planet, but he had, at 50. Being both Superman and Clark Kent at the Daily Planet had just become too much. After 2 years of no reporting and publishing two books, he had started to miss journalism, the hustle and bustle, the groundwork, the contact with people in the city and beyond. Instead of going back to the Planet or another mainstream news outlet, he had started his own small journal, Metropolis Insights . He did not want the strict deadlines of newspaper work, but his publication had grown in popularity, and now, at 53, he had a small team working with him, and the deadlines were the same as ever. 

His home office was as he left it that morning, with papers and bills on his desk, notes stuck to his computer monitor, and the pictures of his parents and Bruce and their kids all hidden between the stacks of work. He stared at his parents after putting his bag away and wondered if they had ever had difficulties in their marriage. 

He quickly checked on Alfred in the library and as he made his way down to the study and the grandfather clock he extended his hearing again. He listened to Dick's voice in the cave. "...and that's why we think you and Clark are the right choice for this case!" Clark's interest piqued at hearing his own name, wondering what kind of case Dick was talking about, but Bruce's monotone voice quickly diminished that feeling. 

"I don't think Clark and I should both take on this case. If I'm going, he should stay home," Bruce's voice drifted up. A more and more familiar pit settled in Clark's stomach as he opened the grandfather clock. He counted down from three to enter and walked down the stairs, into the damp cave. If Bruce didn't want to take on whatever case they were discussing with him, maybe Clark should just accept that. “We can't both be unavailable for a number of days,” Bruce explained. 

“Damian and I have looked at this and we really think you two would be perfect for it, though, B. And it's not like your absences wouldn't be covered while you're gone.” 

“Hrm.” Bruce was sitting in his chair, facing the monitors of the Batcomputer, his chin in his hands. That was a ‘let me think about it' -hrm, Clark knew. Dick turned to him when he reached the bottom of the stairs, smiling brightly. “Hi Clark,” he said, smiling so brightly that Clark couldn't help but return it. 

“Hey buddy.”

Dick grinned. “36 years is still not too old for you to keep calling me that?” 

“Never.” Clark pulled his oldest adopted son into a half-hug. “It doesn't happen often anymore that we see you twice in one week. What brings you here? Is Kory okay?” Clark put a hand on Bruce's shoulder and squeezed it lightly. “And hey you,” he said. Bruce hummed. Maybe Clark would tell him about his breakthrough at work later today. 

Meanwhile, Dick spoke animatedly. "Your second grandchild is fine, grandpa.” Dick smiled. “And Kory is doing good, second one seems to be much easier than the first. She's definitely not as nauseous.” 

“Well, you know you can always drop Mar’i with us if you two need some rest.” 

“If we're not too busy, that is,” Bruce interjected. 

“For our first grandchild we're never too busy,” Clark tried, but neither Bruce nor Dick were convinced by that. 

“Well, you are, like all the time,” Dick said, looking almost apologetic. He stepped around Bruce to a file on the desk and picked it up. “But that's not why I'm here. I'm here for business. The Titans caught wind of a weapons drop and they need someone to go in and intercept.” 

"And you need us?” Clark asked. “Why aren't Damian and the rest of the Titans handling it?” it would make sense that Damian would cover this, as current leader of said team. He was usually not prone to asking his big brother for help. 

“Because! You guys are perfect for this type of undercover interception! It's in Barcelona, you'll have to go undercover at this hotel and convention center.” Dick showed them a picture from the file. 

"I have my doubts about this," Bruce explained dryly.

"If you just hear me out, you'll agree."

“Clark and I are not the right candidates for this one,” Bruce stated as fact. As with anything, Bruce had already made up his mind well before anybody else had had a chance to catch up. Years with Clark had made him softer and more malleable in his convictions however, so Clark wasn't too worried that he could help Dick if he needed a little extra convincing that they were right for this case. If anything, it would be nice to do mission work with Bruce again and just get to spend some time with him, even if it was to chase down criminals.

Dick crossed his arms. "You trained me, I know what I'm doing." And Ah, they'd reached that point of the discussion already.

"You know you can't keep pulling that card forever, Dick." Bruce's eyebrows were already slightly drawn together, so this was the point where Clark stepped in. He stood up straight, but kept a hand on the backrest of Bruce's seat. 

"So, what are we looking at here?" He asked. It launched Dick into a brief about how the Titans had come upon the trail of a weapons shipment. It was not a simple case, however. It quickly became apparent why, as Dick explained further. "We have reason to suspect a portal might have opened up a couple days ago, over the Mediterranean sea. Preliminary research from Chris shows that it was the Zenons, but it disappeared again. We have reason to suspect that Zenon might try again.”

Clark nodded. The Zenon race was notorious for expansion around their corner of the Andromeda Galaxy. The Justice League had had multiple run-ins with them before. 

Dick continued. “The Lanterns have intercepted some intergalactic communication that seems to point to a weapons deal. We don't know who the recipient is but if we could intercept the drop…”

“...We can apprehend both sides,” Clark filled in. 

“Right. It looks like the drop will be in or around Barcelona next week, which will be an easy location to catch them red-handed. "

"It checks out," Bruce said, pulling up readings about the intergalactic portal on the Batcomputer. The corner of Dick's mouth curled up briefly, but Clark didn't think anything of it

"Hmm," Clark nodded. “And by going undercover, we'd get more intel on the recipients.” 

Bruce squinted. "If we're unlucky, we could have another Mannheim situation on our hands.” 

Clark remembered all too well, how so many years ago Bruno Mannheim had been recruited by DeSaad to become a pawn for Apokalyps bringing Apokalyptian tech and weapons to Earth. “Hmm,” he agreed. Still, there were many heroes on earth nowadays well equipped to handle such a predicament. "Why us?" He asked Dick.

"Bruce's surveillance skills, and your specific abilities for sniffing out the suspects. Also, we need two people because one would attract too much unwanted attention at the hotel. This is likely where the drop will be," Dick pointed to the screen, where Bruce had zoomed in on a dock behind a hotel located right on the beach near the Spanish city. "Since you're already a couple it will be easier to blend in. Though you'll need to go undercover of course." He turned to Clark, his lips sealed as if trying to contain something more. Clark smiled at the prospect of going undercover at a resort with Bruce, but his husband was not as appreciative.

"I don't think we should lock ourselves in like that. We need the most suitable and above all available people for this job, and that doesn't necessarily have to be us, or a couple," Bruce took over control of the situation, pulling up profiles of various league members and other heroes. “Clark is busy enough with his interview series, and the rest of his duties as Superman. Who else did you have in mind, Dick?"

Next to Clark, Dick's heartbeat skyrocketed. "Oh. No, no, we really think it should be you, be..." He swallowed. it wasn't normal for him to be this nervous around Bruce. It hadn't been for many years at least. "Because you'll blend in there easily, and because of your particular skill sets, and uhh…" Dick trailed off. 

In the span of milliseconds, Clark’s mind raced. He observed his eldest, mid sentence and mid blink, and smelled his sweaty palms and heard his heart beating rapidly, in the frantic rhythm of a liar. And he observed Bruce, his entire detective brain focused on the screen and this case, and about to throw whatever plot Dick was unfolding for them, right into the trash. He stared a little longer at his husband, his lovely husband who barely gave him the time of day anymore, and who he would be married to for 10 years next week, and who he missed so much, every night when they slept on opposite sides of the bed. If he wanted to fix whatever was wrong between them, it was suddenly crystal clear he needed to go to Barcelona with him for this mission. And he would find out later from Dick exactly why, but he had a feeling Bruce didn't need to know all that. 

He put on a smile, only a second had passed since Dick spoke. "And we work well together, B," he added to Dick's earlier reasoning. "We know what to expect of each other, are able to communicate even in the most dire situations undercover. I think Dick is right. It should be us."

"You should know how to work with and what to expect from every league member undercover, Clark," Bruce parried. 

"True, but between us, it would require much less effort, we'd be able to focus on the case itself more. Plus, if we're going undercover as a couple, we don't even have to act." He beamed at Bruce, who had finally taken his eyes off the screen to look up at him. 

"This is not a vacation, Clark. This is work." 

Clark heard Dick's jaw click, a swallow. "I agree with Clark," he stated. "If you're not thinking about playing a part too much, you will have more time and energy for the apprehension itself. You will get it done faster." 

"No,” Bruce said with a sense of finality only he possessed. “I believe J'onn is a better fit. With his mental abilities, we'll have the same advantages, and he'll be able to easily pick out anyone that's not supposed to be there."

"Bruce. I can do that just as well.”

"No offense, Clark, but J'onn can do it faster. We'll be in and out. No acting needed, you won't have to be jealous if that's what you're afraid of." 

Clark crossed his arms. "I wasn't." 

Bruce didn't react. And here it dawned on him that even a case was not enough of an excuse for Bruce to enjoy some time alone with Clark. That either he didn't see the opportunity presented on a quite elaborate platter right in front of him, or worse, that he simply didn't want to. 

"My point stands," Bruce said. "You are too important, have too many things going on here, and would be too much of a distraction. I'll contact J'onn tonight." 

Clark opened his mouth and closed it again. Bruce had made up his mind, and Clark didn't have the energy to argue with him right now. He let his hands fall to his sides and stepped back when Bruce got up.

"Bruce…" Dick started, but Bruce cut him off with a hand gesture and said what Clark already knew. 

"We can argue about this all day but my choice is made. You should all get on with your day, I need to prepare for patrol." He turned around and started walking to the lockers. 

“Alright,” Clark conceded. He held up his hands. Pick your battles, Bruce had taught him, and this was not the time or the place to fix this trainwreck. He walked after Bruce a little ways and caught up to him. He stopped Bruce with a hand on his arm. “Be careful out there tonight,” he said, kissing him quickly. He hadn't always, but the warning was becoming more and more common. At 54 years of age, Bruce was getting slower, sustaining more injuries which took longer to heal. “Do you need me to change that bandage on your side before you go out?”

But Bruce untangled himself from Clark’s loose embrace. “No. I'll do it myself.” 

Bruce’s eyes looked stormy before he turned away. “Okay,” Clark said. 

When Bruce was out of earshot, he turned to Dick, who was watching the space Bruce had occupied with a panicked look in his eyes. He sighed. 

“He's so stubborn,” he groaned. 

“Right. But we know that. It's Bruce.” Clark put a hand on Dick's shoulder, silently asking him to come upstairs. 

Upstairs, Clark made himself and Dick some tea in the kitchen. As soon as Clark confronted Dick about his lie, Dick spilled everything. Bruce and him were supposed to go undercover to the hotel in Barcelona so they had time away from their busy lives and paparazzi and had a chance to really enjoy their 10-year anniversary next week. The part about reconciling and breathing new life into their marriage was left unsaid but it couldn't have been more clear to Clark. 

He clenched his teeth. “Why don't we just tell Bruce?” He asked. 

Dick stared at him. “You know he won't willingly go on a vacation.” That was definitely right. Clark and Bruce hadn't really been on vacation since their honeymoon off-planet to Ortuc all those years ago. Weekends away to the farm or the Fortress were always cut short by some emergency. And if they even had a chance to get a night off and go anywhere public, they usually got recognized. Dick groaned frustratedly, and gripped his mug tighter. For a moment, Clark remembered the 11-year-old boy from when he'd first met him. “We need to get him to change his mind and go with you so he won't be spending your 10-year anniversary with J'onn !” 

“Oh, brother,” Alfred commented when he entered the kitchen to start dinner. He turned around and leaned on his cane. “I see master Clark has found out about our scheme.”

Clark rubbed his neck. “Yeah, sorry, I wouldn't have known if Bruce had just agreed right away I think. It's a very thoughtful anniversary gift.” He smiled ruefully. 

“Can't you talk to him, Alfred?” Dick asked after explaining quickly to Alfred what had transpired in the cave. 

The old butler didn't look very agreeing. “As much as I'd like to convince him, we all know the only way master Bruce will change his mind is by coming to the right conclusion himself,” Alfred explained. Clark considered this. Alfred had a point of course, but Clark knew Bruce just as well. He wouldn't push J'onn if the Martian was otherwise occupied, and even he would have to agree that Clark's abilities were useful for ‘surveillance’. His logical mind should at least have Clark as the second option. 

“There's one person we haven't considered,” Clark thought out loud. “I'll talk to J'onn tomorrow.” 

Dick’s eyes lit up. 

It was later that night after his own patrol of Metropolis and the world when Clark was lying in bed. He'd been thinking about the conversation with Bruce the rest of the evening, mulling one thing over in his head constantly. His patrol had been relatively uneventful, and he'd made it home quicker than expected, but he couldn't turn off his brain and sleep. 

Sleep had always been hard for him, an unnecessary waste of time, he'd thought, the first years of being Superman. Lois had finally made it make sense, and everything had fallen into place on the satin-covered pillows in her apartment. Bruce, in succession, had made it easy. A necessity to be fulfilled almost clinically so, at just the right dosage. Together, it was safety, and shelter. 

“You can sleep, Clark. I'll be here,” Bruce had said, one day, after a particularly hard day. He stroked Clark's hair, more gentle than anyone had ever been with him. 

"You should too,” he whispered into Bruce's collarbone, his neck. 

“I will. You first.” 

“Only if you close your eyes,” he said, equals in their stubbornness. To his surprise, Bruce huffed a whisper of a chuckle, and scooted down onto the pillow more. 

“I love you, Clark,” he said, a more and more common combination of words. 

“I love you too.” 

Bruce kissed his mouth, Clark kissed him back. They fell asleep. 

For years, it had been like that. Waiting up for each other to make sure they slept, to whisper those three words in the dark, where even Clark's world became as small as their bed. 

Nowadays, more often than not, Clark would be asleep long before Bruce came upstairs, which happened closer and closer to Clark's alarm. He stayed out for a long time, and spent all night in the cave. The short period of time together in bed, they slept on opposite sides of the mattress.

Tonight, when Bruce finally made his way upstairs and to their bedroom, Clark was still up waiting for him. He watched Bruce pad around the dark room and into the bathroom where he flicked on a light and brushed his teeth. Bruce wasn't talkative normally but the fact that he didn't even acknowledge seeing Clark in bed with the light on his nightstand still on and reading - something that didn't happen every night - meant that he sensed something was up. When Bruce finally got to bed and wordlessly climbed in,  Clark sighed, snapped his book shut and put it on his bedside table.

“How was patrol?” He started. 

“Hmm. Fine,” Bruce grunted. Clearly he didn't feel like talking, so Clark got straight to the point.

"I'm a distraction? Are we back at that point?" He asked the ceiling, watching the spot where the light had shone but quickly disappeared now that Bruce had turned it off. There was a minute pause before Bruce flopped over on his back next to Clark and rustled the blanket over his shoulders. When he spoke, his tone was tired and accusatory.

“ That's what you're still thinking about from our conversation?” 

“It's the one thing you said that I would hope would be the least true.” Anything else Bruce had said he could excuse and attribute to Bruce thinking logically and not knowing the full extent of their ‘mission’. But a distraction he was not. Had not been for years to Bruce. Years ago, when the tension between them was palpable and unresolved, Bruce could have told him he was a distraction and Clark would not only have believed him but also would have had some very conflicting feelings about it. Joy, for Bruce admitting the nature of his feelings for Clark, worry for Bruce might push him away because of that, and dread at not being able to do their jobs properly, the most important thing of all.

"Yes, you're a distraction," came Bruce's simple answer. It hurt more than Clark wanted to admit. 

"We work well together, you know that. It's been a long time since I've heard you call me a distraction in a professional capacity. So why now?" 

"We don't. Work well together. Not lately." He sounded tired. And the worst thing was, Clark couldn't tell if he was tired from work, patrol, the world, or simply of him. "I've asked J'onn already. He said yes."

Clark refocused his vision through the ceiling and onto the stars in the Andromeda galaxy, until he could trust himself to speak again. He turned to his husband.

"It sounds like you don't want to go with me, because of me." Clark didn't know what it was. He felt petty, cynical anger at Bruce not telling him what went on in his mind lately. He didn't know whose fault that was. It was normal that it took some time to get to the root of the problem with Bruce, and that was if he made it through the minefield of closed walls, wrong questions, wrong answers, and turned backs. And usually that was easier in the dark, in their bed, where Bruce didn't have to see him and words never hung in the air between them for long. But tonight, Clark just didn't have the energy to go through that. 

Bruce's jaw set. "Clark. I don't want to hear it, I've made up my mind. End of discussion. Don't make this harder than it is." 

Clark felt something akin to hurt prickle at the back of his throat. "You always do this. Shut me out and somehow make me feel like I'm the one at fault." 

He knew it was a losing battle when the stubborn bat had made up his mind, when not even he could change Bruce's mind anymore - and he was often the only one, lately. Bruce sighed and turned his back to him. "Can we just sleep? I'm tired.”

"Right. Goodnight. I love you.”

Bruce hummed, and rustled with the sheets. Clark turned away from him and faced the wall. 

The next day at lunchtime, Clark told his assistant Alex to not put any calls through and closed the door before flying out of his office window and up to the watchtower for the Justice League's monthly meeting. He made it there with time to spare to grab some coffee. Batman was already there, standing in front of the machine. 

Clark walked over, and since no one else was there, gave Bruce a quick kiss on his lips in greeting. “Hey. I'm sorry about last night,” he said to Bruce's lips.

“Me too,” Bruce replied. “I'm still going with J'onn.”

Clark didn't respond. He would talk to J'onn after the meeting when Bruce had either gone home again or to the watchtower gym to train the new recruits. 

The meeting itself was a dud. No major crises had occurred in the last month. There were no signs of anything major happening any time soon, for which Clark was glad of course. Bruce even mentioned the Zenons and their portal, to which J'onn nodded. Clark used the opportunity to mentally signal to J'onn that something was up with that and that they needed to talk. Diana led the meeting with grace, keeping everyone's attention despite the boring subject matter. 

She and J'onn had taken over from Clark as leaders of the Justice League a few years ago. Bruce and the three of them were the only ones of the original 7 to still be here. Superman was now only called upon in the most dire of situations, being as busy as he was, and Batman had retreated more and more to the background, doing tactical work and focusing most of his energy on Gotham once again. Bruce's main responsibility within the League nowadays was training new recruits, of which there were more and more each year. 

“Okay, let's move on to new potential members. Batman?” Diana signalled in a new section of the meeting. Everyone sat up more for what was usually the most exciting part of the meeting.

Bruce stood up, flicking his wrist to bring up new information on the holographic screen. He moved through a few of the recruits, quickly arguing why they were either ready or not. The rest of the League agreed, until he got to a new hero called Blackclaw.

“... I vote no. He shows hesitance and handles rules too rigidly.” Bruce paused for a moment. “Moving on…”

“Wait,” Clark said before Bruce could click to the next one. He heard his husband's heartbeat increase slightly. “I thought we had already agreed he was ready.” Blackclaw had helped out on a delicate rescue operation just a week before, and he had shown some stellar work. He'd gone in unseen to the perpetrators and handled the victims with grace. Afterwards, Clark had shaken his hand to thank him, and the way the black-clad hero had leaped away had strongly reminded him of someone else. In Clark's earpiece, Bruce had commended the guy. 

“And I say he isn't ready,” Bruce told him curtly. 

“Why?” Clark asked. Maybe he had misunderstood that he and Bruce were on the same page on this matter. 

“Because of the two reasons I just listed, Superman. And he’s young.” 

“He’s twenty-five. And I have seen firsthand how aware he is of his surroundings and the people he's saved. He's more ready than some of the older recruits,” Clark argued. Across the table, Element Woman and Green Lantern looked at him, and then back at Batman when he spoke again.

“He needs more time before he's ready to become a full member.” There was something Bruce wasn't saying in there, but Clark couldn't quite put his finger on it. He knew for a fact that normally Bruce would have let a hero like this pass already. 

“Why don't we move to the next one for now?” Diana tried. But Clark wasn't ready to let go. 

“I don't see why we should suddenly have a minimum age requirement while we've never had that before.” 

“He needs to prove he's trustworthy,” Bruce cut him off. “And ultimately this is my call, Kal-El.” Bruce clicked on to the next recruit under some incredulous looks. While their secret identities were not common knowledge anymore within the core team, it was well known within the Justice League that Superman and Batman were married. 

“ Trouble in paradise ,” Clark heard someone whisper. Were they not aware of his powers?

“ Nah, I've heard they had these squabbles long before they even got together ,” someone else said. 

“Please be quiet,” Diana halted the whisperers. “Batman?” As the meeting continued, Clark managed to retain his usual calm and approachable exterior. But his mind was on Bruce. He already regretted going against him, and he felt like he was putting more strain on their relationship any time he did. 

After the meeting, Clark stayed behind and waited until everyone had filtered out of the room, except for J'onn. Bruce had left quickly, without saying bye to Clark, to teleport back to Gotham and work in the cave. 

"J'onn," he started, scratching the back of his neck. He always felt a little nervous around the Martian, couldn't help thinking that he would always see right through him. His nervousness probably just made that worse. He sometimes wondered if people felt that way about him, with his super hearing, and acted differently around him, or even stayed away from him. It made him feel nauseous, but the thing was, with J'onn he always felt so much better after a conversation. 

The martian had been the first one to find out about him and Bruce, more than 15 years ago. He'd come up to Clark after a JL meeting, sensing his tentative happiness. He'd had to hold so much in check back then, adjust the expectations he'd had about being with Bruce, feeling all the time like he was about ready to burst with love, and disappear into a cloud of butterflies. But Bruce's stoicism and soberness and need for secrecy back then had kept everything under wraps. Of course J'onn had noticed his turmoil. He'd reached out silently with his mind and a long-fingered hand on his shoulder and a calmness had washed over Clark. Everything will be alright. Give him time . And Clark knew implicitly that he was the most patient person in the world when it came to dealing with Bruce, but he understood then, that J'onn was the most patient person with anyone and everyone in the world. His level of understanding of anyone was to be expected, but nevertheless astounding. Clark could learn a lot from him. 

J'onn smiled as he had learned to do from Clark years ago. He didn't visually age, just like Clark, and it still looked the same as when Clark had explained so many of those little things to him. “Superman. You want to speak to me about the Barcelona mission.” 

"Right, I…" Clark let his hands fall to his sides. J'onn already knew exactly what he wanted to ask.

"It seems I should be the one to apologize." 

"No. No, I mean, you couldn't have known. Not with Bruce. Don't apologize." He sat down on the chair next to J'onn. 

"So there is no real case in Barcelona?" 

"No. It's a vacation for Bruce and me. But he wouldn't go if he knew that."

J'onn smiled. "You know he will find out eventually." 

"I'll tell him when we're there. Gotta get the bat out of Gotham first." Clark's chuckle died in the vastness of the meeting hall. J'onn seemed to consider this.

"I will talk to him," he said after a while. "Convince him I'm not the right person for this case, and that he needs you." 

Clark knew J'onn would be able to get through to Bruce. "Thank you, J'onn."

J'onn nodded. Clark made to get up and walk away, rearranging his cape around himself. "Superman. Clark," J'onn called out, stopping him. He almost never addressed Clark by his real name. He got up too. "Make sure to listen to each other. Hear the things he isn’t saying.” 

Clark was experienced in that. After years of partnership, he could read Bruce like an open book. He filled the space between Bruce's sparse lines with confidence and trust. 

“I've unionized our operating systems between here and the Fortress,” Bruce had said, years ago. 

“You mean you've married our computers before we're married?” Clark had dared, a lopsided grin and treading into unknown territory. Bruce had smirked. 

“That's only a matter of time now, Clark.”

Clark tried a smile. “Sometimes it feels like my life with him consists of nothing else. But you’re right, I’ll try harder. Thank you.” 

Clark turned around again, but J'onn still wasn't done. He walked up to face Clark. “I know you love him very much. And I know for a fact that he loves you too, more than he is able to express with words. You can find where that love connects again," he ended, eyes boring into Clark's. 

"I'll try." Clark swallowed. "Thank you, J'onn," he said again. "I owe you one. I gotta go now."

"Take care, Clark," came J'onn's voice behind him, echoing through the hall. 

When Clark came home from work that evening, he found Bruce in the den, seated comfortably in his armchair next to a cold fireplace. He was reading the Daily Planet, Clark's own Metropolis Insights and the Gotham Gazette open on the coffee table in front of him. 

"Martian is out. You're in," he said without looking up at Clark, or any form of greeting preceding it. Nevertheless, Clark felt the corner of his mouth twitch. 

“Oh, why?” Clark asked, in his best bewildered voice. 

“J'onn had a prior engagement, he contacted me today after…” Bruce looked up at him over his reading glasses. "Did you have anything to do with this, Clark?"

Clark rested his hand on the right wing of Bruce's chair and stared back at him. He shook his head. "No."

Despite popular belief, Superman was a good liar. He had to do it almost every day of his life to protect his family, his friends, the people he cared about. Albeit sometimes his lies were a little more straightforward than other times. However, Bruce was the only person in the world to see right through him and call him out for it, and still understand him completely. It was one of the reasons why Clark loved him. 

Bruce shifted his attention to the newspaper again. "Because you need to get better at lying if you want to go undercover with me."

"Hmm, but I don't have to fool you," Clark reasoned. "Just the people at the resort." 

If only Bruce knew how he was actually the one being fooled. 

Bruce hummed. 

“Hey, we’ll enjoy ourselves," Clark said and walked around to the front of Bruce's chair. "It’ll be like the old days when you were still pining for me, only now we’ll actually sleep in the same bed.” 

Bruce huffed at that and focused his attention back on the paper and flipped the page to Lois’ editorial. Clark hadn't read it yet, and wondered how she was doing. He sat down on the arm of Bruce's chair, touching him. “How was your day?”

“Hmm. The usual. I can't get the Intergang case out of my head, they seem to have ties everywhere."

"Oh, tell me about it," Clark groaned. No matter where he went in Metropolis, Intergang was involved. During his interview series with residents of Suicide Slum the name turned up everywhere.

"I suspect they have a new leader. I read your latest interview.”

"You got that from the interview?” Clark chuckled. The most recent printed one had been with one of the women who ran the orphanage. 

"Hmm," Bruce considered. He looked up at Clark. "It's good. Your writing helps me make sense of everything, look at it from different angles." He stopped, eyes back on the page and Lois’ editorial.

"I didn't know you did that."

"All the time," Bruce stated, intonation factual as if Clark should have known already, and he should have. Clark thought back to what J'onn had said, about hearing the things Bruce doesn't say or doesn't know how to say. He smiled. 

"Thank you." 

Bruce looked up at him again, the reading glasses he now needed perched low on his nose. Clark realized it was the first time he hadn't taken them off right away as Clark walked in. 

He liked them on Bruce because it made him look distinguished and sophisticated, even more than he already was. A thin golden frame on small ovals perfectly complemented the expensive cashmeres he wore, and the shape of his face. It was the opposite of Clark's thick round glasses that cultivated a look both nerdy and inquisitive. 

He hated them on Bruce because it meant his body was deteriorating not just from being Batman anymore. Maybe it showed on his face because Bruce averted his eyes. 

He kneeled down in front of his husband. He gently took off the glasses and then his own, placing both on the table by the other papers. 

“I'm sorry,” Clark said for the second time that day, quietly in the space between them. “I keep messing up.” He knew he'd acted petty at the League meeting. Sometimes it was better not to go against Bruce, especially now that he was so prickly all the time. “I love you, sweetheart. I hope you know that.”  

Bruce stared at him, the newspaper forgotten between them. Clark heard him clench his teeth. “I do,” he said. “It's not your fault.” He took Clark's hand into his own and rubbed the wedding band on Clark’s ring finger. Clark looked down at their rings, ambiguous white gold bands. Both of them had a little indent that matched the other. They fit together like hand and glove, Clark had joked when they got them. Bruce's was laid in with black ore from a meteorite that Clark had gathered. On the inside, there were writings in Kryptonian and English. rraotiv uldif on Bruce's, and the same in English, forever yours , on Clark's. 

Almost 10 years now. If everything went right, their anniversary would be while they were in Barcelona. Usually they celebrated it with a small gathering of the family in the backyard, but Clark couldn't wait to get away with Bruce for a bit. 

Clark brought his lips to Bruce's hand, and then leaned up to kiss his mouth. “I love you, Clark,” Bruce whispered when he pulled back again. There was a strain on the words. Clark closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against Bruce's, pretending not to hear the finality in his voice. 

The creak of the door to the den announced Alfred's presence to both of them before he'd even cleared his throat. They both looked up at him. Alfred did as he did every day, and lightly tapped his cane on the floor. "Are you ready for supper, sirs?" 

"Yes, Alfred, we'll be right there," Clark replied, a smile on his face. 

Chapter Text

Clark walked down the steps to the cave on bare feet. It was eerily silent nowadays when Bruce worked alone deep into the night after everyone's patrol had ended. 

“Hey, come to bed,” Clark said when he reached Bruce's chair and put a hand on his shoulder. 

“What are you doing down here?” Bruce asked. He was dressed in training slacks and a sweater to stay warm. 

“Couldn't sleep. I tried to get some writing in but the words wouldn't come,” Clark explained. Contrary to popular belief he actually did need some shut-eye every now and then. Otherwise he would spend all of his free time circling the globe. It would be easy to do so and lose himself. 

Bruce's eyes didn't leave the screens. He clicked around, typed words here and there updating files but wasn't doing anything really important anymore. “Why don't you go write at the Fortress?” he asked. That was code for ‘I don't want you here right now’. It was true that the Fortress was usually a good space for Clark to write. He'd written big chunks of his books there. He hated feeling as if Bruce was using that against him now. 

Clark sighed. His hand was still on Bruce's sweater-covered shoulder. He moved to lean against the console of the batcomputer, standing more in Bruce's line of sight, and brought his hand up to his neck and cheek. Bruce's eyes glanced discreetly at Clark's bare torso and the way his pyjama pants hung low on his hips. “I was hoping to try a different remedy,” Clark said. He forced the corners of his mouth up. He missed the warmth of his husband in bed. “Do you want to have sex?” 

Bruce's movements with the mouse stopped for the barest of a second. His heartbeat didn't change, like every time Clark asked the question lately. 

Clark dropped his hand. “If you don't want to, you can just say no.” 

“No, I want to. In a bit. Let me just… finish up here,” Bruce said absentmindedly. His fingers flew across the keyboard. At least he was still interested in Clark, almost as much as in his work. 

The thing was, he had married Bruce knowing he would never truly be in first place. When it came down to it, Bruce would make the choice and choose Gotham. So would Clark, he convinced himself over and over. It was paramount to their relationship. They could never love each other more than the world needed them. But he had also married Bruce knowing that they fit each other like hand and glove. Sex had always been a dance, hot and passionate as they adjusted to each other's moves on instinct, feet tangling in just the right way for the next step. It had always been exciting, quick, hot, end-of-the-world-worthy. Because you never knew. They couldn't get enough of each other.

But now, like so much else, even that had become routine. It took longer than before but it was always over too quick. 

Afterwards, he rolled off of Bruce and onto his own side of the bed, where he sat on the edge and disposed of the condom. "Did you cum?" He asked.

"Yes," Bruce said, and Clark felt the mattress dip behind him and bare feet padding into the ensuite. The mechanical whirring of Bruce's toothbrush started up, the same pattern as every night. 

"I had fun, did you?" He asked when Bruce returned, book in his lap and his legs stretched out straight under fresh sheets, courtesy of his super speed.

"Hmm," it sounded, which Clark knew was as close to yes as he was going to get from his bat at this hour. The sheets rustled as Bruce got in. He chose to believe him, and kissed him goodnight. As Clark slowly fell asleep, he listened to the sounds outside, the gentle murmur of the rest of the world going about their day the eternal backdrop to his own life. 

Two days before their trip, Clark decided he would visit Lois at the Daily Planet. He stood in the shower, letting the hot stream cascade over his back. Talking to Lois always seemed to help with anything troubling him. Especially after she found out that he was Superman. It was the case during their marriage, but maybe even more so after they separated, when they could truly talk as friends and no complicated feelings clouded everything between them. And besides, it would be good to see her and catch up. He smiled to himself as he turned the water off. 

As he stepped out of the shower, lost in thought, he bumped into Bruce. He had made his way into their ensuite as well, and was looking in the mirror, some of his hair still sticking up. “Ope, sorry!” Clark said, reaching for a towel and dried himself quickly. “Morning, sweetheart.” Clark wrapped his towel around himself and kissed the grey hairs that sprinkled Bruce's temples. “Didn't expect you up yet.”

“Morning,” Bruce rumbled. He moved over to the toilet as Clark got out to get dressed. He texted Lois, threw on some clothes - an easy pick of a green shirt and jeans with a cream-colored jacket - and made his way back to the bathroom to brush his teeth, and promptly walked into Bruce again. 

“Sorry!” They shuffled past each other in the doorway, Bruce coming out and Clark going in. After a minute or so of Clark trying to brush his teeth and fix his shoulder length hair at the same time, Bruce came back again, naked this time. 

“Do you mind?” He asked Clark. “I'm trying to shower.” 

“Oh, ‘f course!” Clark mumbled around his toothbrush. Maybe he was just taken a little off guard by Bruce showering so early, but it was awkward. They bumped into each other again, something that would never have happened back in the days when they both had to get ready for office jobs every morning. They'd done this dance a thousand times and moved around each other with an ease that could only be acquired from years of fighting side by side, or years of being together. And in their case it was both. But today Bruce opened the glass door to the shower in such a way that Clark had to move for him a third time, before he could finish brushing his teeth.

“You're up early,” Clark yelled over the shower after he spit in the sink. 

“I have to go into WE this morning,” Bruce explained before he stepped under the hot stream. “They want me there for a new product launch.” 

Clark should have known that. “I see,” he said, wondering if it was Bruce's reluctance to share or his own inattention that had made him unaware of Bruce's obligations of the day. He finished up quickly and decided to wait for Bruce downstairs in the kitchen lest they have any more collisions. There, he made a quick and simple breakfast for both his husband and Alfred, who occasionally slept in more these days. 

After breakfast together for the first time in ages again, Clark wished both of them a good day, gave Bruce a kiss and flew to Metropolis.

At noon, he excused himself from the shared lunch with his team and made his way over to the Daily Planet on foot. Frank the receptionist greeted him enthusiastically and let him in right away. Clark asked how he was doing - good, his daughter had graduated high school - and made his way upstairs to the city room. 

He was grateful for the lunch rush, as it meant that the city room was largely deserted, which meant that he could walk over to Lois' office on the other side of the room unseen. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk to his old co-workers, but he just wasn't in the mood today. He let himself in and sat down on one of the chairs to wait for her. 

After about ten minutes of scrolling through his phone and listening to the world, he heard Lois' heartbeat enter the building. 

“Hey, sorry to keep you waiting,” she said as she entered her office, and dropped down into her seat at her desk across from where Clark was sitting.

“I've done that to you so many times, I deserve it,” Clark said, holding up his hands and smiling. Lois looked at him fondly. Ever since becoming editor-in-chief, she had her own office, with windows and a plant that Clark had accidentally knocked over once when duty called while he was visiting. 

He was grateful for the privacy now. 

"So, Barcelona. Have you packed yet?" Lois chewed on a pencil and unpacked her things and untied her hair. 

Straight to the point, as always. He shook his head. "How much do you know?" 

"All of it. The whole plan. Jon told me last weekend when he visited," she grinned. "He was a little disappointed that you figured it out so quickly but apparently your help in convincing Bruce has been appreciated. So he doesn't realize it's not real?" 

"Not that I know.” Clark scooted closer to her. “I should tell him when we get there, right? I'm afraid he'll want to go straight back home when he finds out."

"Hmm," Lois considered. "Not if you show him a bit of a good time first," she smirked, but Clark's smile faltered. 

“Yeah… I'm not sure it will be that easy.” He looked down at his hands.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Lois' warm voice made Clark look up. He took off his glasses to rub at his eyes. 

“This… gift, or whatever from the kids is so thoughtful, but I'm just not sure, Lois,” he sighed. “What if it doesn't turn out the way they want to? It's all so much… pressure," he tried to explain. "Expectations. I want to enjoy it…"

"But you can't," Lois finished for him. "Why's that?" She pressed a question. In a different life she might have been a therapist, for her ability to find the right things to ask and path to lead someone down, but she was too harsh for that. Not to Clark, though. 

"I don't… when it's a fight every step of the way again," Clark swallowed. "It's hard. I love him. I just don't know if he loves me anymore." Hearing what had been floating wordlessly around his mind for months now and J'onn had probably already felt voiced out loud and real made his throat close up. 

"Hey," Lois walked over to him and put an arm on his shoulders. "He does."

"How do you know?" 

“Because we talk.” She smiled at his frown. “We do have things in common, you know.”

“Like what?” 

“We happen to be the only two people on earth to have been married to Superman, for starters.” Lois rubbed circles where Clark's neck met his left shoulder. 

Clark closed his eyes. “I don't know whether that's good or bad,” he said. 

“You've always been good at internalizing things, Clark. Don't decide for him how he feels about you. And you worry so easily, maybe you're making this bigger than it is,” Lois tried to calm him.

“I don't think I am. Something's changed. We're literally stepping on each other's toes. I feel like I have to walk on eggshells around him!” Clark groaned, all of his frustration coming out. “Is he having a mid-life crisis? Am I having a mid-life crisis?”

"That's a possibility,” Lois said calmly, chuckling gently. “Just give him the right kind of attention. You've always been good at that."

"That's what everyone assumes. That I speak bat and will always get through to him or something," Clark said solemnly. 

"Don't you?"

Clark huffed an empty laugh. "I think he thinks that too. That I always just know what's up. I'm not a mind reader. Even though maybe he thinks he is sometimes." Clark realized he sounded frustrated by the end. Maybe he was. After more than 10 years of being together everything had become routine, and every cycle of that routine slightly more distant than the last. 

"Sounds to me like you both need this getaway, get some excitement. And maybe a good talk." She sat up straight and looked sternly at Clark. 

Clark averted his gaze. "But isn't that contradictive? The last thing we both need is more excitement in our lives."

"I meant more excitement between the two of you," she said teasingly. Clark felt his ears warm up. “You may both be in your fifties now but that doesn't mean it has to be boring.”

He still said: "Spice up our sex lives? You sound like the average relationship counselor."

"Yes. But…"

"But you're probably right."

"I know I am. Go on the trip, enjoy the beach and the city and the mountains and each other, have that talk. I'm not saying it will fix everything but it's a start." 

"Alright,” Clark said. “It's hard to argue that.” 

"And," Lois held up a finger while she scooted back to her own desk and then walked back to him. "You need a hug." She swung her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek to his own, like he had done to Bruce the day before. This close, Clark could smell all of her, and felt the press of her sweaty makeup. He held her close. 

The door to Lois’ office swung open to reveal Jimmy, camera bag on his hip. He'd grown into a respected photographer, wanted all over the country for the way he was able to capture the true essence of people in his pictures. "Are we hugging Clark for a reason or just because we like him?"

Lois motioned for him to close the door. "Trouble with his bat." 

"Oh!" Jim yelped and dropped his stuff to the floor to round over to Clark and hug him from the other side. 

"I'm fine, Jim," Clark reassured, but he lightly squeezed his friend's arm anyway. And suddenly he was overwhelmed by the feeling that no one would ever take this away from him. No matter what, he'd always have his best friends to fall back on. 

-May 4, 2030, 9.07 am-

Barbara : hey, t-1 for flying to Spain! Please bring B to the cave on time!

Clark texted Barbara back that he would, excited to see what they had come up with. Bruce had been itching to come up with their own undercover identities, but since this was still the Titans’ mission and he trusted Damian as the team's leader, he had gracefully let him lead preparations. It was commendable, really, how much control the bat had been willing to give up. Although, to be fair, Bruce had still meticulously planned out the rest of their mission and stake-out. Every contingency to be considered at a beach resort with two founding members of the League had been accounted for, as well as everything else that could happen anywhere in the world with two founding members of the League stuck at a beach resort. 

However, since the whole thing was a sham and Clark was maybe grinning a little bit too much next to his husband, which Bruce hopefully didn't notice, it made for a glorious mess of a mission brief. 

They made their way down to the cave, where two very suspicious barber chairs had been set up. Conner, Cassandra, Kara, and Damian stood before them, ready to explain what they had to do. Clark hoped Bruce wouldn’t get too suspicious at such a hefty amount of manpower for one simple stakeout mission. Even Alfred had made his way down on the elevator.  

“Why are you all here?” Bruce asked Damian directly before he’d had a chance to speak. 

“I needed some help. Told you I’d take care of it all.” 

“Some of us are here just to see your reaction,” Kara specified. 

Next to Clark, Bruce’s heart skipped a beat. It was a nervous skip. Clark had heard this particular skip only a couple of times during his time with Bruce, usually in reaction to something the children did, and usually it indicated worry. Only one time he had heard it for himself, when he had gotten down on one knee in front of Bruce. 

“Reaction?” Bruce asked. 

“To the makeovers.” Kara clasped her hands behind her back. “Fake identities I mean.” 

Bruce nodded. Kara wasn't usually one to don disguises for her own cases, and had definitely never seen Bruce or Clark undercover so her interest was warranted. 

“So. Fake identities,” Damian started, tolerating no more delay. He laid a briefcase on the console they were all standing around, and opened it. Clark had avoided looking inside of it until now. “Brendon Lemaire.” Damian handed a card to Bruce. “Carl Waldo.” Clark looked at his card. 

“Carl… Waldo?” Clark said slowly. Carl Robert Waldo , the card in his hand read. They had really found the three most inconvenient names and combined them all for Clark. And he’d thought they would have gone easy on him for having found out what was really up with this mission. Clearly he’d been wrong.

“If you don’t like it I’ve got Craig Ilbert for you.” 

“No… No, I’ll go with Carl,” Clark admitted. He whispered to Bruce. “Do I look like a Carl? I don’t look like a Carl.” 

“You kinda look like a Carl,” Bruce whispered back. Clark sighed in defeat. 

“Now, you may have noticed your first names start with the same letter as your real names. This way, you can still call each other B and C and no one will be any wiser,” Damian explained. That was nice, at least. 

Cass stepped in. She clasped his hands and smiled. “Brendon and Carl are a new and very in love couple, on their first vacation together. This is important. You have to look in love, be all over each other, convince the suspects that you are in no way a threat." She emphasized the last part. 

“That won’t be a problem,” Clark beamed, wrapping his arm around Bruce and pulling him close. Bruce grunted.

But Cass shook her head. “It’s important that you’re a new couple, you can’t keep your hands off each other. Think about 15 years back when you would still sneak around the manor to all of our horror."

“Hmm, that seems like an adequate cover. No one will suspect we even have time for anything else if we're all over each other,” Bruce agreed. 

Clark wasn't sure whether to feel happy that Bruce agreed or sad that he'd called it a cover even if they were married. He worried his lip, but chose to be hopeful. It would provide ample opportunity to reignite the flame between them, even if it started with acting. Bruce could act, of course he could act. It was Clark’s task to make him forget about that. To make him get lost in Clark again, and for himself to get lost in Bruce again. They didn’t often take the time to wholly feel and taste each other anymore, as it kept being shoved under a blanket of excuses and appointments and simply being tired.  

Bruce broke out of Clark's hug. “Just tell us who we are supposed to be.” 

“Right. Brendon Lemaire,” Damian opened another level of his briefcase and stepped closer to Bruce. Six luxury watches stared back at them. “You resell watches. Make sure you wear a different one every day.”

“That’s not too bad,” Clark commented. “Low-key enough. Explains the money to go on vacation to Europe.”

“Hmm,” Bruce sounded impressed but not convinced. 

“You’re eccentric. Your website," he showed them a page on his phone. "Where you review the watches, and trash talk celebrities pairing them with the - in your opinion - wrong outfit.”

"Hmm," Bruce sounded again, but took Damian's phone and scrolled through the site. He rubbed his chin and nodded approvingly as he read. Clark looked back at the briefcase. His side was empty save for a handful of beaded bracelets and a necklace. 

"Carl is a yoga instructor,” Damian explained. 

“Yoga instructor? I don't know any yoga, just Torquasm Rao, if that even comes close to it.” Clark rubbed his chin. That could prove to be an issue. “And how did we meet?” 

“Do a crash course, old guy.” Kon looked between them, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "And you obviously met in your yoga class where you found out just how bendable Brendon really is."

Clark felt his face go red, still in front of his 30 year old clone. Next to him, Bruce huffed a laugh. At least he approved. "You make me sound like a pervert," Clark managed.

"You mean Carl is a bit of a pervert. And it's not that bad. You're laid back, relaxed. Pretty much the opposite of Brendon." 

"Hmm, at least that will be familiar,” Clark said. He glanced over at Bruce, who was starting to get impatient. 

“Okay, move along. We get the gist of it. Anything we need to change about our appearance?” 

Kon smiled. “Yes. Let’s talk hair and make-up. You,” he pointed to Bruce, grinning. It made him look younger than he was. “Bleached tips.” 

“No.”

“And a goatee.”

“No.”

There used to be a time when Conner was a little afraid of Bruce. He'd been bold and acted out at all the world in his own chaotic way, but Batman had always been able to shut him up with a glance. Those days were long behind them though, ever since they both properly became part of the same family. 

“Yes,” Kon said again. “You need to be unrecognizable. This won’t even be your worst disguise Tim has told me," That was probably true, Clark thought. Kon started pushing Bruce towards one of the two ominous looking chairs. “We need to make you look a little younger,” he added in lieu of explanation, maybe to soften the blow a bit, but it didn’t help. Bruce crossed his arms, while letting himself get pushed. Once he was settled in a chair, Kon instructed Kara on how to get started on Bruce's hair and how she had to make it wet and apply the bleach. 

“Wait,” Bruce sat up before Kara could get her hands on him. “You're going to dye my hair? What's wrong with a wig?”

“This is a multi-day mission, father. You do not want to have to deal with wigs flying off on the beach or looking bad when they get wet in the pool.” Damian crossed his arms and pulled a face as if he spoke from experience. Whether that was the case or not, it was convincing, and Bruce grunted but agreed to lie back in the chair. Kara started wetting his hair. Clark had not anticipated any more permanent changes to his looks either, and hoped they wouldn't cut his hair.

Meanwhile, Kon turned back to Clark. “Now for you, Clark. A moustache, here,” he said, pressing a small blob of hair into his hands, in a lighter color than his own hair. “And extensions. Think wavy beach guy. You’ll be able to put it up in a proper ponytail or bun to change the shape of your face.” 

“Sure,” Clark shrugged. It all didn’t sound too bad. He almost felt bad for Bruce if it wasn’t so damn funny. 

But he laughed too soon. “And we’ll give you a fake scar on your face. You won’t have to wear your glasses.”

“Are you sure?” Clark asked, touching them on instinct. He always felt naked without his glasses. The only times he would not wear them when not in costume was at home in the manor, in his old apartment now inhabited by Conner, or in the fortress. And it was pretty rare for him to be there without his suit. 

“It should be fine.” Bruce said from his spot on the chair. “As long as you don’t stare into people’s eyes directly for too long the disguise will work.” From his satisfied tone, Clark could tell Bruce was impressed with the disguise for Clark the kids had come up with. And even though he may not like it, his own disguise had been cleverly composed as well. No one would suspect Bruce Wayne in a man with bleached spiky tips and a dirty goatee. Bruce had completely given in. 

It was Clark's turn to take his place on the other barber chair. "This better be worth it," Clark mumbled as Alfred walked around him to help Kon. 

A smile played around Alfred's features. "That would be entirely up to you and your spouse, master Clark. It certainly won't be the disguises." And louder, he added "You're in the best of hands, sirs," for Bruce to hear as well. 

Clark closed his eyes while Alfred and Kon got to work wetting his hair. 

Cass had stepped into his line of sight when he opened his eyes again, sensing his unease. She touched his arm and he smiled at her.

"Wardrobe," she declared, pressing a sheet of paper into his hand. Clark held it up to look at it while Cassandra walked over to Bruce and gave him another sheet of paper and the same instruction. The paper showed a diagram of his body with indications on which body parts to accessorize, general style of clothing, and colors.

Cass stepped back. “You need summer clothing, make it look a little younger."

“Are you calling us old?” Clark asked, squinting his eyes.

“Yes,” Cassandra replied without pause. “I'm sure you'll figure it out.” 

Once everything was done and they were upstairs in their room, Bruce went straight for the walk-in closet to start packing. He glanced at himself in the mirror, running fingers through his blonde tips and nodding approvingly. Clark felt pride for Conner and Kara at their handiwork on Bruce's hair. It really did make him look 20 years younger, if Clark ignored the tiny wrinkles around his eyes. From the bed he watched as Bruce tried on different facial expressions, making hand gestures, and relaxing his posture. It was fascinating watching him get into character - even if he looked ridiculous. He made it look easy, but Clark knew the foundation of that was years of practice and training from one very skilled butler. Clark on the other hand mostly just had experience with acting his own clumsy self, his confident and put-together self, and some limited undercover work. Bruce had made acting training mandatory in the JLA years ago, so everyone knew how to talk themselves out of a situation or get the right information, but still. That was about the extent for Clark. He wasn't sure he could change his whole being if not for one of his two defaults. Instead he studied Cass's diagram for his character for a while - sandy, muted colors, linen, relaxed fit, were some of the pointers listed. Light accessories in neutral colors. 

Relaxed, he could do relaxed. He could be chill and let all the tension dissipate from his muscles for a couple days, and turn down his senses, and push his deadlines to the back of his mind. And he knew that this was Cassandra's gift to him.

He smiled, and joined Bruce to look in the mirror and ran his fingers through his hair to detangle it a little. The extensions he had gotten weren’t too outrageous. They made his hair go down just past his shoulders. 

They packed, and halfway through, Clark wanted to fly out the window to answer a cry for help, but was stopped in his tracks when he heard Jon’s voice in his ear. “Dad. You can’t go out as Superman now,” he said sternly. “Kenan and Kara and I have got it. Trust us.”

Dumbly, he stepped back and spun out of his supersuit again, leaving it on the floor. His vacation had officially started. “Jon’s got it,” he explained to Bruce, walking back into their bedroom. “I can’t go out like this.” 

“Hm,” Bruce hummed. He looked lost holding various articles of clothing.

“Need help?” 

“Maybe.” 

Clark smiled. This was already one of the better gifts the kids had come up with. He didn’t even mind the long hair falling into his eyes. 

On the first day of their ‘mission’, Cass and Damian saw them off from the cave. Bruce had taken it upon himself to arrange for Carl and Brendon to arrive in Barcelona on the train from Paris, having toured around Europe, so that they wouldn't have to sit on a commercial flight for 8 hours. Clark would simply fly them to Barcelona where they would walk out of the train station among the other tourists. 

So Clark had wrapped Bruce in his indestructible cape, swung their bags over his shoulders, and took off into the gray Gotham sky.

It took an hour to fly to Barcelona at mach 5, which was the fastest he was willing to go with Bruce wrapped in his cape and his arms. He was certain Bruce had fallen asleep about 10 minutes into their flight. Clark was glad that his husband caught some extra shut-eye after another long night in the cave last night. When he got to Barcelona, he zoomed over to Barcelona-Sants, the train station, where he located and flew into an unoccupied bathroom at superspeed. 

Bruce woke up as they touched down, looking a little dazed but otherwise fine. "You okay?" Clark asked while locking the door behind himself. 

Bruce nodded. “Good find,” he said, looking around. There was a sink, urinal and toilet in the small space. Good enough to put the final pieces of their disguises together. Unfortunately it was also small enough that they bumped into each other again, trying to put on the facial hair that Kon had given them and change clothes. 

For the final touch, Bruce took off his wedding ring, and held out his hand for Clark’s. It was not like they never took them off, they did. All the time in fact, when they were Superman and Batman. Clark let his shoulders drop. He tugged off the silver band, trying not to let Bruce see how much he loathed it.

“We’re not married now,” Bruce said, resolutely, and dropped the rings into a hidden compartment of his bag. 

As Clark held his hand while they walked out of the bathroom and the train station, he couldn't stop rubbing over the now empty spot on his husband’s ring finger. 

Chapter Text

The resort was right on the beach, on the east end of the city where the coastline with white beaches developed into small town esplanades, littered with palm trees and small restaurants and cafes.

The hotel itself was an unsuspecting generic tall white tower. It included a convention center, stretched out over the ground floor and past the pool near the beach. A jetty led to a small marina where a handful of skiffs and small motor boats were rocking on gentle waves.

The kids had outdone themselves, Clark thought. The place was far away enough from the hustle and bustle of Barcelona to find relaxation, the clientele a mix of families with children, young couples, and older men and women finding rest. 

As they made their way up the stairs to the main entrance and the lobby, Clark noticed posters announcing a convention on office supplies. Some small trucks on the driveway in front of the resort were being unloaded. People were moving crates labeled with different brands past a nervous-looking hotel employee through a set of wide open doors into the relatively small convention area of the hotel, but Clark paid it no mind. “There's a convention here this week. It might be busy,” he mumbled to Bruce on their way up.

“It might be worth checking out. It could be a cover for something else,” Bruce said under his breath. Right, the ‘mission’. Clark nodded absentmindedly, already looking inside the hotel lobby. Time to become Carl. 

Bruce tugged on his arm, clearly having the same thought about getting into character, and plastered on a fake smile as they stepped through the sliding doors into the air-conditioned lobby. He made quick strides to the main desk, where he dropped his leather bag on the floor and leaned sensually on the faux-marble surface. Clark felt he was looking at an old and now largely abandoned version of Brucie Wayne, haughtiness dialed up a little, impatience and expectation overly present as Bruce tapped the counter in waiting, taking off his shades to plant them in his bleached tips. Though the sun-kissed pink blouse he wore was too out there for the real Bruce, Brendon pulled it off with an air of arrogance and nonchalance. Shiny pantalons hugged the slight curve of his hip, leading Clark’s eyes down to where one of his loafers pointed with its toes to the ground, his knee bent against the counter. 

The receptionist turned around and Clark remembered himself then, remembered Carl. He dropped his shoulders and placed his own bag on the floor, putting one hand in his pocket and the other tightly around Bruce’s waist. 

“Reservation on the name of Brendon Lemaire,” Bruce stated at the same time Clark grinned and said “Hola!” The receptionist raised an eyebrow, but nodded. She typed and clicked a couple of times, then smiled at the screen in front of her in acknowledgement. 

“Here it is. Brendon, and Carl?" Clark nodded. "Room 729.” She handed them their keycards. “I see you’ve paid for the breakfast. It is served every day from 7 until 10 in the morning.”

“Does that include room service? By 10 am we will still be in bed.” Bruce- Brendon smiled up at Clark devilishly. “And I hope 729 has an ocean view, which is what I requested.”

“I’m afraid room 729 looks out over the street, sir.” The receptionist said with a practiced calmness. 

“I’d like to switch then. I paid for the ocean view,” Brendon said impatiently. 

“I’m sorry, sir. We’re all booked up. You might understand we have a quite busy weekend coming up with the convention.” 

“It’s okay, we’ll make it work, won’t we babe?” Clark asked, not wanting to cause a fuss. 

“Oh, but mon cheri, I want nothing but the best for you…” Bruce said, pouting up at Clark. He was actually pouting. A small smile played at Clark’s lips. two could play at this game.

“The view on the street side is very nice, sir. The sunset over the mountains is actually much better than the ocean view in my opinion,” the receptionist tried. “We can offer you the room service breakfast in compensation.”

"I was promised an ocean view," Brendon all but whined. The receptionist started to look panicked, turning to her coworker at the next desk and speaking to him in Spanish. 

“It’s okay,” Clark smiled at the receptionist. He turned to Bruce. “Relax, babe. I don't mind wherever we stay as long as I'm with you, hon. And, I doubt you would see much of the view anyway while we’re in the room.” He pulled Bruce's chin up to look at him at the last two words. But where he expected to see a small smile or a sensual glimmer of teeth tugging at Bruce’s bottom lip, Bruce’s icy blue eyes flashed with an electrical thundering warning at Clark. Clark turned back to the receptionist in a hurry. “We’ll take 729. Thank you.” He grabbed the keycards, used some strength to turn Bruce around towards the elevators and picked up their bags. 

They entered one of the elevators, where Bruce hit the 'doors close' button and backed Clark into a corner to kiss him in one quick motion. Clark barely had time to respond and take him into his arms, holding Bruce close as Bruce's fingers ghosted over his jaw, down his neck, and ruffled his shirt. The push of his lips against Clark's own was strong and demanding, almost desperate. "Br… B…" Brendon. Brendon, Clark breathed in between kisses, and knew that that's who he was kissing. 

Some of the other guests waiting for an elevator shuffled around, discreetly looking away, and deciding to take the next one, Clark noticed as the doors finally closed all the way and they were alone. 

Bruce stepped away from him abruptly and turned to dig around his luggage, leaving Clark hanging right as he was going in for another kiss. “What are you doing?” Clark managed after getting his brain back online. 

“Starting our mission. Are there cameras in here?” 

Clark flashed to his x-ray vision, pretending to scan around quickly. He rolled his eyes behind Bruce. “No,” he said flatly. Bruce pulled the control panel loose. “Bruce! What are you doing?”

“What does it look like? Bugging this elevator. We'll do the other one tonight.”

“Hello,” Clark sang-song, pointing to his ears. 

It was Bruce's turn to roll his eyes at Clark. "We don't need you listening in on every conversation around here. This–" he held up a device the size of his thumb, "will only start recording if one of the trigger words is said." They didn't need to be recording anything at all, but Clark wasn't up for a fight right now. 

Telling Bruce their mission was nothing but a ruse to get him out of Gotham as soon as possible seemed more and more impossible. Later, he decided, when Bruce had warmed up to the Spanish Rivièra and its people and the air, he'd tell him. He would ease Bruce into it, make him forget about Gotham for a bit, if that was possible at all. But anything is possible when you're Superman, right? 

He sighed and decided to just rip out the device tonight when Bruce was asleep.

The seventh floor opened up to a long hallway that took them to their room. Hotels always made Clark feel a little suffocating, the amount of carpet dampening the sounds even for him. But not here. Large white tiles led the way to their suite, where Bruce impatiently opened the door. 

The suite itself was large, but a somewhat low ceiling made it appear cozy and confined. Floor to ceiling windows behind thin curtains revealed a view of the hills and the mountains beyond that, the road below. A small balcony on the far side was facing the next building, and if Clark stood on it, he could see Bruce's desired Ocean View. 

Bruce appeared beside him. "Hmmph," he harrumphed. "I can use this as a vantage point. Though I still don't see why you had to agree to this room and not the ocean view. It would have given us a much better view of the Convention Centre and the other rooms."

"I didn't think it was important. There's no lead in this building, I can see whatever we need to see." 

Bruce crossed his arms, daring Clark to continue. So he did. "I know you don't want to depend on me…" Clark started, his next words heavy on his tongue, but Bruce cut him off. 

"You're right. I don't." He stepped back inside and walked over to the semi open bathroom of the suite. Bruce started unpacking more electronics onto the bathroom counter and placing them in front of the ceiling-high mirror. Clark bit his lips. 

"I'm sorry," he said, walking over to his husband. "You're right. The other side of the hotel would have been better. But we'll make it work, right?" He came up behind Bruce, wrapped his arms around him and rested his chin on his left shoulder, looking at Bruce in the mirror. "We always do," he whispered in his husband's good ear.

They always did. Even three years ago. 

Bruce had turned his left side to Clark when he spoke, an entirely new expression on his face. 

Noise Induced Hearing Loss, Clark thought, seconds before Leslie stopped looking at charts and turned back to Bruce. “Hearing on your right side will never completely return, Bruce,” she had said. She put her otoscope away. Clark could see it, when he focused his x-ray and microscopic vision. The dead hair cells in Bruce's inner ear. “That bomb has done considerable damage.”

“Okay,” Bruce said, sitting on the cot in the cave and Clark standing next to him. “I'll adjust. We'll adjust,” he said, already past the 5 stages of grief and accepting his new reality. Clark was not that far yet. He saw another permanent change in the love of his life, a scar that wouldn't heal. The screws and plates in his L3 and L4 vertebrae after Bane had merely been the first one. 

Leslie spoke again. “We can look into a hearing aid. There are-”

“No need. We'll make one,” Bruce said, cutting her off and glancing over at Clark. “It needs to be integrated in the suit anyway.”

Clark nodded.

Bruce adjusted, he wasn't as fast. 

“How much more will it take? You're 51 years old, Bruce,” he had said that same evening in their bedroom, threading into dangerous territory. But Clark was angry, and scared. He couldn't lose him. 

Bruce turned his back to him. “My death. Don't pretend you didn't know the answer to that.” 

Clark sighed exasperatedly. Marry a hero, he thought. Give up all right to selfishness. Still, he was scared, more often than before. “You could have been dead today. Another millisecond too slow and your head would have been blown off instead of just the hearing loss.” 

“Don't tell me I need to remind you how many milliseconds you would have died in by now, Mr speed of light?”

He turned Bruce back to face him. “That's not the same.” 

“How?”

“I wouldn't be able to live without you.”

“If you think I would be able to live without you instead, you'd be wrong, Clark.” Bruce walked over to their bed and got in. “I'm just lucky I won't have to,” he said, hands atop the sheets, waiting for Clark. 

“You don't know that,” Clark said, getting in and moving up close to him. Bruce melted into his arms. 

“Just… Don't make me stop,” he mumbled. “I can't.”

“Okay, we'll make it work,” Clark whispered in his husband's left ear, and stroked his back. 

So they'd make it work, this faux-vacation-turned-case-anniversay gift. Just like any other time. “We'll make it work,” he said again. 

"You can have faith like that, just let me have my paranoia," Bruce said gruffly into the mirror. Clark kissed his cheek.

"I'll have faith in your paranoia.” Clark looked at their reflection in the mirror. Bruce's pink shirt was scrunched where Clark had placed his hand over his heart. His own hair fell forward over Bruce's shoulder. “We look ridiculous,” he sighed. 

“As long as it works, no disguise is too ridiculous,” Bruce said in a serious tone. He placed his hand over Clark's. 

“I hope it does,” Clark said. 

He indulged Bruce for a bit, letting him tinker with listening devices, scanners to register possible alien lifeforms, and specialized batarangs. Eventually, after an uneventful dinner downstairs in the hotel restaurant, where Bruce kept discreetly checking his surroundings and Clark was pretending to as well, and having seen nothing of the beautiful country they were in yet, they decided to turn in for the night. Clark had taken his place on the bed, faithfully on the left side as was their arrangement back home. He was currently lounging on top of the covers, enjoying the cool breeze drawn in through the slightly open balcony doors. 

He wanted nothing more than to turn on the t.v., flip through some of the local channels, and cuddle, make out, and have sex with his husband, but said husband was currently on the floor, going through his tablet, once, twice, thrice checking everything and Clark wished he could just tell him. Wished that wouldn’t inevitably result in Bruce making a run for it back to Gotham and away from him. 

Bruce grunted, and stretched his back. He rotated his shoulder and swung his right arm around. That right shoulder was a pain point for Bruce, the arm he grappled with most of the time. Every day, Clark could hear more of the ligament scrape against each other. He got up.

"Here, let me help you."  

"I don't need you to do that for me."

"I do, I'm your husband."

"You make it sound like a chore." Bruce's mouth was a straight line. Clark crouched behind him on the floor.

"I want to, because I love you," he corrected. "And I don't like seeing you in pain." The bandage on Bruce's left side was a fresh one, likely changed just before they left Gotham. Clark traced along his trapezius muscles and deltoids, feeling the scar tissue of nearly 30 years of fighting crime catch against the skin on his fingers. Bruce's skin had always been rough, as long as Clark had been trusted to see and feel all of him. He pressed a thumb into his shoulders, dragging up to his neck and down again in one smooth motion. Bruce breathed calmly, his skin warmed up. 

“How's this one?” Clark asked, rubbing circles on Bruce's right shoulder and tracing his shoulder blade. 

“It's fine. I haven't had any issues with it since the dislocation.” Bruce stared straight ahead, meeting Clark's gaze in the blackened windows. It had been gruesome, how hurt Bruce came home one night a couple months ago after his opponent had gotten the best of him. Clark had had to put the dislocated shoulder back into place. It was something he'd done before, but he'd never seen Bruce cry like that before from the amount of pain he was in. 

“I'm glad to hear that,” Clark smiled. 

Bruce turned away. “Thank you, Clark. That's enough. I should get this done before we sleep.”

“Alright.” Clark sat back against the foot end of the bed. “Do you need any help?” He asked, because that's what he would have done if he hadn't known the mission was fake. 

“Just checking equipment. If you put this bug in the other elevator, I'll go stake out the rooftop, see if there are any potential meeting spots.”

“Good plan,” Clark smiled, because it would give him a chance to disrupt the first bug while he was at it. If he did it just right, Bruce wouldn't be able to see it in his readings right away. 

They each went their separate ways, up and down, and Clark dwelled around the hotel lobby for a bit. He peeked inside the bar, but ultimately decided against drinking his sorrows since it wouldn't work anyway. He ended up on the hotel grounds outside instead, wandering down to the small marina underneath the starry sky. There, between the small boats, gently bobbing on the waves, he sat down at the end of the dock, feeling the water on his toes through his sandals. 

The dark water of the Mediterranean sea at nighttime lapped at his feet, grounding Clark in the moment. He listened to Bruce's heartbeat for a moment, high up on the roof of the hotel. He loved him, he loved him so much that he would do anything to stretch that for all eternity. But lately the eternity they had promised each other almost ten years ago felt like it was running out, without Clark ever having noticed when it had started to end. 

Maybe Bruce just didn't love him anymore. Clark scraped the wooden planks of the dock, the splinters unable to pierce the indestructible skin on the pads of his thumbs. No, it couldn't be that simple. It never was with Bruce. He thought of what Lois had said, and J'onn. He thought of Bruce in his arms, of his bleached spiky hair tickling Clark's nose and of how calm he had been. Bruce felt safe with him, and trusted him, even though he was betraying that trust every minute of being here and not telling him what was really going on. He thought of their children and family, and their very thoughtful prank-slash-anniversary gift. He felt stupid for having found out so soon, and he wondered what it would have been like to be just as in the dark as his husband. He wondered what it would be like to be Carl, confident in Brendon's desire for him, and not care about the rest of the world simply because of being in love. 

Clark smiled. If he hadn't known, he would have gone just as above and beyond as Bruce to be in character the entire time. He would have worked with Bruce instead of against him. He wouldn't have felt ridiculous as Carl and Brendon at all, and he would have gladly called Bruce babe and boo and stud. He would have forgotten about all their troubles. 

Years from now, they would have looked back on this trip with tears in their eyes from laughter. “Remember how we fell for that?” They would say. And “We had so much fun? Didn't we?” 

Clark laid back, looking up at the stars. “Fuck,” he mumbled, and stared down the belly of this beast of a realization. He just had to have fun, and play along with Bruce and allow himself to forget about the rest of the world for a couple of days. The stars stared back at him, unchanged and blinking. 

“Caught anything yet?” Clark asked from his lounging spot on the bed when Bruce finally walked into the room again. The tv was on, murmuring softly in Spanish and a show Clark hadn't been paying attention to. 

“Hrn,” came a familiar grunt, a language that only Clark could fully understand.

“C’mere, sweetheart.” He held up the sheets for Bruce to join him. “I’ll keep an ear out. Sleep. We'll cover more ground tomorrow.” That made Bruce walk over, albeit reluctantly. He looked tired. He got in bed, taking the sheets from Clark as he always did, but did not roll into his warm embrace. Bruce struggled for a bit trying to detach his fake goatee, and placed it on the nightstand. He visibly relaxed now that the foreign hair did not tickle his lips any longer. Clark’s own fake mustache was already placed by the bathroom mirror, the small vial of glue ready to be used again the next morning when he would really be Carl. 

“Do you want to cuddle?” Clark whispered close to Bruce once he was settled, but Bruce turned away. 

“Hmm. I think I just want to sleep.” 

Clark turned around to face the other wall, feeling silly and the need to bite his lip for having any hope at all. Still, he fell asleep into a light slumber, on the waves of his husband’s calm breathing beside him.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Bruce got up before Clark and started his usual routine of push ups and sit ups next to the bed. Clark paid him no mind, enjoying the softness of the hotel sheets and the confinement of the room and no sound beyond that. An early dawn crept through the opaque blinds of the room, announcing another sunny day, that realistically, they would just spend at the resort chasing ‘leads’. 

Bruce grunted on a push up, but his breathing remained calm and measured. His rhythm of exercises was steady, but fast, as if there was a sense of urgency to completion. Clark just wanted to sleep a little more. Bruce on an actual human amount of sleep, however silent in his workout, was maybe worse than Bruce on a Bruce-amount of sleep, he thought, and turned to the other side of the bed to drift asleep again. 

The sound of running water finally pulled him out of his almost-not-sleep, and his skin itched against the covers. He walked into the bathroom, where Bruce was just entering the shower stall. It was conveniently big enough for the two of them, Clark considered, with a double overhead rain shower just like back home. 

Clark stepped around and beside Bruce, facing him under the stream of now hot water. “Is this okay?”

Bruce side-eyed him. 

"Um," he said, and "Good morning,” giving Bruce a quick kiss on the lips. The water sloshed around them and disappeared down the drain, uselessly. 

“Did you come in here just to say that?”

“No. Here.” Clark grabbed the hotel body wash and handed it to Bruce, who all but grunted, and then accepted it. They shared the water, a memory of days past. “We'll be quicker this way, have more time to investigate.” He smiled.

“It was hardly ever quicker whenever we showered together,” Bruce countered. True, Clark thought, but Bruce didn't send him away.

Clark let the water blink sleep and melancholy out of his eyes. He admired the way Bruce looked, littered with scars and stitched back together, proof of his unending crusade and his perseverance and the fact that he would always be Batman. 

And still, he was all the more beautiful to Clark for it. 

The water was scalding, steam formed around them and Clark saw Bruce roll his shoulders and relax his stiff muscles. Bruce showered hotter than before, when they still frequently showered together, Clark deduced. He reached out, and smoothed his hands down Bruce's shoulders, warming his back and neck. Now, he could see that the stab wound on Bruce's left side was healing nicely without prying too much. Wordlessly, he took the tiny bottle of body wash from Bruce, and continued down his back, working away the knots of sleeping on a different mattress than their own and massaging the soap into his skin.

“I can help you with this,” he said.

“I don't need you to.” But Bruce did let his shoulders hang and faced down, relaxing his muscles. 

But I want to, Clark didn't say again, because Bruce probably simply didn't want him to. 

Instead he turned around and grabbed the tiny bottle of shampoo, squeezing some into his hand. He was at a loss how to wash his long hair, but tried his best. Bruce started washing his own hair, massaging in circles at the hair at his temples, the way Clark remembered he always liked. 

Despite the spacious shower stall, they kept bumping into each other, somehow unable to gauge the other's next move as they so often had to do in battle. It was as if they'd never done this before. Throughout all this, Bruce laid out his plans for the day for Clark. Stakeout the rest of the resort, which sounded fine to Clark. Maybe they could go for a swim, he thought, and he could pretend to listen to conversations around the pool. Bruce mentioned bugging some of the other rooms, because their bug in the elevator somehow hadn't worked and had been tampered with. This did not sound fine to Clark.

"This is why I should have taken J'onn, he would have been able to justify this with me for the mission," Bruce said gruffly from under the towel he was using to dry his hair.

"You're right, I can't justify this, because I don't think it's necessary."

"And I say it is."

"Bruce, there are other ways."

"Stop reminding me of your ears, you can't possibly listen in on every conversation around here."

"How's that different from what you want." Clark crossed his arms after wrapping his hair into a towel. 

"It's not. This is about efficiency, leaving you open to focus on other things."

"I'm not bugging a bunch of innocent tourist's hotel rooms,” Clark insisted. “We need more solid evidence before we do that." Which there wouldn't be, of course. 

"What do you suggest we do, then."

“I suggest we cover some ground. Maybe take a look at the people visiting that convention,” Clark said nonchalantly. 

Bruce rubbed his chin, looking as serious as one can look while naked and a towel wrapped around their head - which was still pretty serious because it was Bruce. Clark started getting dressed, letting Bruce stir in and consider and dissect his own considerations. 

"The convention could be a good cover. The last day would be a good opportunity to covertly get something through and out of here…" he heard Bruce murmur behind him. "Which is…"

"Two days from now," Clark supplied helpfully, remembering the dates he'd seen on the banners outside the hotel. 

"Hmm,” Bruce nodded. “We’ll set up at the bar in the lobby for a couple hours later today, check if anyone suspicious goes in or out.”

“Sounds good, babe,” Clark said in Carl's voice, his moustache back in place and dressed in a tank top, shorts, an open shirt and flip-flops. “As long as I get to catch some waves later,” he winked. 

“Of course, you stud,” Brendon replied, grinning. Already, Clark was more excited about this day. 

After their complementary room service breakfast, they went outside and walked around for a while, discovering the neighborhood around the hotel. When Bruce decided he had enough information about everything in the vicinity of the most likely place for the weapons drop, they decided to each stake out parts of the pool and the beach. That meant they would spend the rest of the morning at the backside of the resort, where the pool area opened up to the beach. There was an outdoor bar there, and the small marina Clark had spent the better part of an hour at the night before. 

Even at 11 in the morning, the regular tourists had already laid out their hotel towels to claim a good sunbed close to the pool, but only a handful of beds were actually occupied by people. Brendon, however, did not care for such banalities and easily swayed over in his very short bright purple swimming trunks to one of the beds under an umbrella where nothing but someone’s towel was indicating some forlorn form of possession. He simply deposited the offending item on the floor tiles and took his place on the bed, sheltered by an umbrella and shades from prying eyes and the sun. 

Clark, dressed in barely-knee-length loose fitting trunks, missed the freedom of his own short trunks. He was used to the ones on his Superman suit after all, and had found it very funny when he had found a pair of swimming trunks in almost the exact same color red with a small Superman emblem at the front at Walmart years ago. Bruce had swatted him over the head for showing up with that at home back then, albeit lovingly. The first time Clark had worn them had led to a rather lengthy and steamy session in Bruce’s hot tub.

He sauntered after Bruce, overtly ogling his body as he got comfortable on the bed. 

Bruce got some sunscreen out of his bag and stared up at Clark. “Honey bear, could you please put some protection on me?” 

“With pleasure, babe.” Clark knelt down beside Bruce, taking the bottle from him and started applying sunscreen to his legs and chest, even though it was half covered by a deep cut button-up shirt Bruce wore to hide most of his scars and the fresh bandage on his side. As Clark once again smoothed his hands down Bruce's skin, and felt his breathing and his heartbeat underneath, he realized he'd already touched Bruce more intimately in two days here than in an average week back home nowadays. 

“When you stake out the beach, make sure you swim close to the marina. Check if there’s anything suspicious there, also underwater,” Bruce whispered only for Clark to hear as he massaged the lotion into Bruce’s chest and up to his collarbones. He nodded. Brendon looked up at him with lustful eyes, licking his lips, but inwardly, Bruce's heartbeat remained the same. 

“There. All done protecting your hot bod, babe,” Carl grinned as he got up. He pointed over his shoulder at the sea. “I’m gonna catch some waves, and then catch you– later.” He winked, Brendon blew a kiss at him, and he walked down to the beach, towel thrown over his shoulder. 

The beach was already hot in the sun, sparsely littered with people. It was perfect. Clark needed time to think and since he couldn’t go flying, floating in a salty body of water seemed like the next best thing. While the water was still cold due to the time of year, there were people walking through the shallow parts, children playing in the sand, and adolescents daring each other to go deeper into the sea. Clark walked right in and dove under. 

He let the salty water push him up, floating on his back not too far from the coast, although it wouldn’t really matter if he floated all the way to Corsica. He wasn’t even sure if Bruce would notice. Of course, he couldn’t blame Bruce for only focusing on the case instead of on Clark and relaxing with him. 

As Clark floated, and stared directly into the sun overhead for a blinding amount of time, and his long hair drifted around him, tickling his shoulders, he listened for Bruce. He was flipping pages of a book or magazine, the steady crackle of a listening device in his ear. 

He let the sloshing water drown out more of the Earth's sounds, and closed his eyes to the sun and the more distant stars overhead. He tried to narrow his awareness down to a single thing, and made his world as small as Bruce's heartbeat. He remembered the first time he'd done that, ear to Bruce's chest, the vibrations that had connected them years prior finally echoing throughout Clark. 

"It's just an organ," Bruce had said, methodical as ever and the sweat from before slowly drying up on his skin. 

"Only your most vital one," Clark mumbled and kissed the hairs that tickled his nose. "If it wasn't for this, I would have never found out you were in love with me." 

You weren't supposed to, Bruce didn't say. Instead he said: "My feelings for you are hard to control." Clark scoffed. Only Bruce would consider an infinitesimal skip in his heartbeat a loss of control.

Clark had also learned then that Bruce was much more than just that steady cadence. There was the rush of blood in his veins, the sound of his muscles contracting before a kick, his pupils dilating, the sweat in his hair under the cowl, the sweat in his hair dripping onto Clark as he moved steadily above him. Anyone had a heartbeat, no one had the combination of sounds and displacement of molecules that made up Bruce Wayne. 

Still, that heartbeat was the core of Bruce, the thing that powered his beautiful brain, and had now been the metronome to Clark's thoughts for almost half his life. The empty melody of his steady heartbeat still calmed Clark down even now, in tandem with the shallow waves that rocked his body. He still loved that continuous metronome to his life. He still loved Bruce, and would keep loving him for as long as Bruce would let him. He just had to figure out if Bruce still did, and then work their way through this bump. 

That meant coming clean to Bruce as well about their fake mission and real vacation, but he still wasn’t sure how that would go down. If he told Bruce now, Bruce would certainly be mad. For being lied to, for wasting resources, and more importantly, time he could have spent in Gotham. He wouldn’t think twice about leaving this place as soon as he could to get back to his beloved city. He would be mad at himself for having fallen for such a plot, and mad at Clark for partaking in it. He'd certainly be mad at Dick and the rest of their kids. And god forbid at Alfred for helping. So first, it was up to Clark to make sure Bruce could not get mad anymore, that he enjoyed his vacation too much for that and just forget about it. That sounded impossible, and it absolutely was, but Clark wouldn’t be Superman if he didn’t make the impossible happen every now and then, and be stubborn about it along the way.

He moved to be upright in the water and looked around. The beach was a lot further away than when he started, and he couldn’t feel the bottom of the sea anymore with his feet, but he could still make out small figures on the beach, without using his advanced vision. He started making his way back. 

“You went deep, mister. You shouldn’t go so far.” Clark stopped in his tracks where he walked through the shallow water. An older lady in a black bathing suit was sitting on a folding chair, right where the sea met the beach. Her red-painted toes were pushing into the wet sand and licked by the small waves, a small bucket hung from her hand on the side of the chair, where a bunch of children were playing. She looked up at Clark from underneath her sun visor, still expecting an acknowledgment. 

Clark nodded. “You’re right,” he answered in Spanish. “I didn’t realize how far I was.” 

“It can happen quickly. But of course, it was no problem for you to swim back with those muscles!” She smiled brightly. Clark felt a blush creep to his face. He didn’t have time to answer her, though, as one of the children came running up. The child, maybe four years old and with a large tuft of black hair, was carrying another bucket.

“Grandmaaa,” came the enthusiastic cry. “We need the water, now!” 

"Would you?" The woman looked up at Clark again, with a look he recognized anywhere. One of asking for help, of exhaustion. Of course, he’d let her relax with her puzzle book. He held out his hand for the bucket, the other one for the child. 

“This man will help you, Carlos. Right, mr….?” 

“My name is Carl,” Clark beamed. It had been a long time since Jon had been this age, but Carlos was close in age to his granddaughter. He missed playing with Mar’i on the weekends since they had been doing less and less of that lately, and would gladly help the child before he had to get back to Bruce. 

“We have almost the same name!” The child pulled on Clark’s hand eagerly. “We need water for the mote,” Carlos explained in a serious tone. “Our castle is this way.” 

“I see.” Clark let himself get dragged along. He got assigned to water-hauling duty, running up and down to fill three buckets at a time. Once the mote was full of water, he was declared sea monster attacking the castle. Before he realized, an hour had passed, and he ended the battle by taking all three children under his arms and depositing them in the water, careful that they wouldn’t get too cold or go too deep. 

After that, it was time to say goodbye and make his way back to Bruce. The children seemed tired, and the woman looked grateful. 

Clark on the other hand felt reenergized as he walked away and back to his husband, who had taken his place on a bar stool, nursing a colorful drink with a little umbrella in it. Bruce definitely hadn't drunk any of the alcohol, but was using the drink as a decoy in order to talk to people, Clark knew. 

He was the one person who could get through to Bruce in certain situations, and he was definitely the one person who could help relax Bruce, with his skill in reading the Bat’s body language, and his own stubbornness. And once he'd accomplished that, he could tell Bruce why they were really here.

"Hey," he said, and kissed him. “Babe,” Carl said. “Missed you.”

“Boo bear! I was so bored without you.” Brendon placed a hand on Clark's butt, tugging him close. “But I came here and talked to some people so that made it a little less boring,” Brendon said, code for having investigated some of the guests. “Did you catch anything in the sea?” 

“What? Like fish? No babe, I just went swimming,” Carl laughed. He lowered his voice. “But I'd like to hook you, right now.” 

The bartender scoffed, moving over to the other side where a couple of men wanted to order some drinks. 

Clark licked his lips at Bruce as he pulled him up, the umbrella-drink forgotten on the counter. He knew it was an act, but Bruce already looked more relaxed at least. His shirt hung open, revealing his chest, his eyes were lidded, not as piercing as their default. Sweat clung to him and pronounced the wrinkles around his eyes. He looked beautiful, as always, even with his ridiculous blond spikes and the silly goatee. Clark couldn't suppress one of his own smiles, instead of a lazy Carl-smile. 

He reeled Brendon in and kissed him deeply, tasting sunscreen and lemonade on his lips. 

No suspicious activity by the boats, Clark signed on Bruce's side underneath his shirt, sensing his anticipation for information. 

“Excuse me, there’re children here,” boomed a loud Bostonian accent close to them all of a sudden. Clark hadn't heard the man approach, getting lost in trying to figure out where Brendon ended and Bruce began. They separated to face the guy. Bruce made a show of looking around them.

“Where?” He said. The guy sniffed. 

“Namaste. It's chill, bro,” Clark said in the slow voice of Carl. He held out his hand. 

“I am chill,” the man insisted. “That was inappropriate.” He crossed his arms, a vein bulged threateningly on his sweaty forehead. 

“I'm sensing a lot of negativity, dude. Your aura is so not chill, you gotta relax.” Carl stepped closer to the guy, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Yoga can help with that. I can teach you some breathing techniques.”

The man slapped Clark's hand away. “Don't touch me, asshole.”

Next to him, Clark heard Bruce's heartbeat skyrocket for a moment, though his composure didn't betray his anger. A short blonde woman came running up. 

“Paul! Stop causing a scene, honey. They're not hurting anyone,” she said, her boobs almost threatening to spill out of the tiny bikini she was wearing. Bruce lowered his sunglasses and looked her and Paul up and down.

“I bet it's somehow not inappropriate for you to kiss your… what? 20-years-younger girlfriend, but it is when I want to kiss my boyfriend?” He said. Sharp, Clark thought. The two people in front of them certainly were an odd-looking pair, but then again, he wasn't here to judge. Sometimes that just happened.

Paul was fuming. The woman pulled him away, with much trouble. “Just ain't right,” Clark still heard him mumble, and tuned him out.

Bruce turned around as well. “Come on, Carl. I wanna do some really inappropriate things to you in our room.” 

Clark let himself get dragged along by Bruce. “Nice,” he grinned sheepishly. Barring bigots, he was really starting to like this charade with Bruce. 

“That was good,” Bruce whispered to him on their way to his stuff by the pool. “Got his name, too. Debrief in the room.”

Clark huffed, of course Paul was a potential suspect now as well. Bruce sat down on the sunbed, lazily putting his stuff into a bag again. Clark sat down next to him. “Don’t judge too fast,” he warned, but Bruce cut him off. And maybe, a bigot being a suspect wasn't such a bad thing after all, because Bruce pulled him down by the back of his neck. 

“Kiss me, Paul's looking,” he said, gazing over Clark's shoulder in the distance. 

“With pleasure.” He looked down Bruce's chest, where small droplets of sweat had gathered, and considered that Bruce smelled good, like that. Careless. On vacation. He pulled him in for an open mouthed kiss, hands fisted in his shirt. Bruce moaned into the kiss. His heartbeat increased, because Brendon didn't bother to control it around Carl. He pushed Bruce down into the chair, claiming his mouth and pulling at his tongue. Clark wanted nothing more than to pull him into his lap, and speed them to their room where he could throw Bruce onto the bed. 

“Carl,” Brendon purred, his hand coming up to brush through Clark’s locks. “I know you can’t wait to get back to our room, but hold it in a little longer, boo bear.” 

Once back in their room, Bruce dropped his bag on the floor with a thud, and stiffened his back again. Bruce was back, Brendon was gone for now. Clark tried to get his arousal under control again after his mind had raced, tasting Bruce like that again. He'd almost forgotten his rage at Paul, too. 

“So, nothing in the entire marina?” Bruce asked. 

“Nope. I looked everywhere, and already walked around there last night as well. Nothing.” Clark hid his lie with a half-truth, afraid Bruce might see through him otherwise. 

“Hmm. Paul and his girlfriend were an odd couple. We’ll put them on the shortlist of suspects for now, but it’s not a very solid hunch.” 

“If they really were the ones we're looking for, I doubt they'd draw attention to themselves like that.” Clark bit his lip, but Bruce had already turned around to sit down at the desk and open his laptop. 

“Hmm. I would have thought you would have found some kind of beacon at least. Let me go through the information again, see if we missed anything. Maybe we've been looking in the wrong places.” 

As Bruce sat down, Clark looked out the window of their room. There was an entire city with cultural highlights out there waiting to be discovered, but as long as Bruce believed in the case, they would only stay here to investigate. But, he also needed a little more time before telling Bruce. He'd been close, with Bruce kissing him like that, but the complete 180 he'd done as soon as they entered the room meant that he would probably still run if Clark told him now. 

He walked over to his husband, peering over his shoulder at the screen, and kissed him on the cheek. “Good idea. You do that, I'll go hang around the convention center entrance like we talked about.”

“Hrm,” Bruce agreed, lost in the data Barbara had spun together for him. 

“I'll grab you some lunch before I come back?” 

“Yes, thanks,” Bruce said absentmindedly, focused on the screen. 

“Okay. I'll be back in a while.” Clark grabbed his keycard and wallet, and walked out of the room to go downstairs. In the lobby, he went to the bar and ordered a lemonade. He drank it outside, in front of the convention center where there were some nice park benches and lots of trees to provide shade. 

He lounged around for a bit, went for a walk, had a chat and found a convenience store where he bought some food. Even despite the absurd nature of his situation, his vacation was nice. Still, he couldn't help but think how much nicer it would be with Bruce. To walk around here hand in hand, not rushed by time or emergencies, as they had only done during their honeymoon to Ortuc ten years ago. There, underneath the twin suns and the five moons and countless stars littering the pink sky, had been the only place he'd ever felt Bruce truly relax. 

Bruce placed his metal suitcase on the iridescent floor of their cabin. “I’m all yours, for the next two weeks,” he announced. “You better enjoy it, because this will be the only time. You see, Batman doesn’t take vacations.” 

Clark had cut him of with a kiss. “Right back at you,” he had said. And “Let’s not waste anymore time talking then.” 

Bruce smiled against his lips, and pulled him further into the cabin. 

On the third morning, Clark had stared at Bruce’s features, almost unrecognizable unplagued by nightmares and terrors. “I’ve never known you when you weren't Batman," he explained to Bruce’s questioning look when he opened his eyes. 

“And you never will.”

“You don't know that. Maybe you'll retire. We'll grow old together and have grandchildren and I'll take care of you, forever.”

“Low chance. There’s no point talking in hypotheticals, Clark. Or in living in the future,” Bruce shut him up, pulled him down, and whispered against his teeth. “We’re here now, and I’m awake, and you haven’t made love to me today yet.” 

Clark opened his mouth, capturing Bruce’s, deep in their cabin on Ortuc. 

When Clark got back, Bruce was waiting for him to go down to the hot tub, to stake out any shady characters in or around it. That sounded like a great plan to Clark. He tied up his hair into a messy bun, and they went downstairs, holding hands. 

“Try to be less nice as Carl. More of a don't care attitude,” Bruce whispered as they walked past the poolside bar. 

“I'm not sure if I can pull that off,” Clark whispered back. 

"You can pull anything off, my stud muffin," Bruce suddenly said, louder. There were people close by. Brendon leaned into Carl more, reaching his arm around his hip, and it was no effort for Carl at all to place a hand down low on Brendons butt. He guided Bruce gently towards the hot tub, tried for a flirting but ultimately dismissive laugh. He helped Brendon climb in and sit down in an otherwise empty tub. 

As Clark also let himself sink down into a seat in the hot water, he spotted Paul by one of the sunbeds. The man turned his head towards him and Bruce, but all it took was a “kiss me, Paul's looking,” from Clark this time, to deter him. 

Clark reached an arm around Bruce discreetly, hiding his bandage from view. He relaxed, and felt Bruce do the same, if only for about 50 percent. 

The tub offered a view on a field of grass, which dipped down to the small marina and behind that the ocean, glistening in the orange light of the sun setting behind the hills at their back. 

“I want you to listen around,” Bruce whispered. He leaned in to kiss Clark's neck and kept talking to him. “Focus your attention on the convention hall, anyone still lingering around there at this time of day, exhibitors and visitors alike.” Bruce kept nibbling at his jaw, placing little kisses right under his ear. Clark suddenly had a lot of trouble following along, and stretched his neck to give Bruce more access.

He managed to crane his neck and kiss Bruce back, whispering “Wh-why?” 

“Because there's a lot of evidence not every paper company there is real. I want to know why,” Bruce whispered against his lips.

Clark hummed, letting Bruce's tongue tickle his neck some more. Probably some more fake evidence created by Barbara, he thought. He leaned back. 

“Focus, Clark,” Batman kissed into the shell of his ear. Clark was lost. Luckily the bubbles were on, because he was starting to get an erection. Maybe Bruce was testing him. Two could play at that game.

He leaned up and nosed at Bruce's hair and down his neck, kissing him there. “If only you didn't make that so damn hard, B,” he whispered. Bruce moaned. Clark sucked a hickey at his pulsepoint, one of Bruce's favorite spots to get kissed. Bruce moaned low in his throat, and Clark kissed him there too. He rubbed his thigh under the bubbles, unseen to the normal human eye and not for show at all. 

Once again, Clark wasn't entirely sure whether he was kissing Brendon or his husband, but it didn't matter. They tasted the same, smelled the same, moaned the same. Clark wished this case was real, but then immediately felt bad for thinking so. If only it were real, if only this was real, if only Brendon and Carl were real.

Clark got pulled out of his musings and ministrations on Bruce's neck when he heard footsteps get closer. A male voice said: “The hot tub is a good idea, nice and secluded.” 

“Company,” he warned Bruce and pulled away, but did not let go of his shoulder and his right thigh. Bruce composed himself quickly, putting on Brendon's smug smile and playing with Carl's hair. 

The other couple rounded the corner and joined them, placing down their colorful drinks with straws and umbrellas. They shakily introduced themselves as William and Samuel in a British accent. 

“Are you here for work? With that convention?” Brendon asked after a while of awkwardly staring at each other, not knowing if they should start a conversation. Bold, Clark thought. But Bruce had also often reiterated that the most direct approach was sometimes just the best one. 

“Oh, ha, no. Just on holidays,” William, the skinnier one of the pair, explained. “Together,” he emphasized and hooked his arm through Samuel. Samuel stared at Clark. 

"First time on vacation together?” Clark asked, attempting to break the ice. Maybe they'd even make some friends here. 

"Yeah, is it obvious?" William asked, an awkward laugh. 

"Nah, you're fine," Clark said. "Just relax, and you know, enjoy and stuff. Enjoy each other," he grinned lazily, channeling Carl again. 

"Hah, we weren't sure if we should have chosen one of those more specific LGBT places, but we really fancied the location of this place, so…"

"So here we are," Samuel concluded quickly. "What about you? What's brought you here?" 

"Believe it or not, this is our first vacation together too," Clark answered. It wasn't even that far from the truth.

"You seem so confident, you know. Like it doesn't scare you to be seen together."

"That's because we are to be seen, honey," Brendon commented with conviction, and winked at them. Clark barely suppressed a snort, but was able to turn it into a loving sigh and kiss Bruce on the cheek. 

"And that is because you are so hot, babe,” he said. He shifted, sensing still a bit of unease in the other couple. “But you will be fine. No sweat,” he tried to encourage the two men, while also being Carl and not helping them too much. 

"You're so right, honey boo…" Bruce sighed. 

William was smiling. "So how did you two meet?"

"I took one of Carl's yoga classes and it was love at first sight," Bruce said. "I mean, who could resist such a handsome guy?"

"He didn't even make it through the first class before asking for my personal number," Carl recalled. "One date in and I was hooked.”

"That's so cute,” William squaled. “Love at first sight, Sam,” he bumped his partner. “So it is possible.”

“Hmm,” Samuel huffed. Subconsciously, Clark tried to match it to his database of Bruce-sounds. “For some, sure.”

"Enlighten me,” Brendon said. “What's possible exactly?” 

"Meeting the one, and knowing instantly that that's who you want to spend your life with, I mean. Sam and I were arguing earlier about whether that feeling really exists. Was it like that for you?" 

Clark tensed, stopping his gentle strokes on Bruce's legs for a moment. It hadn't exactly been like that for them. He'd been with Lois for a long time while being friends with Bruce. He'd loved her, and hadn't thought about Bruce that way until much later. Was that what was wrong with them? It had not been love at first sight, although that is kind of hard when you only know one half of a person at first. He looked over at Bruce, his heart a thunderstorm as he said "Yes. Although," his heart rate slowed again. He didn't look at Clark. "It wasn't much of a guess with this piece of muscle." And just like that, Bruce had disappeared behind the smokescreen that was Brendon again. 

"Umm, can I get you a drink, babe?" He asked Bruce. "You too?" He reached for the other couple's empty glasses and made to get up.

Samuel held up his hands. “No need, that's too much,” he said, at the same time that William said: “Yes, please. Pina colada." 

"Got it." He got up and stepped out, padding over to the bar.

"You must know each other well. He knows your poison," Clark heard Samuel say in the distance. 

"He might seem a little distant, but he's attentive like that," Bruce explained. He let it fade away. Actually, he knew Bruce liked a stiff drink, but only on special occasions and when it wouldn't interfere with his patrol. He had no idea what Brendon liked. Brendon seemed like a margarita kind of guy, or something pink and sparkly, he decided. In the end he went with a strawberry daiquiri. He picked a pina colada for himself as well, knowing he liked the coconut flavor of it. 

When he got back, the three of them were laughing, a haughty and too high tumble from Bruce that sounded too genuine to be Brucie Wayne, but nothing like the real thing either. Still, it was great to hear him laugh. 

"Having fun?" Clark asked as he slipped back in and handed everyone their drinks. 

"William and Samuel told me how they got together, like straight out of a flirty rom com, you wouldn't believe it! Oh thank you, boo bear," Bruce accepted the glass and got comfortable against Clark again. 

“We work together,” Samuel explained to Clark. “After years of staring at him behind his desk I finally took the courage to ask him out last year.” 

“Oh, it was much cuter than that. He kept writing notes on little post-its that he put on my computer.” William smiled. “Finally figured out it was him.” 

Clark smiled. “Awesome,” he said. “Love the dedication.” 

They talked to William and Samuel for a long time - about nothing, everything. Bruce asked questions, veiled by Brendon's fake interest and slight aloofness. They told them made up stories in return, losing themselves in Brendon and Carl, and slowly but surely, in each other. 

The entire time Clark kept stroking his thumb up and down Bruce's thigh, hidden by the water and the bubbles and aware of the hypnotic effect such repetitive movements used to have on him. 

"Carl," Bruce said sleepily after a while, his drink half forgotten beside him.

"Yes, babe."

"I think we should head back to our room." 

Clark agreed easily. The sun had set behind the hills. William and Samuel were in deep conversation of their own, but Clark only had ears for Bruce's thundering heartbeat. 

The room welcomed them with an air-conditioned draft and Bruce's fingers pulling on his own. In here, Bruce's arousal from the hot tub was thicker, drawing Clark into an open mouthed kiss. Clark held him close, his chin, his hip, his ass. He grinded against him, hard as he was. 

“Can I fuck you, baby?” He whispered hotly into Bruce's left ear. 

Bruce shook his head. “Shower,” was all he allowed himself to break their kiss for, and pulled Clark deeper into the room, pawing at his clothes to get them off. They couldn't be shed fast enough, as far as Clark considered. 

“Bruce…,” Clark sighed, and kissed him again, warming his now naked skin. Make him forget… forget about the case… 

Bruce stroked through his long hair, pulling and pushing and stumbling in unfamiliar space until they were in the shower. He hissed at the cold stream but it warmed up quickly and Clark made sure of that. He whispered in his husband's good ear, secluded in the steamy cabin, until he heard his veins thrum with arousal and impending orgasm. Bruce clung to his shoulders, their foreheads touching, as Clark stroked them both to a quick orgasm with one hand. 

He took in Bruce's scent as much as he could before the steady stream of water could wash it away. Bruce didn't turn away from him, like at home, breathing in Clark's space and licking and kissing the droplets on his chin and his mouth. 

"Clark…" Bruce sighed under the withering water, and Clark knew all from before was about to dissipate again. "The mission." Bruce sounded disappointed in himself, turned off the shower and stepped out of the cubicle. Clark followed him.

"Hey, don't worry. It's fine, B." He grabbed his husband's shoulders to stop him before towelling off. "We don't know when the culprits will strike," he lied. "Could be another few days.”

Bruce turned away from him to grab a towel. 

Clark came up behind him, still wet. “Do you need a new dressing on here?” Clark asked, touching the healing stab wound. “I can help you.” 

But it was futile. The mood from inside the shower disappeared with its steam, leaving them naked and out of their haze, and unsure of how to proceed. Bruce roughly dried himself off, turning away from Clark. “I'll do it myself,” he said.

“Okay.” Clark dried himself and stepped out of the bathroom to find some clothes for dinner. When he walked back in, Bruce was still naked and twisting trying to look at his left side in the mirror. He applied antiseptic and gauze to his wound, lost in concentration.

“William and Samuel,” Bruce said, out of the blue, having just ripped off a piece of medical tape. He stared at Clark in the mirror.  

“What about them?”

“It’s them.” 

“They’re what?” Clark asked, rinsing his tooth brush.

“The smugglers for the Zenons. It’s them.” 

Chapter Text

“What?” Clark said, slowly putting down his toothbrush and turning to face Bruce. “Wait. Let's backtrack a little, honey. What makes you think that Samuel and William are involved?”

“Was William lying when he said they had nothing to do with the convention?”

“No. I don't think he was.” In truth, Clark hadn't listened to their heartbeats at all. 

“You think or you know? You can always tell if someone is lying,” Bruce pointed out. Right. They were on a case, according to Bruce. Clark's mind raced at the speed of light, going through every possible reaction he could think of. Superman-on-a-case would take everything seriously, take everything into consideration. But Clark hadn't been on . He was on vacation. He slipped up by showing a sliver of doubt to Bruce just now. No matter how he spun it, his best option was to blame Bruce right now. 

“Well, excuse me for being a little distracted earlier,” he landed on. 

Bruce huffed, loudly. “Useless,” he muttered as he walked out of the bathroom, knowing Clark could hear him. 

Clark followed, anger rising despite himself. “He wasn't. Lying.” 

Bruce showed no response to Clark's words as he pulled a clean shirt over his head. “I know where my deductive reasoning ends and your senses begin, and if those don't line up, we leave gaps. We miss things.”

They did. They had left gaps. Hand and glove, but the fingers didn't reach the tips anymore. As much as he wanted to argue with Bruce right now, it was up to him to play along and save their marriage. He took a deep breath.

“Okay. You're right,” he said calmly, and walked around the bed to where Bruce was standing. “I should have been paying more attention.” he grabbed Bruce's hands. “But I was serious about slowing down a little. What makes you think it's them?”

“It's Samuel's silence. It's their very detailed story on how they got together. I'm fairly certain they’re faking their relationship.”

“We have no solid evidence. And besides, you heard them. Being out is new to them. You remember what that was like, don’t you?” 

“No.” Bruce sat down on the bed. “I didn’t really have the luxury of worrying about that.” 

Bruce’s coming out, back in the day, had happened quickly after his return to Gotham, Clark remembered. He’d always thought it was supposed to be like that, that Bruce was okay with it, or had even orchestrated it. But maybe he hadn’t been. Maybe Clark still didn’t know every corner of Bruce's mind. Maybe they were supposed to talk about the past, too, as hard and as embarrassing as that may be. 

“Anyway,” Bruce continued. “I know they're hiding something.” 

Clark walked back to the window, looking out of it and taking in the view. If he played along, they might end up in an embarrassing situation where Bruce accused William and Samuel of a non-existent crime. Realistically, there was little chance of that. Bruce rarely made any moves if he didn't have solid evidence, after all. And Clark could steer him in pointless directions, they could even have fun. Besides, it was more likely that he'd uncover the gaps in Barbara's data first and see through the whole thing. Clark could even try to feign innocence before coming clean to him. But if he didn't play along and confessed everything, Bruce might just leave him here and never talk to him anymore. So it was really no choice at all. 

“Hmm,” he said, rubbing his chin. “They're not Zenons or other aliens in disguise or I would have known by now. You would have known by now.”

“Could they be the recipients of the Zenon weapons or are they pawns in a bigger scheme?”

“But why pretend to be in a relationship if they could have shown up alone, or just for the drop?” Clark mused aloud. He'd missed working tireless nights with Bruce in the cave or the Fortress. 

“Simple,” Bruce said. “They needed to blend in.” 

Clark snapped his fingers. “Like us. If that's the case, the drop will be very covert, might even happen during the day without anyone noticing.” Clark turned around to watch Bruce's reaction. He was lost in thought, catching steam bouncing ideas off of Clark as he had done so often in all their years of working together, walking in circles in front of the batcomputer. 

“The convention was a good hunch, then. What else? What leaves a hotel everyday?”

“Laundry. Garbage. Food, touringcars, tourists, it could even be in the small convenience store in the lobby,” Clark trailed. Bruce sat down, compiling a list, matching it to William and Samuel's possible whereabouts. They worked, forgetting about dinner for a while, but not each other. And Clark smiled and lost himself in it, because it was like the old days, together with his bat. 

“Tomorrow, we'll trail them,” Bruce concluded. “Gather the data. The day after, we strike.” 

Clark beamed, looking at his husband. “Sounds like a plan.”

On the third day of their stay, Clark woke with a stretch to a beautiful sunrise and promised himself he would tell Bruce. He would ‘trail’ William and Samuel with him for a while, and then tell Bruce the truth somewhere at a nice location, where he couldn't deny he was on vacation and enjoying himself with Clark. Clark would come clean and Bruce would forgive him and they'd kiss passionately while the sun framed their embrace in a halo of light. It would be a perfect reunion on a bright day. Like a fairy tale.

“Are they awake?” Bruce asked next to him. Clark listened around the hotel, and found William and Samuel's voices on the third floor, speaking quietly to each other. 

“Yup. They're discussing plans for the day. William wants to go out, Samuel says he prefers to relax around here.” Clark stopped listening to them, since he didn't want to invade their privacy too much. 

Bruce got up, energetically. “Maybe it's time Brendon and Carl took their breakfast downstairs for once, and ran into their new friends there,” he said, already shedding his clothes on the way to the shower. 

“And see if we can interject ourselves into their activities today,” Clark filled in, following him. 

“If we can convince Samuel to go out with all of us, it would be more natural for us to spend the day with them, and we'd see what they're like outside of the confines of the hotel. Would be a good test.” 

This was better than Clark had hoped, Bruce coming up with the plan to go out and see the city himself. He smiled at him. 

“What?” Bruce asked, narrowing his eyes. 

“Nothing. I love seeing you plot a takedown.” He leaned down the one inch that separated them in height and kissed Bruce slowly, holding his chin between thumb and pointer finger. But when he let go, Bruce averted his eyes. 

“Hrm,” he hummed, unconvinced, and turned away to step into the shower, shrouding himself in steam. 

Abandoned by the bathroom counter and despite their closeness of the past few days, Clark had never felt the distance grow more rapidly between them. 

At breakfast, Brendon sweetly asked what William and Samuel's plans for the day were. He managed to convince them to go out with him and Carl, despite Samuel's excuses that he'd prefer to stay around the hotel and go swimming. 

So, at noon, they all got onto a breezy subway taking them downtown. William looked happy to go, holding Samuel's hand, even if the latter looked a little uncomfortable, but in a way that was oddly endearing. He looked straight ahead, caught between holding onto the post in the cart with one hand, and Will with the other. Clark looked them up and down. William was a curly mop of hair on a short chubby man. He was dressed in cargo shorts and a polo. Samuel on the other hand had almost no hair, and wore tight-fitting slacks. Holding onto Clark tightly, Bruce was dressed in casual linen pants, loafers and a flowery shirt. 

They trekked around the city, from subway to parks and between the regular tourists. Clark had brought a fanny pack full of sunscreen and snacks, while Bruce walked around with a small but fashionable backpack. Of course, it housed various hidden compartments, tucked away between camera, water bottle and emergency sun visor. He was also equipped with tie wraps and a foldable batarang in case they needed to make any sudden arrests. Clark let it slide, trusting Bruce not to jump to any conclusions without solid evidence. 

“Wow,” Clark whispered, straining his neck to look up at the ceiling in the Sagrada Familia. Bruce walked past him. 

“Boo bear, have you seen this?” Brendon asked. When Clark looked at him, he pointed at himself. “I match,” he grinned. 

He did, Clark thought. The colorful shirt Bruce had chosen that day matched the colors of the stained glass high up in the church perfectly. The midday sun cast streams of rainbow colored light framing Bruce where he stood at the center of the church. 

“Take a picture of me, please?” 

Clark scoffed. The real Bruce would have come up close to him, an arm wrapped around Clark and pointing out intricate details for him to learn about. He would have whispered his knowledge for Clark to hear, while Clark described the details of the fractured light and colors he'd only seen in nebulas frothing with young stars. But not Brendon. Not Carl. 

“It's beautiful, babe.”

“With me in it? Certainly.”

“Definitely,” Clark grinned. Everything was more beautiful with Bruce, but maybe he was a little biased. He whipped out his phone. The kids were going to love these pictures.

Brendon came up to him, supposedly to check the pictures, and pulled Carl along with a light finger. “We’ll follow them to the other side. I want to hear what they're talking about when on their own,” Bruce said. Clark nodded discreetly and trailed the other two members of their group to the back of the church. 

They walked around nonchalantly, looking at some of the architectural details. “Carl, come look at this,” Brendon said suddenly. Code for ‘stay close to me’ Clark knew. 

“Sweet, babe,” he said, leaning in close to Bruce. They could see William and Samuel from their vantage point. Bruce focused his hearing aid.

“I didn't know you had an interest in architecture,” William said. He was watching Samuel read about the history of the build, and came up close to him.

“It's interesting,” Samuel replied. William touched his hand, tentatively. “Oh, are…,” Samuel started, but quickly folded his fingers around William’s after looking at him. “I'm more of a history buff than anything. Kinda comes with the territory.” 

William looked up at his boyfriend, his eyes filled with mirth and love. 

At Park Güell, after lunch, they searched for shade between the hordes of tourists, and found it away from the famous steps and along the walkways lined with pillars and alcoves blending in seamlessly with the rock. Once again, Bruce made sure they hung back and walked a dozen or so yards behind Will and Sam. Clark held his hand. They strolled at a leisurely pace. 

Clark glanced over at his husband and saw Batman, his gaze sharp and controlled underneath the mask of entitlement that was Brendon. Their steps were in sync, almost as much as Clark's hearing was attuned to Will and Sam, as if this were a real case. Nothing would happen, of course, but Clark was still excited to be working a case with Bruce again. 

Will and Sam dwelled, looking at the sculptures that lined the path and the trees and the flowers. Clark noticed them glancing at each other, every now and then. They made a cute pair, he thought. 

Bruce's arm, or rather Brendon's arm was low around his hips as they walked, and stopped to listen to the other pair every now and then. It was like reconnaissance of the old days, back when they were young and green and Batman’s glares had sent electricity through the air between them. Although it wouldn't be until they were in their mid thirties and after Lois that Clark found the right label for that electricity. 

Samuel and William had rounded a corner, now out of sight. Next to him, Bruce's heart rate picked up in excitement as he slowed his movements, like a cat stalking his prey. They kept listening. 

“--not a good idea,” Clark heard William say. 

“I think we should really- oh–,” Samuel's quiet words got muffled. As Clark and Bruce nearly rounded the corner, Clark understood why. Will was kissing him, pulling Sam down to his level. They were intertwined. Their legs, up to their elbows where Sam was a little awkwardly holding onto Will. A blush crept high on Will's cheeks. Seeing it reminded Clark of stolen kisses he and Bruce had shared on the watchtower, in the cave and at galas, excitement that had faded with nearly 15 years of routine. 

“Not here,” Bruce would say, and keep walking, until he said: “Here,” and dragged Clark down by his tie or his cape in a secluded corner, a deserted hallway. Back then kisses had been a clash of teeth and smiles, excitement spilling over and stolen between breaths. 

And “Right here?” Clark would whisper, and put his thumb on the dimple in Bruce's chin, because that was always the same, cowl or no cowl. 

Bruce would lick into his mouth, his temperature rising. “Missed you. All day,” he admitted between kisses, when even 12 hours apart had been too much.

Clark saw all that, and automatically halted Bruce, so they wouldn't disturb Will and Sam. “Try to see how they act when we're not around,” Clark explained. Bruce nodded, going deadly silent in an instant. Eventually, Sam broke away from Will and kept him at an awkward distance. 

“What–?” He started saying, right as Clark stepped out and around the corner. Will looked up at him apologetically. 

“Sup,” Carl asked, pulling Brendon along around the corner and into full view. 

“Carl! Come look at these flowers, you like plants, don't you?” Will detangled himself from Samuel's grip, turning towards the other pair quickly. 

“‘f course, plants are the best. So chill,” Carl said, and lazily strutted over to where William was pointing. 

“That was odd,” Bruce breathed to him on their way to the exit later. William and Samuel were a little ways in front of them again, talking hushedly. Clark didn't bother listening. 

“Debrief and strategize back in the room?” He asked and lightly squeezed Bruce's hand, encouraged by the closeness between them to keep playing along. 

Bruce squeezed back. 

“Okay, so I'm now 80% sure their relationship is fake,” Bruce announced as the door to their hotel room closed behind them. 

“Is that more or less than this morning?” Clark asked as he sat down on the bed to take off his shoes. 

“More, Clark. Or did you not see that kiss?” Bruce walked further into the room, opening up his laptop. That didn't help Clark. He figured he should probably steer Bruce away from suspecting Will and Sam anymore, before it got too out of hand. 

“I think I saw a different kiss than you did, then,” he said. 

Bruce turned around at the desk to raise an eyebrow at him. “And the way they pulled apart? Nothing was strange about that to you?”

“It reminded me of what we used to do, certainly. You remember what that was like for us, right? Back when we'd just gotten together. We took every chance we got.” He walked over to Bruce. He touched his shoulder. “We used to.” 

Bruce looked up at him briefly, his eyes filled with a look from before. But when he spoke, it was monotone, batman-like. “No. I'm certain. I'd say their relationship is no more real than Brendon and Carl.” 

“And I'd say it's no less real than us; Bruce and Clark,” Clark said resolutely. He spun Bruce around in his chair, forcing him to look up at him. 

Bruce clenched his teeth. He searched Clark's eyes for a while, but ultimately swallowed whatever had been threatening to spill. “The fact remains. We're three days into this case and they're our only suspects so far,” he concluded, turning back to the screen and allowing no further discussion. 

Clark rubbed his husband's shoulder. His gaze landed on Bruce's bleached ends, sticking up in all directions. Clark loved him, even if it had been harder rather than easier lately. This was a look more and more familiar nowadays. His hand on Bruce's shoulder while Bruce worked tirelessly. So close yet so far away. Bruce would give his all to the world, would break his back and lose his hearing, would bleach his hair if The Mission demanded it. He loved this man, who wouldn't stop working unless absolutely forced to. 

Clark exhaled, choosing to keep this peaceful moment in his memory and deliver the news calmly before this whole thing would blow up in his face. At least their entire family would have his back. 

“They're not suspects, Bruce.”

Bruce swiveled around again. “ Why are you not taking this seriously? The entire time, you've been uninvested in this. That's not how I know you at all.” 

“Because there is no mission.” 

"What." Bruce's voice snapped. He stood up and Clark stepped back. 

"There is no mission," Clark said again, louder. 

"I heard you just fine the first time.” This time, the growl was entirely Batman. 

“We’re on vacation.”

“No. We're on a case. ”

Clark held up his hands. “Calm down. There is no mission. No threat, it's fake, the data is fake, the Zenons aren't coming, we–”

“Take me home.”

“What, Bruce? No. We're on a real vacation. For the first time since our honeymoon ,” he added. 

Bruce worked his jaw. “This isn’t funny. Take me home. Clark.” 

How arrogant of him to think that he could make Batman relax enough to forget about Gotham city for a while. He took a breath and braced himself. 

“And you knew this the entire time,” Bruce reasoned, shutting the laptop forcefully and brushing past Clark to the other side of the room. He sounded betrayed. “Did you come up with it? You and Dick?" 

“I didn't! Our family did. It's a gift for our 10 year anniversary,” Clark smiled. Bruce looked positively thunderous. “I wasn't supposed to know either but found out a little prematurely,” he explained quickly. 

“So you were in on it?” 

“Accidentally, yes.”

“You lied to me for three whole days. We wasted resources coming here. And I fell for it. I’m going home,” Bruce said and effectively pulled up his walls, shut the door to any more discussion or reasoning or seeing anyone’s side but his own. 

Clark crossed his arms. “No, that’s not how this works.”

“What.”

“That’s not how this works.” He walked up closer to Bruce in front of the desk. “We made vows, promised things to each other. I love you but this is a two way street, and you're going to listen now."

If Bruce had heat vision, he would be frying Clark to a crisp right now, daring him to go on. He dared. 

"Our anniversary is coming up, we're on vacation” - Clark gestured around them - “something we never get to do, and I'm enjoying it, even our silly disguises and everything. We don't have to worry about paparazzi, we don’t have to worry about anyone calling in emergencies. It's just us here, to enjoy our time together. The kids did this for us, for our anniversary. Because the only way to get you out of your cave and out of your city is to come up with something as ridiculous as this, and they wanted to give us an unforgettable anniversary present. So– so if you can't indulge me, then maybe you can at least indulge them!" Clark was breathing heavily by the end, not realizing how frustrated he'd really been with his husband. 

Bruce clenched his teeth. Angry features looked up at him. It had been a long time since he had looked at Clark in that particular shade of bat-scowl. It was easy to read. It was Gotham needs me and I’ve made this choice long before I chose you, and I will keep making it over you . And who was Clark to deny him that, who would choose the world over Bruce if it ever came down to it, no matter how hard that may be? But not like this, not right now. Not when they didn’t have to make the choice. 

Bruce stabbed low, his voice quiet when he spoke and guilting Clark in the most effective way possible. “How can you just turn your back to everyone, Superman?”

Instead of falling for Bruce’s tactic, Clark gently grabbed Bruce's shoulders, forcing him to stay instead of walking angry, panicked laps around the room. Almost 30 years of being a hero, training countless others and seeing their community grow, and still Bruce wouldn't put the responsibility of Gotham on anyone but himself. It was a painful mirror for Clark, and it was heartbreaking. “Because we have so many people that care for us, B, that made this happen for us. Friends, colleagues, our family. They’re covering for us. They want us to have this, even for a few days. And I…” Clark took a breath. He put a hand on Bruce's cheek to make him look up into his eyes again. “Bruce… I miss you. I miss us . I want to be here for you, to help you with whatever you're going through. And I will be here, whenever you're ready to tell me,” Clark said, realization dawning far in the back of his mind. 

Bruce averted his gaze. “Don't… I didn't ask to be here. But I’ll stay. For them,” he said, icy cold and indirectly confirming his rage at Clark. 

It was almost laughably easy to fight with Bruce, no matter how much Clark loathed it. Bruce had always pulled and clawed at his reasoning and his resolve until it crumbled and they both surrendered to the heat. They were unstoppable force meets immovable object personified. Clark swallowed the last of his restraint. “Bruce,” he said, threatening with the finality of Superman ending an argument on the watchtower. But of course, it had no effect on his own husband. 

Bruce turned away. “You let me make a fool out of myself this entire time, trying to get you to work with me!”

Clark gripped the bridge of his nose, missing his glasses. “I had to! You would have bolted out of here the minute you found out this wasn’t real! At least this ridiculous plan got you out here instead of pulling all nighters in the cave almost all of the time, doing god knows what that’s somehow more important than our marriage!”

“Take that back,” Bruce thundered and swiveled back around to face him. 

“Then tell me you would have agreed to a vacation with me if not for this fake case, Bruce.” 

Bruce's silence was more telling than anything he could have said, fury thundering in his eyes. 

“Tell me you would have agreed to a vacation to celebrate our 10 year anniversary.” Clark took a step towards him, attempting to get some resolve. He forced himself to speak calmly, despite the tears burning in his eyes. “Tell me right now that you would have and I’ll apologize. Please.”

“There’s no point talking in hypotheticals, Clark.”

Clark groaned, loudly. “Even two days before our anniversary, you–” 

There was a knock on their door. Clark used his x-ray vision to check and saw their new pseudo-friends standing outside, dressed in fresh clothes. 

“Will and Sam,” he hissed to Bruce before Bruce could start yelling back at him. He opened the door with feigned surprise. 

“Hi!” William said brightly, oblivious to the tension in the room. “We were wondering if you'd want to have dinner with us tonight.”

Samuel stood behind him, casually leaning against the wall in the hallway. Behind Clark, Bruce moved, and Clark didn't need eyes in the back of his head to know that his rigidity had fallen away, and the fluidity of Brendon was back. Bruce brushed past him, grabbing his phone and wallet. 

“We'd love to go out with you! Come on, Carl,” he barely snarled in Clark's direction, tossing Clark's wallet and stuff to him. If it weren't for his super senses, Clark certainly wouldn't have caught it. 

Will put his arm around Brendon. “And what’s this about an anniversary? Sorry, couldn't help but overhear. You should've let us known if you are celebrating something special!” 

Bruce briefly glanced back at Clark, who was dazedly shutting the door to their room. He started walking down the hallway with William. “Oh, it’s nothing special,” he said, shattering Clark’s world. 

Chapter Text

“...and that's why Toyman and Polka Dot Man accidentally got swapped in Blackgate!” 

Bruce chuckled next to Clark, a high pitched noise that surprised even the man himself. They were walking together along the Metropolis boardwalk, with windswept hair and Bruce’s hands hidden deep in the pockets of his coat. His collar was drawn up high around his neck, shielding him from the cold foam of the Atlantic ocean, but there was an unmistakable smile gracing his features. 

The rest of the boardwalk was largely deserted, most of the people in Metropolis choosing not to tread into this windy day. 

“Rao, sometimes I forget how ridiculous our lives are… how ridiculous I am,” Clark said with laughter in his voice. 

“Not ridiculous. An anomaly, maybe,” Bruce said. “We're both anomalies. Logically, neither of us should be alive. But here we are.”

“But here we are,” Clark echoed. 

Bruce grabbed his hand. Despite the cold, it was warm in his own. Like hand and glove , Clark had once said, long before. And now, with tentative excitement between them. Everything was still so new, shared looks and whispers in the dark against each other's skin, and this. Walks in public and Bruce holding his hand, his seriousness present even in such a small gesture. Every first was significant with Bruce. Clark rubbed circles with his thumb on the back of his hand. 

Bruce broke the silence. “I'm glad to be here with you, Clark.” 

“Bruce… I'm very glad to be here with you, too. If it was infinitesimal chance, I'm cosmically happy we found each other.” 

“No, not chance. I'd find you in every life, I think.” Bruce's voice wavered, uncertainty not at his claim but at what he wanted to say taking hold. “And on every earth, and in every multiverse.”

They had stopped walking. Bruce turned to him, hands still clasped together. Clark's heart thundered. His words couldn't have been more clear. 

“I love you, too, Bruce.”

“I know,” Bruce said seriously. 

He gently tugged Clark down, until their noses met. One icy breath shared between them, as the waves crashed against the supports of the boardwalk, swelling in volume. Clark held Bruce's jaw, sheltered by his collar. Bruce pushed Clark's curls out of his face, and ran a hand up his side, underneath his jacket, a sweltering secret. “I love you, Clark Kent,” he said in the nanometers of space left between them.  “For as long as I'll live…”

The other three walked in front of Clark, weaving between the other tourists and the May heat of Barcelona. The Mediterranean Sea struck calmly against the shore to his left, where children still played. “Hey, keep up, Carl! You alright, lad?” Samuel asked when Clark caught up to them. 

He nodded, his long hair falling into his face since he hadn't bothered to put it up anymore. He stared at Bruce - Brendon, talking animatedly about a menu outside of a restaurant with William, though he didn't spare Clark a single look. 

“Sea food sound good to you?” Will asked him.

“Sure,” Clark nodded. He was Carl, he could be a little distant. 

Dinner was a storm, but only inside of Clark. He kept himself numb, ate an amount of food, let the others talk. He couldn't get Bruce apart from their new friends. If only they could talk. He could explain - properly explain - what had been going on. Bruce would forgive him. Bruce loved him, he loved Bruce. They always made their way out. 

He heard a Brucie laugh, fake and ugly. His husband looked unrecognizable, sitting back lazily, almost sloth like on the patio chair of the restaurant, with his short bleached hair, and rosy cheeks. But if he focused, he still saw Bruce's hazel eyes, his wrinkles, even a gray hair at his temples that had refused to be covered in dye. 

“Carl?” William waved a hand in front of his face. Clark blinked them back into focus. “We asked if you want dessert?”

“Oh. Thanks, I'll skip,” Carl said monotonously. Across from him, Bruce shot him a look. One that said Get it together. Don't break character . Not that any of that mattered anymore. 

After dessert there were cocktails, another bar and wine underneath the palm trees. Clark drank but didn't taste. There was a club, an old building where the dj booth was tucked against a stone wall and sweaty bodies danced under a low ceiling. Bruce danced. 

No, Brendon danced, up close to Carl, grinding against him and whispering filthy nothings in his ear, all for show. Clark couldn't whisper back, couldn't yell over the music. 

“This is what you want, right? Brendon, young and sexy? I wish I was more like Brendon,” Bruce slurred. 

“I don't want that at all, B!” Clark tried in his ear. 

Bruce hung onto him, unsteady on his feet. His eyes searched Clark's, desperation and sadness pooled in them. “That doesn't matter! Soon it won't matter at all anymore! I've already ruined it all!”

Clark had had enough. He had lost sight of Will and Sam an hour prior, and didn't mind risking anything between strangers they'd never met. He whisked Bruce out of the club, onto the courtyard between the buildings, and, faster than the eye could follow, flew them up and over the city. They landed on an empty rooftop, the city asleep beneath them. 

Bruce spun out of his arms the moment they touched solid ground, and slumped down against the flat terracotta roof. “You had to do that with me drunk?” 

“Sorry.” Clark sat down next to him, and stroked a stray hair out of his face. He gently removed Bruce's fake goatee and put that in his pocket. “You're not ruining anything. If anyone, that's me.”

“I love you, Clark. I have for a really very long time. But I can't help but feel it's all coming to an end.” Bruce had grabbed onto Clark's shirt, his fist clasped so tight he might not let go at all anymore. 

“Hey, now, that's not true. Not if we don't want it to,” Clark said. His throat hurt with held-back tears. “I love you, baby.” He didn't have a whole lot of experience dealing with a drunk Bruce, but he did have a lot of experience with telling him how beautiful and loved he was.

Bruce sobbed. “I'll lose you, Clark. I don't want to but I will.” 

“You won't,” he said. Bruce slumped against him. “I'll take you back to the hotel. We'll talk in the morning.” He got up, gathering Bruce in his arms, already half asleep from exhaustion, and flew them back to the hotel under the cover of midnight darkness. 

The morning brought fresh air and regret. Clark woke up silently, slipping out on the balcony of their room to listen to the birds waking up. He sat on one of the chairs until he heard Bruce shuffling around inside, and the unmistakable press of a coffee capsule in the cheap hotel machine. If Bruce was even drinking the crappy stuff, that meant his hangover was bad. 

Clark heard the heartbeat he loved move and sit at the desk, typing on the computer for a moment. After a while, Bruce stepped outside, holding a second coffee cup and a bottle of water. His hair was messy, he had a 5 o’clock shadow and there was a coffee stain on his shirt. Clark wasn't faring much better. Bruce took off his reading glasses, folding them into his pocket. 

“It is a nice view,” he said, raspy.

“Mhm.”

“You could have said something.” Bruce didn't look at him, still taking in the view. He was right, of course. 

“I'm sorry. I should have. I–” 

“Wait, no,” Bruce said. He held out the coffee cup for Clark. “Here. I should apologize. I shouldn't have said that yesterday. I would never think of our anniversary as something insignificant, Clark. I'm sorry.”

Clark breathed. It felt like a weight lifted off his heart, though not completely. Bruce sat down next to him. 

“Thank you. Still, you wouldn't have if I hadn't pushed you like that. I'm sorry.” 

“You're bad at receiving apologies, Clark,” Bruce huffed. 

He smirked. “Stubborn.” He wanted to grab Bruce's hands and turn to him, but Bruce still seemed unavailable, staring out over the hills. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the case being fake earlier. I was having fun, with you. It was like the old days again.”

“Those are behind us, Clark.” 

Bruce was right, of course. Even Superman couldn't go back to the past and just relive that simply because it was easier. Still, it hadn't just been the old days, it had been the old Bruce. “It was nice to have all your attention again. Or at least, most of it. And I felt relaxed. I haven’t extended my hearing much past the hotel, and it feels wonderful. I’ve been here, with you. Hearing you. I feel like I've done a bad job at that lately.” For a little while, Clark could pretend they were normal. An odd couple, but normal humans with predictable lives and a planned-out course for the rest of it, and maybe this is what their retirement would be like. They would both fight until the end, he knew that, but a vacation more often than every ten years didn’t sound too bad. Bruce evidently didn’t see it that way. His frown deepened. He continued. “You can understand why I didn't want that to end, can you? You've been so distant recently. I… I felt like you don't love me anymore.”

Bruce looked at him, at that. He shook his head. “I love you, so much. I'm sorry. I'm just… I've been busy. There's stuff back home I need to get done.”

Bruce’s eyes were sad, a dull gray, back in Gotham and the cave. “Like what? Let me in. If there's something going on, you can tell me, sweetheart.”

Bruce closed his eyes and turned away. “I know. I will.”

“Okay,” Clark said. He grabbed his husband’s right hand. “I trust you.” 

“I… I want to stay here, with you," Bruce started. "But there's so much to do, back home."

"And it will still be there when we get back,” Clark promised. “We can afford a couple more days off. Trust our family, right?" 

"Okay." Bruce looked into his eyes, finally. Clark pulled him up and into a hug, breathing in his husband's familiar scent mixed with the unfamiliarity of different sheets and a different country. 

“Thank you,” Clark breathed against his lips. He kissed him then, and it was Bruce he was kissing and not Brendon, and Clark closed his eyes. Where Brendon was utilitarian but sensual, Bruce was soft. A familiar slide of slightly sunburned and chapped lips that felt like home. The door was on a crack but he was there, and it was Bruce letting him in and grabbing at the linen of his shirt. 

“Yeah, you got us.” Bruce's voice drifted out, a little while later, after a shower and proper breakfast, talking on the phone. Clark heard familiar laughter on the other side of the line. “ Me , I mean. You got me.” Bruce sighed. His fingers strained against the desk where he had sat down and closed the laptop. “Thank you, Dick. Cass’ idea huh? I should've known… Yes, of course. I will.” 

“The family sends their regards,” he said to Clark, pocketing his phone. “And Barbara will remove the phony data. So, it seems we’re free to do as we want.”

Clark sat down on the foot of the bed, facing Bruce and smiling. “And what is it you want?” 

Bruce pursed his lips. “How about something a little more thrilling than swimming or visiting the tourist hot spots? There are waterfalls in the national park just outside the city.”

“Good idea. We can go for a hike,” Clark grinned. 

“Clark… I don’t like this,” Bruce's palm was warm against his own as they made their way into the nearest station. 

“You will. We're just taking the train up into the hills.” 

“The train? I could have rented us a car.”

"Yes, the train, you billionaire. It will take us right to the national park.” 

"Fine." Bruce let himself get pulled along towards the right platform. He was still dressed as Brendon, wearing expensive sneakers that looked much too clean, and shorts and a baseball cap and sunglasses. He looked so… young, and delicious, Clark thought, but didn't have time to dwell on it more as Bruce pulled him along now and onto the train, finding a seat.

Clark himself wore shorts and one of Bruce's old linen shirts, and the shell necklace Kon had given him before they left. He'd put up his long hair in a messy bun, and his fake moustache back in place. 

As they rarely ever did, they fit in with the crowd, the start of summer and the promise of more heat and excitement to get out of the crowding city for a day. 

The falls were beautiful, the path there a dirt path covered in dry pine needles and some rocks, illuminated by the sunlight from overhead shining through a canopy of trees. There were barely any other tourists to walk into, a reprieve from the busy hotel and the city after the last three days. Birds chirped overhead and crickets down below. 

"It's nice here. Quiet," Bruce said, feet stepping on the rocks with far more agility than Brendon should have. There was no one around. 

“Yeah, it is," Clark agreed. The path took them around a bend and opened up to reveal the waterfall he had been hearing for a while. It was secluded, lush, and green. Bruce waited for him at the best viewing point. 

“Woo,” Clark said. He grabbed Bruce's hand again. “Does that remind you of the one on Ortuc?” 

Bruce hummed. “I remember something else about the one on Ortuc.” There was an unmistakable smirk playing around his lips. “Wanna climb up?”

“I don't think we're supposed to?” Clark tried, but Bruce had already ventured off the marked path, making his way closer to the rocks next to the falls. Stubborn, as always. He quickly hobbled after his husband. 

“Pshh, it's just us. And there's no one here.” 

Bruce felt along the wall of rock, finding ridge and lifting himself up deftly. Almost catlike despite his age, he brought up a leg and pushed higher. The muscles in his thighs - visible under his short shorts - contracted and played underneath aged and sinewy skin. He was incredible, Clark thought, watching him scale up the first 7 meters easily with ninja precision and without any kind of safety net. When he was up high enough, Clark decided to follow.

“Don't know if I can do that that fast without… you know, flying,” he said, but still grabbed onto the rock with the right amount of strength needed to pull himself up but not to crumble the entire cliff to dust. He tried not to rely on his more special abilities, and was definitely not as fast or as elegant as Bruce, but he made some good progress following the love of his life.

It wasn't long before he was almost at the same level as Bruce, who was struggling to find one more good ridge right before he could pull himself up to the top. Bruce reached with his right arm, but couldn't quite get to a piece protruding from the face of the cliff, groaning in frustration. Clark lazily let go of the rock wall and let himself float, slowly drifting up to Bruce's level. He touched his waist, question in his eyes. 

“What are you doing?” Bruce hissed, but still allowed himself to be gathered in Clark's arms, one underneath his torso and the other underneath his knees. 

“You said it yourself. There's no one around.” He floated them up the last couple of meters and landed softly on the ground at the top of the waterfall. Bruce pouted, even through Clark's kiss before he let him go. 

“Hmph. Look at us,” Bruce grumbled as he walked to the edge and looked down. “We couldn't even scale a - what? 30 feet wall? Useless.”

“On the contrary. We're at the top. I'd say we complemented each other perfectly.” Clark looked around. There was more forest, the stream leading to the waterfall came from a small gorge uphill. 

“I'm going again,” Bruce decided. And promptly jumped to the tree nearest to the rocks, from which he climbed down easily, swinging from branch to branch. Clark rubbed his own face, sighing and giving into Bruce's persistence, waiting for Bruce to make his way up again. 

As he watched Bruce from above this time, he saw other things. He saw Batman, his perseverance, tactically analysing a problem and plotting out his course while he climbed up with an almost inhuman ease. He saw Bruce's 54-year-old face, lost in the concentration of a training exercise. Lost in his determination. Quitting was simply not a word in his vocabulary, even though, deep down, Clark sometimes wished it was. That he'd hang up the cape and cowl, or even consider it, but that thought would probably never cross Bruce's mind. 

When Bruce was almost at the top again, his breathing regulated and his heartbeat still calm, Clark saw something Bruce couldn't bite away. Pain, as he reached for the final ridge with his right arm again. He tried his left, but Clark heard the telltale sound of thread breaking. “You'll tear your stitches. Here,” he said, bending down more and reaching Bruce's hand to pull him up instead. “Is that right shoulder still bothering you?” 

Bruce grunted, as he walked onto the platform where Clark had been standing. “Dammit Clark. Don't help me.”

Clark held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay,” he said, because he knew what he was in for now. Bruce would keep trying until he got it right. If he interfered anymore, it might be a long time that they were stuck up here. So he let Bruce do his thing, climbing down the trees and back up the wall. Apparently, third time was the charm, as Bruce pulled himself up and over the ledge, to sit down next to Clark. 

“I'm Batman,” he said. “I won't be beaten by a rock wall.”

“The wall didn't stand a chance against you, sweetheart,” Clark smiled, and turned to kiss his husband. 

"Can I feed you an Olive?" 

Clark chuckled in surprise at Bruce's serious tone. They'd gone back to the hotel earlier, and after a much needed shower, they had made plans to go out for dinner in the city, as per Bruce's suggestion. They would just be one in the crowd and not have to worry about a thing. 

"I'd love one. Or two," Clark smiled, and leaned closer. Bruce had picked a restaurant right on the boulevard, a fancy place with white table cloths that billowed in the evening breeze and silverware and olive trees at every corner of the patio. Bruce used the metal pick provided with the complementary olives, although Clark wouldn't have minded Bruce's fingers in his mouth. Maybe later tonight, he thought. 

Bruce looked at him intensely as he licked the olive off the pick. He looked beautiful, despite his spiky bleached tips and ridiculous goatee. He was wearing a satin night blue blouse, with loose puff sleeves and a tight waist where it tucked into his black pants. The fabric had a shimmer that always reminded Clark of the sea of stars one could only see when out in space and far enough away from their own sun. Bruce brought that home to him. Clark himself was wearing an old white and blue striped bellowing button-up and cropped jeans. With his 53 years of age, he usually considered himself too old to wear the shirt anymore, but in his current disguise he felt he could pull it off. 

Their glasses clinked against each other, the pitter patter of children playing on the boulevard and the rushing of the sea beyond that the backdrop to their conversation. Clark was fully engaged in conversation with Bruce, pretty much the opposite of the night before, when they had been out with Will and Sam. They'd seen the two of them at the hotel earlier, but they seemed in a rush and hadn't stopped to talk to Brendon and Carl. Clark hoped that it didn't meant they were leaving, because he'd really like to say goodbye to them still. 

During dinner, he and Bruce talked about everything and nothing in a way they never had time for anymore but late at night in bed, when Bruce was too tired for coherent thought, and Clark could only watch him fall asleep and grow a day older. Now though, it wasn't strained with seriousness and the villain of the day and which of their children had injured themselves. It was light, and mundane, and a little foreign to them. Clark smiled, into Bruce's eyes over his gold-rimmed reading glasses that he was using to study the dessert menu, a serious task. 

"You should grow your hair long, when we're back. Your own, I mean. In its natural color,” Bruce said without looking up. 

"I thought you hated it when I had it long before." 

"I hated the context of it." It had been difficult. Clark readjusting to life and being alive, his hair suddenly on his shoulders and he hadn't thought to cut it. It had certainly not been the most important thing at the time. Bruce couldn't get kryptonite scissors made fast enough, a desperate attempt to go back to before. 

"Okay," he said simply. He reached out and rubbed Bruce's chin. "Please don't ever actually grow a beard. I miss your beautiful chin."

"Hmm," Bruce agreed. 

"Now, just the mustache though," Clark placed his hand in front of Bruce's mouth, so that only the fake mustache was visible instead of the whole goatee. "I wouldn't mind that."

"I'd look too much like my father," Bruce said against his hand, in too serious a tone. Clark withdrew. Now he couldn't unsee it either, the likeness to the pictures on the hearth at home and the painting in the great hall. "It wouldn't have worked, anyway, with my activities." Bruce put the menu down. “What would you like to do tomorrow?” 

And such was conversation with Bruce. A complete 180 in one sentence. Tomorrow was their anniversary. Clark spluttered. He hadn't really thought about that yet. “Anything,” he said. “As long as I'm with you. We could stay in bed all day…”

“No. It should be something grand. I'll arrange something. Let me spoil you, I owe you that much.” 

Clark's eyes softened. “Bruce… you don't owe me anything, honey.”

“Don't sell yourself short, Clark. I've been an ass and a terrible husband the past couple of months.”

Clark reached out to hold his hand across the table. “It's…” okay , he wanted to say. But it was not. Bruce was finally opening up to him a little bit again, and Clark should acknowledge that. “Thank you,” he said instead. 

Bruce's eyes were smoldering with a distant sadness as he brought Clark's hand to his lips. "I'll get the tiramisu," he announced. 

After dinner they strolled around. They took pictures and selfies and Clark imagined how they would look back at those, years from now, and laugh, and would tell each other how silly they looked, and how young. It would be a private thing between them and their family. "Remember that?" They would say. It would be unusable for embarrassment and blackmail because this is what had reunited them in their love. But there were no rings in any of the pictures, and Clark's hand and heart still burned with an unfathomable sense of loss every time he tried to look into Bruce's distant eyes. 

They arrived at a plaza where the ever present sound of the sea and fast slides across guitar strings echoed between the palm trees. A playful melody guided all sorts of people as they swayed and danced across the small plaza; old, young, children with their guardians and each other. There was running here and there, and mothers sitting with their strollers on a stone balustrade, contouring the place in protection. 

They stopped and watched for a while, sitting down on a ledge and Clark couldn't not tighten his grip on Bruce's hand and pull him up in between the locals and the stumbling tourists and stop and mouth "okay?" before pulling him closer and stepping in tandem together. Bruce blended into the night and Clark’s arms seamlessly, the stars overhead reflecting the shimmer of his shirt. 

Some people turned their heads at two men dancing together. Girls giggled and watched. Most paid no attention to them, another couple in the small crowd, finding their steps, remembering the rumbling flow of an intimate dance. 

They stepped, bumped knees, their shared rhythm lost in the many years since the first dance at their wedding.

They stumbled, a clash of feet and catching, a move in opposite direction. 

“Woops,” Clark said. He grabbed Bruce’s hand. “Okay, let’s try that again.” They started again, one step, another, their toes met. Bruce grumbled, frustration taking hold. 

“It's fine,” Clark placated. “We'll try something easier. You lead.” It was fine, and it didn't have to be perfect, it didn't have to be seamless and stumbling was natural. Fun in life lies in the imperfections that you share with your significant other, that you laugh at and roll around in. Clark knew this and yet. Together in their imperfections, nearly 30 years of knowing each other and pulling each other up again and again. They were Batman and Superman. Clark knew Bruce’s every next move, and Bruce knew his. If they weren’t perfect and harmonized and able to communicate at a glance, a minor change in direction of a left foot, then what good were they to the world? It was a constant, always there. Martian Manhunter loves oreos, Wonder Woman wields her lasso, and Batman and Superman fit each other like hand and glove. 

“Here,” Clark said, sitting down in the sand, after they had left the plaza, left the dance. It was cool and soft underneath his fingers. Bruce sat down beside him, slowly, and instinctively leaned against Clark when he wrapped an arm around him. They stared out at the sea together, calmly running its course against the sand, unbreaking, unwavering. 

“We’ll get the hang of dancing together again,” Clark said. “We just need to find some time to practice. Or maybe choose something slower.”

Bruce stared out over the sea. “Hrm,” he hummed. 

“You look beautiful tonight, B.” 

Bruce blushed, his face sparsely illuminated in the light of the moon and the reflection off the waves. “So do you, sunshine.” Bruce’s shimmering eyes looked up to him, into him. Black pools like the night and the stars. He hadn’t called him that in… too long, Clark decided. A grin tugged at his face, which he could only hide by dipping Bruce low and kissing him. Bruce welcomed him with open arms, patting at his back, his sleeves, and tugging. 

“Bruce…” 

“Hmm.” A good hmm, a baritone low in Bruce’s throat, constricted by his arousal but it vibrated against Clark’s lips. He dipped them deeper, until Bruce's back hit the sand, dark in the night and coarse against their clothes, their skin. 

“Hng,” it sounded. Not good, Clark knew. He got up, met with a pained expression. 

“That shoulder again? Maybe rolling in the sand is not the best idea at our age,” he chuckled.

“You mean at my age,” Bruce said and briskly rolled away, getting up in one smooth motion. 

Clark got up after him. “Let me take a look, sweetheart. If something didn't heal right after your dislocation…”

Bruce stopped, pushed Clark's hands away. “Stop, I…” 

“What’s wrong? There's something I don't know, isn't there?” 

Bruce rubbed his temples and the bridge of his nose, and turned to the moonlit waves of the sea. “We need to talk.” 

Clark nodded. “Yes.” His husband's eyes were so serious, so tired. “You can tell me, B. I'm so sorry I haven't –”

“...dammit William! I need you here, now!” Clark had subconsciously kept an ear out for the resort and the people they’d met over the last few days. A sudden shout had him listening more closely, and Samuel sounded alarmingly angry. 

He focused back on Bruce. “I should have been…” he tried to continue, but Samuel was shouting in his ear, heavy footsteps sounded around the hotel, and the next thing he heard just about fried his brain. 

“...don't bother! We need to load the cargo and go!”  

“Crap,” he ground out. How in the world was this happening? Bruce stared at him, his patented explain expression boring into Clark.

“What do you hear?”

“It's the paper convention. Will and Sam. You were right.”

What came out of Bruce’s mouth next, was entirely Batman. “WHAT?!”

Chapter Text

“I thought you said there was no mission,” Bruce grumbled in his arms. The wind swept his hair out of his face, washed away the wrinkles. Not the very deep frown, however. He somehow managed to look menacing being carried bridal style by Clark, with his arms crossed, his brows drawn together, and his mouth a thin line. This was all Batman, minus the suit. Clark knew exactly what he was doing. He was analyzing the situation from every possible angle, coming up with tens of viable scenarios in his head and an appropriate way to handle each of them. 

“There wasn’t supposed to be,” Clark panicked, trying to explain. He’d tried to reason away what he’d heard from William and Samuel. But Bruce had asked him to tell him exactly what he’d heard, and there was no two ways about it. They were up to something, and their relationship was fake, just like Bruce had thought. From hearing what they were saying to each other it was clear now that they weren't in a relationship at all. They were accusing each other of unnecessary fake kisses. Clark wasn’t exactly sure what they were doing, but the more he kept listening, the more it sounded even more ridiculous than the plan Dick and Cassandra had come up with originally. Could Samuel and William have access to those details somehow? Did they work for someone who had gained access to the batcomputer? Or worse, was this part of Dick’s plan to really give them an anniversary to remember?

“Keep telling me what they’re saying.” 

“They’re listing off numbers… crates, I think. The convention hall has closed already. Something about a now useless boat. And a truck outside. They’re not alone.”

“How many?”

“I count six, plus Will and Sam.”

“–Will and Sam, do you hear yourself, Clark?” 

Clark ignored Bruce’s comment. He’d come to care about the two of them, and maybe they weren’t even bad guys. “Could Dick just be behind this?” he wondered out loud. That stopped Bruce in his fuming, momentarily. He pulled out his phone. Dick picked up on the third ring.

“Dick. Explain.” 

“B? What's happening? Enjoying your vacation?”

“Daddy!” Clark heard Mar'i say on the other side of the line. It was around 4 pm in bludhaven so chances were Dick had just picked her up from school. “Who is that?” 

“It's grandpapa Bruce, sweetie.”

“I miss him! Can I call on the phone with him?” 

Bruce's expression softened for a second, but on the next, he growled into the phone. “Dick.”

“Yep. Sorry. All yours. What's up old man?”

“Was it part of your anniversary gift to have the threat turn out to be real?” 

"Real? No. Wait, what’s happening?” Bruce explained the situation to his eldest quickly and in as few words as possible. 

“Nope. This isn’t me– us! I Swear, B! This is real!” Clark heard on the other end of the line. “I’ll ask Barbara to monitor the situation, but you guys got this, right? Easy peasy. What are eight armed thugs gonna do against Superman and Batman?”

“Fuck,” Bruce grumbled, pocketing his phone again. “We know they’re smuggling something, there’s eight people, a truck waiting for them. What are they transporting and where did it come from?” 

Clark looked at the hotel in the distance, using his x-ray vision to peer inside. And promptly closed his eyes. “You're not gonna believe this. Samuel is holding a very Apokalyptian-looking gun.” He would recognize those angry red lines anywhere.

“They've been getting weapons from Apokalyps?” Bruce ground out. 

“I think they're waiting for more right now… they're supposed to get them out into the truck and get away. William did something wrong, that's why Samuel is mad at him.”  He frowned, hearing them squabble.

“You wanker! You just had to go and open that thing here?” Samuel bellowed. 

“I didn't know what I was doing! I've never seen this tech before!”

“You're ruining the whole thing, William. I can't believe I let you kiss me for this. We might as wel have stormed in here and just…”

Clark sighed. He looked down at Bruce. “You were right, they're not really in a relationship at all.”

“At least I still have my deductive reasoning,” Bruce said and steeled himself as they neared the hotel. “Let’s get this done. No time for a costume change.” Clark nodded, and flew them down to the driveway, where they could land hidden from view by some dark trees. 

The reception area of the hotel was in chaos, people were hidden behind desks, the bar, outside. Inside, there were more people clamoring in fear. There was smoke, and Clark saw Paul, knocked out on the floor, maybe having tried to protect others or himself. “It’s bad,” he told Bruce.

Bruce crouched next to him. “Get the people out, meet me in there.” he put a hand on Clark's arm. “Apokalyps could mean boom tube. Be careful, Clark.” He disappeared before Clark could say you too , almost too silent for him to track. His senses were focused on the people inside. He ran, a little faster than Carl Waldo should strictly be capable of, into the hotel lobby, where it was dark. A couple of lights flickered, the stands from the paper conference packed away and one of them in shambles where he saw Sam directing his minions to open up crates. Fake paper companies, he thought. He saw Brendon walk in through the main door, stumbling when he found the room in disarray, while Clark sped over to some hotel guests in the lobby to help them find their way out. 

On the third time going back inside to get more people out, he heard it. The telltale sounds of static in the air, charged electricity and warped molecules seconds before a boom tube opens up. He wanted to warn Bruce, but he now had mere seconds to get the rest of the guests and staff out before things had the potential to get really ugly. 

Clark worked quickly, finding every heartbeat on the ground floor of the hotel, and got them out at lightning speed, risking his identity, but that didn't matter compared to the lives of these people. 

He kept going until there were only some staff members left who had been trapped in the conference hall with the perps. 

Clark swallowed. Boom tube meant Apokalyps. Apokalyps meant DeSaad, or worse, Darkseid. They were not prepared for this. Clark worried for his husband, even though Bruce knew exactly what he had walked into. 

He had to trust him. They couldn't afford any mistakes or mishaps now.

Hand and glove.

“Sam! Will! Missed you guys!” Brendon yelled at their two ‘friends’ as he walked towards them, stepping over fallen down equipment and looking around at the place in disarray. “Don't tell me you did this? Ruin this perfectly nice hotel where my boo and I were making some wonderful memories?” Bruce sounded absolutely heart wrenched as Brendon.

“Brendon?” Clark heard William hiss. “What are you doing in here?”

“I’m asking you what you’re doing.” He walked to the middle of the room, and stopped across from Samuel. William came up to them, panic in his eyes. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” William hissed at Bruce, at the same time that Samuel growled “Isn’t it fucking clear what we’re doing, cunt? William, don’t let him interfere.”

“Looks to me like you’re causing some damage,” Bruce shrugged. “What are you even holding? Is that a super soaker?”

“Shut up!” Samuel waved his gun around, an angry red thing with grey details, a large compartment for… something. 

“Or you’ll do what? squirt water on me?” Bruce said, a high-pitched laugh gracing his question and pointing at the thing. 

A blast sounded, smoke rose up right next to Bruce. "Jesus! You ruined my shoes!" He whined. One of the thugs restrained Bruce harshly on Sam's command. "And my shirt!" He stumbled, and Clark's heart didn't skip but only because he knew that Bruce knew exactly what he was doing. 

While the men were distracted, Clark crawled towards the last remaining civilians in the room. When he reached them, he motioned for them to come closer, and turning his head one last time, he grabbed both of them and sped towards the exit. He went back and carried Paul out, depositing him gently next to his girlfriend. 

They may be in shock, he thought, and while Clark would like to stay with them to make sure they were okay, Bruce would need him soon. The boom tube was about to open up, and there was no stopping it now. 

As he flew in at super speed, the lightning intensified, until the room was flooded in red light and pulsing power, a vortex opening up right in front of Bruce. His heartbeat was slightly faster than normal, but not out of its range. 

"What the fuck is that?” Brendon yelled. They had restrained his hands with a single zip tie around his wrists at his back, but left his feet untied and he was still standing in the middle of the room, across from Samuel. William was standing next to him, and the 6 other thugs had come inside to see what the commotion was about. 

"Really, Will, can you just get out of my way? Look at what you've done. This should have happened out at sea!” William cowered at hearing Samuel's angy words, but the nickname sparked hope in Clark. And Bruce had caught on too. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," Brendon cut in, "but you two seem to have some things you need to work out. It's best to talk about it so no one else gets hurt." He scuffed his shoe, taking a few steps, discreetly looking around. Bruce was looking for the mother box that Will and Sam had used to open the boom tube here, Clark knew. And he saw where it was, at the other side of the room, abandoned on one of the conference tables. Clark smiled. This would be easy, and over in a flash. 

"No one asked you anything!" Samuel struck Bruce with the back of his weapon, and that was Clark's cue. 

Bruce doubled over, moving with the blow to minimize the impact. “One last time,” he ground under his breath, signing Clark in, and then a lot of things happened at once. 

He supersped around the room, knocking out the 6 other bad guys one by one. He retrieved the mother box. At the same time, Bruce kicked Samuel in the stomach with one of his unrestrained legs, knocking him to the floor. He jumped over his own hands, getting the makeshift cuffs in front of him. 

The boom tube opened up further, revealing an army of parademons on the other side. Clark didn't waste anymore time and threw the mother box at Bruce as Bruce ran up and jumped, catching it mid air. They both faced the boom tube. Bruce started throwing, a perfect aim into the center of the tube. Clark permitted himself a millisecond to look at his face, lost in concentration and determination. He let the millisecond stretch, flying towards the mouth of the boom tube, ready to stop any parademons getting through, perfectly filling in where Bruce's abilities ended, like hand and glove. 

One last time , he had said. Clark breathed out, slowing time. Bruce looked amazing, both arms outstretched and his wrists still cuffed together, just about to let go of the mother box, his teeth bared and eyes sharp. Clark had seen it a million times before.

Batman. One last time.

And Clark- Clark's world crumbled. Just a little bit. Realization hit him like a freight train loaded with kryptonite. He hadn't seen the signs. And there had been so many. 

There's some stuff at home I need to get done.

It's all coming to an end .

Even the way Bruce sometimes averted his eyes when Clark mentioned Batman. Bruce had slipped and referred to his nightly activities in the past tense. His stupid shoulder that hadn't healed properly at all. He spent hours in the cave, trying to finish the insurmountable mission he had started almost three decades ago. And it couldn't be finished, it would never be finished. 

Clark had been blinded by his trust in Batman, ever-present, even if it was in the shadows. His companion, the first person he ever really trusted with everything he was. 

He'd been blinded by Bruce claiming everything was fine over and over again, and by his own overconfidence in knowing how to read his husband. Clark had believed him, with rampant faith, because Batman didn't give up. Quitting was not a word in Bruce's vocabulary. Except maybe it was. Apparently it was. And maybe Clark had put it there, 3 years ago, asking him when he would be done . 

In that millisecond of space and time, Clark's world crumbled. It didn't collapse, it didn't end, but it cracked, unmendable. Bruce was his companion, his partner, his everything out on the battlefield. There would be no more swinging through the air with Batman in his arms, slotting into place against Clark's chest or using him for leverage to swing off and stop a fight. There would be no more late-night stakeouts in the rain, sharing soggy protein bars. There would be no more flying side by side, Bruce nodding silently at him from the cockpit of his batplane. There would be no more quick costume switches at galas, no more punching out Luthor together, no more standing with their backs to each other, facing hordes of enemies, and hearing Bruce whisper, with blind trust in Clark: We can take them . We're the world's finest.

But Bruce would be waiting for him, at home, safe. 

Clark looked at him, mid-air, again. Really looked, and, for the first time in weeks, no, months, he saw that Bruce was not just his usual sleep-deprived self. 

He looked exhausted . 

He saw Bruce, his 54-year-old unstoppable husband, who was going to retire. He saw the light of his life and the one person he trusted and loved more than any other, in that millisecond where they finally, finally reconnected again, where their timing was perfect and their movements were in harmony, and he looked at Batman for what may be the last time. 

The mother box entered the boom tube, right as Clark punched the first parademon back inside, and it closed with a blinding flash. Paper floated down to the floor, and Clark with it. Bruce had landed on his knee, looking down at the worn carpet of the conference hall. 

“Owwww,” Brendon whined. He looked up, directly into Clark’s eyes. Clark smiled through the tears.

"Dude, not cool," he said to Samuel, blinking away their personal life for the greater good as he was so used to doing. He walked over to William to restrain him in a simple pair of cuffs. 

Samuel, still lying on the floor, looked up at them in shock, and around the room, where his crew lay groaning on the floor. “What the fuck was that,” he whispered. But before he could say anything else, Bruce swung both fists at him and knocked him out. 

As the dust from the fight settled, and alarms finally started blaring in the distance, it all faded away from Clark, until there was only Bruce. Bruce, who stood amongst the rubble and paper and still had his hands cuffed in front of him and his shirt ripped on the right sleeve, his heart beating steadily but fast.  

"Carl!" He exclaimed, his hand awkwardly outstretched in the cuffs and clumsily stepping over the rubble towards Clark.

"Brendon!" Slipped out easily as Clark ran towards his husband, not caring if he crushed any more property or did any more damage to the hall.

He enveloped Bruce in a bruising hug, and a kiss, and quickly snapped the zip ties around Bruce's wrists, so Bruce could hug and kiss him back. And it was Bruce he was kissing, for underneath the fake desperation of Brendon and Carl, the relief was real, and it exploded in Clark's heart with the simple slide of Bruce's lips against his own. They had found each other again, just as Clark was about to lose his bat permanently.

“It's okay,” he whispered against Bruce's lips. “It's okay, honey. I'm sorry I didn't see it. It's okay. I love you. No matter what.” Bruce kissed him, kept kissing him, and Clark kept saying: “it's okay, it's okay, it's okay.”

In Bruce's mouth, he tasted blood, and on his cheeks, he felt tears. With just one circle of his thumb at Bruce's hip and a gentle push at his collar bone, he let him know, breathe.

“You’re okay, we’ll be okay,” he said again, and wiped the blood and tears away. “You'll always be my bat.”

"I wish I could be," Bruce whispered, as Clark gently finished wiping at his nose and pushed some stray hairs out of his face. He wanted to ask him so many things, but right now was not the time nor the place. He didn’t get much of a chance to think about it more though, because everyone's heads turned to the open doors leading to the driveway outside. And then Wonder Woman walked in. 

As she stepped through, illuminated by the moon and the stars and the emergency services outside, people gasped. Even stepping over a broken lamp looked elegant when she did it, light on her feet. Bruce and Clark quickly untangled themselves, while Diana's eyes swept around the room, taking in the damage and the culprits. They made a nanosecond of eye contact with her. Clark nodded, letting her know. All good. Safe for now.

"Don't worry about me being here, everyone," she said in Spanish, "there is no more danger, but the Justice League does need to confiscate this technology for further investigation." 

As Diana made her way around the room to take note of the situation, Clark found his way outside, where Will and Sam and the other suspects sat on the ground with their backs to the wall, waiting to be escorted away by police. 

William sat by the door, side eyeing Samuel at the other end of the wall discreetly when he wasn't staring at the floor. He bit at his lips. 

"Hey," Clark said. 

William looked up. "Oh." He huffed. 

Clark looked between the two men. Sam was sitting a couple of yards away, turned away from them. A frown, deeper than Batman's regular ones, adorned his brows. It was almost comical how petulant his expression was. It was clear to Clark that even if their relationship had been fake, there was a strong connection between the two, and some unspoken feelings. William reminded him a lot of how he would look at Bruce long before they got together. 

"You should tell him how you really feel," he said quietly to Will. 

"What good is that now? We're going to jail!" William hissed back. "For a very long time probably!" 

Clark huffed. "Well, if you're lucky, at least you'll have each other." 

William seemed to consider this, bit his lips more, and sighed. He looked up at Clark again. "I'm really sorry it went like this, Carl. It's all my fault that those people were in danger. That all should have happened out at sea, and we'd just receive some weapons to transport back home.”

"I appreciate your honesty," Clark said, slipping dangerously close to Superman for a moment. He cleared his throat. "I think you should tell Wonder Woman or the police that though, and not me." He laughed sheepishly. 

“You can't fool me, big guy. I saw those superpowers. You and… Brendon, if Carl and Brendon are even your real names… you're superheroes, right?” 

Clark clenched his jaw and didn’t respond, but William kept going.

“Are you with the Justice League? Is that why Wonder Woman is here?”

“I can’t share that information, Will.”

William huffed. “Then at least tell me if I’d recognize you if you had your costume on.” 

Clark sighed. He looked over at Bruce, indicating to Will. “He’ll tell you it’s a suit or a uniform. We don’t play dress-up. And I’m pretty sure you would recognize us, yes.”

William thought for a moment, but Clark wasn't worried he would see through the disguises and put 2 and 2 together. “Well,” William started. “I don't know how you knew to be here, but I'm glad you were. I'm really sorry we put people in danger. And for what it's worth, I really liked you, Carl. I think you're a stand-up guy. And maybe I was a little… jealous. Of you and uhh, Brendon- whatever." he looked over at Sam again. "I was trying to impress him, like you did."

Oh. Clark squatted down next to William. “He impressed me more than I'll ever be able to impress him, I'm pretty sure.” Even if Bruce was done, Clark would always be in awe of his courage and determination. Bruce chose to put his life on the line every day, to make sure that no one ever had to experience what he had. “Be yourself. I've seen the way Samuel looks at you.” 

"He'll just hate me," William muttered. 

Clark's eyes drifted over to Bruce. "If you don't tell him, you'll never know if he feels the same way," he amended. 

"And if he doesn't and I'm unlucky I'm stuck in a cell with a guy who hates me." 

"True, it might backfire, but you'll be glad you did either way. Maybe it won't be like what you wanted or thought right away, but it will eat at you if you don't." Clark sighed. "Trust me, I speak from experience." 

William frowned at him. "I thought you said it was love at first sight and he asked you out right away."

Clark hesitated. He really wasn't supposed to, but he felt inclined to tell William the truth. Or something closer to it. "That was not… we were undercover too." he smiled. If he kept it vague enough, he could at least be a little more honest with William. "We had known each other for a while already. It took some life-changing events for us to realize exactly how much we meant to each other.” Clark had had to come back from death and find Bruce with his back broken to see it clearly and stop feeling guilty about his own feelings. “Don't wait for those life-changing events. You'll just regret the times you missed.” 

“I… I'll think about it.” William sighed. 

“If it helps. I've seen the way Sam looks at you. You can't fake that,” Clark said. He got up. "I wish we'd been more honest with you, Will. Maybe things would have happened differently then."

"I'm sorry," William said again. Clark put his hand on his shoulder and squeezed. 

"Tell her that," he nodded his head towards Diana, who just stepped outside after talking to the hotel manager. 

He left the thugs alone after that. The other six were mostly conscious again, and had been checked out by medical staff, as well as any hotel guests that had gotten minor injuries. Even Paul seemed fine. So all that was left to do for Clark was to lean against the doorframe and watch Bruce from a distance. He was a sight to behold, enveloped in his slightly ripped blue shirt, scuff marks on his shoes and a sash on one of his sleeves undone. He was crouched down, sorting through evidence no doubt. Clark loved him, he always would. Even if Bruce retired from active duty, he would still be the same man he had fallen in love with somewhere along the course of their friendship and between the chaos of their lives. He felt guilty for not realizing what was going on sooner, but he also felt a little betrayed by Bruce for not cuing him in on such a big decision and keeping him in the dark for so long. 

Knowing Bruce, this must have been eating at him for a while, and he has probably been trying to come to terms with it on his own. Clark only wished that he'd been allowed to help with that. 

“Meet me at the dock,” Diana said quietly as she walked past him and brushed his shoulder. 

"I'm sorry that your romantic getaway got interrupted like this," Diana said. It was dark on the dock, the only light coming from some small lanterns by their feet and the lasso on Diana's hip. Bruce crossed his arms. With his bleached tips barely visible without enhanced vision, the glint in his eyes looked more like Batman again. 

"It was certainly a… surprise," Clark agreed. "And don't be sorry. This is our life, right?" He felt Bruce's hand in his own, a warm squeeze. "William already tried to apologize to me." 

Bruce rubbed his chin. "Any chance of compromised identities?" 

"No." 

"Speaking of which, I love the new looks.” Diana grinned at them. “Any chance you'll keep them?" 

"No chance in hell," Bruce replied quickly. Clark snorted. 

"What about you, Clark?" Diana ran her hand through his long hair that was not really his. He must have lost his hair tie at some point during the scuffle. Attention from Diana was something that no one else could replicate. She handled things with the utmost love and care, all concentrated in a single touch. 

"I might grow it a little longer again. My natural hair." He glanced at Bruce next to him. "My husband seems to like it, at least.” 

"Hrn," came Bruce's typical grunt. But a smile tugged at his lips and that told Clark enough. "What about them?" He cocked his head towards where Samuel and William and the other thugs were being loaded into a police van, changing the subject.

"They'll be taken care of. I've already beamed the evidence up to the watchtower for John Henry and J'onn to look into." 

“We should come, too. We've stopped Apokalyps today, but this could turn into a full-scale invasion,” Clark said, guilt gnawing at his insides. He'd been enjoying his vacation, while Apokalyps had plotted more weapons shipments and was probably preparing for an all-out war with Earth for the umpteenth time in his career as Superman.

Bruce ground his teeth. Of course he wouldn't be able to let this go for now either. "Who were they bringing the weapons to? Who supplied them? If it was Desaad again, we might have to prepare for contact with Apokalips." 

"Relax, both of you,” Diana said, putting her hands on their shoulders. “We'll take care of it. There's no immediate threat anymore."

Bruce grunted. “This is our responsibility now.”

"You're on vacation, Bruce. Read your emails when you get back like a normal person." 

Bruce grumbled. “We don’t have that luxury,” he said. But Clark trusted Diana. She was right. If Bruce was going to retire, he might as well start practicing now with trusting their teammates to keep the world safe. And so would Clark.

“We’ve had this conversation before, B. Trust our friends, remember?" He said with a kiss to Bruce’s hair, because he knew exactly what his weaknesses were when it came to Clark. "Thanks, Di,” he said to Diana. 

But Bruce wasn’t done. If there were gears in his head, Clark would be able to hear them spinning. He did hear the slightly deeper breath, and the rush of blood to his head, and the electrons of his brain waves being fired between synapses. “Did you know about the plot to lure me here too?" Bruce asked Diana calmly. 

"Only because Barbara filled me in just now,” she admitted quickly. 

Clark sighed in relief, and touched his chest. “So you didn't hear it from J'onn.”

"You told J'onn?!" Bruce untangled himself from Clark, and turned to face him. 

"I had to, or you would have spent our anniversary with him!" 

Diana cleared her throat. "Well, J'onn sends his regards. It seems like you boys have a lot to talk about, so I'll get going. Do you need this?” She held up her lasso.

“Thank you, Di. We'll be fine.” Clark kissed her on the cheek to say goodbye, and Diana hugged Bruce, before taking off into the sky.

After Diana flew away, a soar up into the sky and Clark had followed her and her lasso until he couldn’t see her anymore past the horizon, he turned to Bruce. Bruce had been watching her just like him, and was still watching the sea and the stars and faint lights of other villages above it. 

“Bruce,” he whispered. Bruce turned to him. “Please tell me everything.”

Bruce swallowed. He grabbed Clark's hands. “Okay,” he said. 

Chapter Text

“Okay,” Bruce said again. He stalled. Clark had never seen him this nervous before. Bruce had let go of his hands, and turned away, looking out over the ink black sea. 

“I'm quitting,” he said after a while. He spoke slowly, as if he could stall his own inevitable decision. “No more Batman. But you know that by now.” 

Clark felt the wind in his hair. He wanted to reach out for Bruce but couldn't. How hadn't he noticed sooner that something was up? What Bruce was going through? Their lives had a tendency to get busy, yes, but it was no excuse not to talk about these things. No excuse not to sit down with his husband and simply ask him how he was doing. 

He opened and closed his mouth, not knowing what to say. Yes, he could say. I only realized it just now, mid-air, split-second. But that was not what Bruce needed to hear. “I'm sor-”

“Don't blame yourself, Clark. I didn't want you to know yet. You wouldn't have found out.” 

He clenched his jaw, and hurt for Bruce, and felt anger threatening to rise in his throat, even now. “Bruce.” His voice was quiet, barely audible over the calm waves, commanding. His husband turned to him, arms folded. Batman without his cape. 

“I am sorry,” he continued. “I should have known. I should have asked, even if you didn't want me to know.” He did reach out then, just to Bruce's shoulder, and felt it softening under his touch. Bruce exhaled slowly, through his mouth. Batman's harshness had crumbled away under Clark's soft gaze in ten years of marriage, five years of dating, 1 year of sneaking around and decades of friendship. “We're married. I love you to the Source Wall and back, and I should have realized something was going on the moment you became more distant. And give me a little more credit, as your spouse.”

Clark's voice had risen because of the hurt of Bruce not trusting him with this. Bruce's heart was still beating faster than normal. It wasn't anger. He was afraid. Of what, Clark wasn't sure. Life without Batman, possibly. “I'm the one who kept things from you,” he said, quietly. “How can you apologize?”

“And I'm not happy about that, either,” Clark emphasized. “I'm not happy that you didn't trust me with this, or that you didn't let me help. For the past 6 months I thought you didn't love me anymore, and I can't just be mad at you because that's also my fault.”

He heard the telltale click of Bruce's jaw, and his left knee as he fully turned towards him. He took the opportunity to reach out and touch Bruce's cheek, stepping into his personal space. Up close, Clark felt his warmth, and he could almost see the storm raging inside of him through his eyes. 

“But most of all,” he continued. “I'm sorry for not being there for you.” Clark had to clench his jaw to keep his voice from breaking. He spoke quieter. “I should have been there for you, Bruce. And I hope you would want me to as well.”

Bruce turned away from his hand. “I've been putting it off. Telling you. To avoid the inevitable,” he said calmly, as if that explained everything. 

“B, It's okay. What are you so afraid of? No one would think of you any less if you quit. Least of all me.” Clark tried a smile, and eye contact with his husband. 

“The day after tomorrow I won't be Batman anymore, Clark. I don't think you understand the implications of that.”

Clark tried to imagine soaring through the Gotham sky without seeing Batman swinging between rooftops. Or seeing Batman but not hearing Bruce's heartbeat. Or seeing Batman but not being able to land quietly behind him without startling the man, and walking up to him to be met with Bruce's gruff voice. He couldn't. “It's going to take some adjustment, but that's fine. I get to come home to you.” 

Bruce finally looked up at him. And there, in his eyes, he saw. Clark was entirely wrong, in his mind. And Clark wanted to do everything to take that feeling away. “We've always understood each other, on every level. On a fundamental level. Batman and Superman. Isn't that what keeps us together,” Bruce paused, forgoing the question mark. “But this. This is something you will never understand, Clark. We're already growing apart because of it.”

“Then tell me, Bruce. Help me understand. You can't just expect me to guess all the time.” He held Bruce's shoulders, a vice immovable grip on either side. Bruce turned away from him. His voice was level, as if he was lecturing Clark during a case.

“You don't guess, Clark. You derive, deduce, investigate and conclude.”

“For work, for Superman stuff. I shouldn't have to investigate you! You're my husband. I just want to be able to talk to you.” Clark rarely ever got angry. Really angry. Annoyed, frequently, but that was easy to keep a lid on. To keep it inside himself and see the good parts of the world, and hope, and continue. Not with Bruce. Bruce clawed it out of him, bringing his most naked feelings to the surface. He let Clark be himself. Clark's own heartbeat was hammering in his throat, virile with anger. Bruce's was still calm. He stepped out of Clark's space, and somehow, the lack of confrontation made him more scared than anything else. They had arguments. It's what they did. They bickered and bantered and fought, passionately and often towards the same goal. Different methods. Bruce rarely stepped out of a fight. 

Now, he crossed his arms towards the sea and said nothing. 

“I don't just know everything, and neither do you,” Clark said, frustratedly but calmer. “But I love you. And I know you love me. So why do we clash so much lately? I feel like I'm driving you away. But we're supposed to stand side by side.”

“And what if one of us is moving and the other one isn't?” Bruce let the question hang in the dark air between them, its implications heavy on Clark's heart. Bruce was afraid of being left behind. And there was another step there, one that Clark would never fully grasp, just out of reach. 

“It's not just the retirement, is it?” 

“ Why do you think I'm retiring, Clark?”

Breaking his back hadn't stopped Bruce. Neither did breaking nearly every bone in his body, losing half his hearing, or almost burning to death. Bruce wasn't one to back down from a fight, to give up. Clark had always thought it would take him dying, losing a limb or breaking his back a second time with paralysis as a result for Batman to stop. He'd often wished for exactly the situation they were in now, with Bruce quitting while in relatively good health. 

No, whatever stopped Bruce, stopped Batman, had to be so routine, so minor, that Bruce couldn't deny the truth any longer. He looked Bruce up and down, through his skin, through muscles. His bones were strong, but the cartilage was damaged in places. His joints scraped, his knees ached. His right shoulder…

"Your shoulder.” He switched back to normal vision. Bruce's eyes were calm. 

“Six months ago. I dislocated it…” Clark knew this. Bruce had come home that fateful night, and slumped out of the batmobile towards Clark, explaining in as few words as possible that his opponent had gotten lucky and twisted his arm behind his back, and if Clark could please help him. He had been in distress, more so than what was usual for him, but Clark had chalked it up to the pain. He himself had been too panicked to notice anything out of the ordinary. “…while grappling,” Bruce finished. 

“Grappling?” Clark asked. “I thought you said-”

"I lied. I was too slow in shooting my grapple. Only 1.2 seconds, but it was enough. It was routine. And it shouldn't have happened.” 

Clark wondered. Bruce's voice sounded foreign to his ears, void of its usual determination. It had to be why he decided to quit. And if it was the reason he decided to quit, it meant that it was too serious to train his way around it, like he'd done with so many other things. The Bruce he knew would not just give up after one relatively mild injury, compared to some of the other things he'd put himself through over the years. 

“I jumped, it was routine. On my usual patrol route, between the Robson building and the Bristol towers, on the side of the park,” Bruce explained to Clark's questioning look. “I jumped, and I shot. But it was too late, I was already too far down. I fall at a speed incurred by the Earth's gravity. Normally, that is around 40 km per hour. Shooting 1.2 seconds too late means I was already falling at a speed of almost 80 km per hour. I couldn't correct anymore, and it tore my arm out of its socket.” 

Clark clenched his teeth. It was lost on him sometimes just how strong Bruce really was. How superhuman the acts he performed every night. But even something as routine for the bat family as grappling from building to building high above the streets posed mortal danger to the average human. “Bruce…”

“I… can't fix it with training anymore, Clark. I'm just getting slower. Too slow. And I can't be Batman anymore if I can't be a reliable force to my teammates anymore. To you.”

Clark smiled ruefully. 

Bruce gave him a look. 

“I had just expected you to be more stubborn about this,” he explained. “That I would have to wrangle you to stay home on the couch, or sedate you together with Alfred if the time came.”

“You've discussed my retirement with Alfred ?” 

“We're not traitors, B. Yes. Multiple times. You're not the only one with contingency plans.”

“So you're happy?” 

“Yes. No . You're my companion, Bruce. My rock. Out on the field, on patrol, on missions. But not more than in here,” he pointed at his own chest. “Not more than at home.”

Bruce blushed furiously, as if he was ashamed of giving up. “I didn't just quit right away. I went to see Leslie. My shoulder is permanently damaged. I can't make it better anymore. And I've not just given up, Clark. For 6 months I kept going. Tying up loose ends, documenting everything for Damian. Checking up on known contacts. Strengthening Arkham's security. And now I must face the fact that I'm simply getting too old.” 

Bruce looked at him then, a challenge in his eyes.

And Clark's heart broke. Even after all those years together, Bruce didn't think Clark would stand by him no matter what. That it was him against the world. Clark reached out to pull him close. “But you didn't have to do that alone, sweetheart,” he whispered. “You don't have to face that alone.”

“I do. I'll be 55 next year. I'm getting old, Clark,” Bruce said quietly, looking up at him with something akin to repulsion in his eyes. “And the one and only fact that truly separates us, is that you're not.”

The world stopped. 

One beat, two. The waves pushed calmly against the dock. 

There it was. That fundamental difference, where their understanding of each other failed, and everything around it started crumbling. 

The fact that Clark still hadn't found a single gray hair on his head, while Bruce was already sporting a rich dusting of silver at his temples. 

They lived at a different pace. 

The words hung between them, laden with the differences between the two of them. They were wrong together, on every level. Interspecies and extraterrestrial. Clark was wrong, even if he was practically the same age as Bruce. 

“You don't know…” Clark said, because they didn't. Not really. But mostly because he didn't want to know. “I might…”

“You still look the same as you did 20 years ago when you were 33, Clark. And for good measure,” he said, stopping Clark from forming a response. “The Fortress tells me you'll live for eons under a yellow sun.”

He wouldn't. Bruce wouldn't put that information on Clark and reduce his world with just a few words to other, alien , and doom him to thousands of years of loneliness. He had deliberately never wanted to know and had never asked the Fortress, never looked too closely at his own cells and the DNA and the telomeres. “You didn't.” 

“I did. I had to know. I won't be able to keep up with you. I already can't,” Bruce said. The pain in his voice was detectable, but Clark didn't hear much beyond the ringing in his own ears. For a while longer, he could have at least pretended that he would age with his loved ones. 

“I didn't want to know, Bruce. You knew that.”

“And so I didn't tell you,” Bruce whispered.  “You'll live for so long, Clark… You'll see and do great things. And I won't be a part of that… even though I wish I could be.” Bruce clenched his teeth to keep his voice from breaking, but it didn't stop the tears from gathering in his eyes. There was an end to their time together, an inevitable one that they couldn't talk or fight or hope their way out of. For the past six months, Bruce had been seeing the horizon of their time together as a clear pen stroke instead of a hazy gradient. 

Clark didn't trust his own hands right now, trembling at his sides. This was what Bruce had felt, all those months, and even if he had gone behind Clark's back, he had been facing it alone. 

“We're different. It won’t be long before it becomes too obvious,” Bruce continued. “To other people. To me.” He looked up at Clark, and said quietly: “To you .”

When Bruce was wrong, it hurt. It only ever happened in the most dire of situations or in the most mundane ones. Clark didn't know which was worse. He didn't know what this situation would be categorized as. But he did know that Bruce was wrong in this case. Their relationship wouldn't crash because of Bruce's aging, and their marriage wouldn't end because of Clark seeing that. 

It had become obvious to Clark years ago.

“You think I haven’t noticed already?” He said, the despair making his voice more stabbing than he'd intended. “That I don’t fall asleep counting the gray hairs on your head, seeing if it’s more or less than the day before? That I don’t see your telomeres shortening, and your skin cells losing their structure?” He held his husband's shoulders. “But we can't live our lives on the hypothetical that you may die and I may live, Bruce. It could end any day for either of us with the work we do. Age has nothing to do with that. And–” 

“Not you. It won’t end any day for you, Clark. You’re too strong for that.” 

“You don’t know that.” 

“It happened before. And it only made you stronger.”

“Bruce.” 

Bruce was unfair. Unfair to Clark, but worse, unfair to himself. He looked distressed. He ran a hand through his bewildered hair, fingers catching in it.

“Aging fucking sucks Clark. And it really fucking sucks doing it next to you. And that probably makes me vain, or something, but that's how I feel. And I hate it. I hate that it means we're growing apart. I never thought I'd live to see the day, but I have, for which you are definitely partially responsible. I can't keep up with you anymore. I've seen the disgust in your eyes when you look at me when I wear my glasses. And soon, you won't be interested in me at all anymore. And I won't blame you for it. It's only natural that it would end, and you move on. To someone younger.” 

Clark remembered the League meeting from the previous week, and Bruce's unjustified disapproval of Blackclaw. “ That's why you didn't want Blackclaw on the JL?”

“I was jealous. I've seen the way he looks at you.”

“I'm Superman. People look at me weirdly all the time the first time they meet me. And more importantly, I don't want to move on. I would never lose interest in you, Bruce. I like the way you look in your glasses. I just hate what it means. I'm sorry if that showed and made you uncomfortable.”

"And what happens when you don't find me attractive anymore?" Bruce whispered. "I don't want that, Clark." 

“You know I'm not that shallow. Bruce, darling. I love you. That’s not going to change because of some wrinkles. You are beautiful, despite your aging cells, or maybe because of them. And that isn’t just because of your genetics. You’re beautiful to me because of your passion. The way you help people, also outside of being Batman.” 

“People will talk, seeing us walk down the street.”

“Then Clark Kent will age too. If it doesn’t happen naturally, we’ll make it happen. Dye my hair gray.” 

“Stop trying to find ways around this. It's inevitable, Clark. You're not looking at the bigger picture. What will I be to you 500 years from now? A speck of dust on your timeline.”

Clark couldn't imagine life without Bruce. They had known each other for more than half their lives. And even if, in the grand scheme of things, that would only be a fraction of Clark's life, he knew he would never forget Bruce. “You’ll be a supernova. You’ll be the brightest star to guide me for the rest of my life, and… I don’t want to think more about that right now, B. Because you’re right here, and so am I. We're here and now and that's all that matters. I’m sorry I didn’t realize how much you were struggling with this, and I wish I had and that we wouldn’t have drifted apart for so long.”  

“I hate how you always know just what to say,” Bruce mumbled. “We're just on different constellations, I think. We were never meant to be. I'm human Clark. And you're not. I'll age and you won't. It's as simple as that."

“You always do this.” Clark dropped his hands. It was his choice to deal with that when the time came. And even then, he would make the same choice again given the chance. “You reduce me to my otherness and my alienness and make a decision for us without even asking me how I feel on the matter. Where was this in your relationship contingency plans sixteen years ago?" 

"I was selfish,” Bruce said and crossed his arms. “This is the only reason why we couldn't be together that you would have had no rebuttal for, and I wanted you." 

It had been a few months after their first kiss, when Clark had asked Bruce on a date. A real date. “Are you sure,” Bruce had said, one eyebrow raised and hands on his hips. He'd been standing in the sole band of light streaming in through the curtains of his bedroom and Clark sat at the foot of the bed. “Aren't you?” Clark had said, meeting the challenge head on. The entire morning they had devised plans to cover their secret identities, align their schedules, and set boundaries. 

"You…" Clark started, and stopped. Because that meant Bruce had thought about spending their lives together right from the start. 

" I'll die and you won't would have been the one reason you couldn't have talked your way out of. Because it's fact, and not malleable, and it won't bend to your words." 

"That's where you're wrong."

Bruce looked back up at him. In the dim light of the moon and its reflection on the waves, his eyes were deeper than oceans. Clark heard his heart skip a beat. And that single tha-thump betrayed his spark of hope. Hope that Clark could talk him out of the downward spiral he had lost himself in for half a year. 

He grabbed onto Bruce's hands. And he smiled. "You'll age, yes. And I won't at the same rate as you. But you will grow older and I will be there with you, even as you lose your hair, or more of your hearing. You'll walk slower, and I'll walk slower with you. You'll need help in the shower and I'll wash you. You'll want to spend more time playing chess and I'll play with you. And if you ever forget my name…, then I'll remember yours, Bruce." He cupped his husband's cheeks, and felt the tremor in his veins. "Because I love you, sweetheart. Forever. and that's not going to change because of some wrinkles, or a mildly inconvenient fact like 'you're human and I'm not' . When has an impossibility like that ever deterred you? You once told me you'll love me as long as you'll live. Then let me love you as long as I'll live. I love you and you love me, that's all that matters. You don't need to complicate that any further with contingency plans and self-destructive isolation.”

"Clark… damn you and your words." 

“You married a writer, darling. Any path you guide us down with your logic, I'll guide us out of with prose.”

Bruce huffed. It was a familiar sound. One that Clark had missed, without realizing it much. It meant really and prove it and a challenge, as much as he challenged Bruce in return. It kept him grounded.

“Bruce," he said and hugged him close. Because for intimacy and comfort he had no countermeasure - at least not with Clark. Surrender came easily to his unstoppable touch. 

“You'll always be my Batman,” he said into Bruce's hair, holding him close. “The only one. Always.”

He felt Bruce's weight shift in admission. One foot, a heel, was all it took for Bruce to let Clark in. For the two of them to become whole again.

“Clark.” Tears broke through in Bruce's voice. His arms came up around Clark to hold him too. “I want to be with you. Forever. But that's different for me than for you.” 

“And that's my choice to accept. Not yours to make.”

They stood like that for a while, and the only sounds Clark listened to were the waves, and his husband's heartbeat, thundering through his own chest.

When Bruce finally pulled away, he didn't completely let go. “I'm sorry. For not telling you, and putting you through this.”

“I’m sorry,” Clark said once again. “I'm sorry I didn't sit down and talk with you about this. I'm sorry you felt you had to face this alone. I'm sorry I didn't make you feel loved, every day that I've been with you.”

“Stop saying you're sorry.” 

“No,” he said, but his tone was more teasing. “I'm sorry for dragging you here with me, thinking it would magically fix everything. I'm–”

“I said,” Bruce cut him off. “Stop saying that. I love you. My sunshine,” he said against Clark's lips and closed that final bit of distance between them. His hands smoothed over Clark's chest and his waist, keeping him on the ground. His lips were rough against his own, and the stubble of not shaving for 24 hours caught against Clark's invulnerable skin. It was slow and tender and trembling with emotions kept at bay for 6 months. Neither of them dared to break the dam and flood their hearts. But it was real, and Clark smiled through the tears into a kiss that mended all rifts between them. 

“Oh. Okay,” he breathed between them, their foreheads touching. “I'll stop.” 

“Good,” Bruce said and kissed him again, open mouthed and passionate and salty with tears. 

They made it to the room somehow, where they made out until Clark's legs hit the bed and he fell backwards, just like the very first time they'd had sex. 

"You won't hurt me," Bruce had said that time, years ago, and placed Clark's hands on his hips, straddling him. He'd squeezed, until the fat on Bruce's ass just barely pushed through his fingers, and no more. He'd felt the ridges of Bruce's skin underneath his fingertips, and committed it all to memory, just in case.

Now, he grabbed Bruce out of instinct, automatically applying the exact pressure for Bruce to feel held and feel him in return, and pulled him close, moved with him. 

Just like that first time, he came embarrassingly fast. 

"Sorry."

Bruce grabbed his chin. "None of that," he said. "Can you keep going?" 

Clark stared up at him. Bruce wanted him, really wanted him. Not that quick-and-get-it-done sex they'd been having lately, but he really wanted Clark. He nodded. Of course he could keep going. 

He rolled over, and felt Bruce's thigh muscles quiver underneath his hands. “Do you want me to fuck you properly?” He whispered in his better ear. “Like old times?” 

“N-not like old times,” Bruce breathed. 

They moved, until Bruce was a quivering mess in his arms, and Clark was completely spent. 

The next morning, Clark woke up in his husband's arms, his cheek cushioned by Bruce's left pec and heartbeat. That sound was a constant to him, the metronome to his daily life, but there would be a time in the future that he wouldn't hear it anymore. 

Bruce stroked through his hair. “What are you thinking of?” He said, voice still thick with sleep. 

“That I should record your heartbeat.” He'd save it in the Fortress, where he could listen to it on lonely nights and fall asleep. 

“You have an eidetic supermemory.” 

“It wouldn't be the same.”

“When I'm gone,” Bruce said, and his heart skipped a beat. “Don't live in the past, Clark.”

Clark lifted his face to look into Bruce's eyes. “Don't live in the future,” he deflected. 

To his surprise, Bruce smiled. The skin on his chin rippled and the corner of his mouth twitched. There was a sparkle in his eyes that said I've got you cornered . “And who's making contingency plans for decades from now?”

Every conversation with Bruce was a game of chess, and Clark was one of the few who could beat him at it. He grinned. Checkmate . “Learned from the best.”

They stayed in bed for a while as morning light filtered through the hotel curtains onto the bed, missing out on breakfast. Instead, they talked. About retirement, and duties, and whether those were to the world or their family. Bruce would take a step back from training the Justice League, but he would still help solve cases in Gotham and beyond, and support Damian as he took over the role of Batman (if he wanted). He would have more time to watch Mar'i and the new baby when it was born. The question was, whether Clark could give up some of his sense of duty to the world to watch the grandkids together. For a brief moment, Clark wondered if this is where it started. If they weren't on equal footing anymore. 

They talked about legacy, and family, and trust in those around them. Kon, Jon, Kara and Kenan had more than proven themselves already. Clark could trust others to step up so he could take a step back. This vacation was proof of it. In the end, they settled on two days off for Clark per week. Which meant no office work, no hero work, and no casework for Bruce. 

Near the end of the morning, they got interrupted in their quiet conversation by their phones vibrating repeatedly on the nightstand. 

You made the local news!!!, the first message in the family group chat read. It had been sent by Duke. Attached was a screenshot of the headline of a Barcelona news outlet: Mystery couple fights off intergalactic smugglers, catastrophe averted. Below it, a picture of Brendon and Carl's intimate kiss amidst the mess in the convention hall. Luckily the rest of the hotel had not been damaged, and all guests had been able to return to their rooms if they wished. 

Kon: Lmaooooo . Can your relationship drama ever be normal??

Kara : I think it's cute!

Damian: Your inability to have a normal vacation amuses me >:)

Dick: I'm just glad everyone is okay!!

Jason: Your ability to come up with a plot good enough for Apokalyps to steal amuses me, dickface >:D

It is concerning at the very least, Bruce sent. We need to look into our security measures.

Cass: B!

Cass : :c

Jon: No! Bad! You're on vacation!

Barbara : Already taken care of. 

Kara: You can be Annoying Batman when you're back!

Clark looked over at Bruce, on the other side of his bed where he was holding his phone loosely in his hand. “I'll tell them when we're back home,” he said out loud. 

Clark grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “Whenever you're ready.” 

“When we're back,” Clark started when he finally walked out of the shower. Bruce was standing in front of the mirror, shaving. “Will you be…” he trailed off, unsure how to finish the question. Be retired? Not be Batman anymore?

"Done?" Bruce filled in, sweeping the razor across his chin. “Yes.” 

And that was okay. Good, even, if Clark had anything to say about it. And yet, as he looked at Bruce now, at the muscles on his back moving as he cleaned his razor and down at where they dipped underneath his boxer briefs, it felt suffocating. Just a little.

“What?” Bruce asked the Clark in the mirror. He held up his hands. Don't drive him back into a corner. 

He stepped up to him, and smoothed a hand over his right shoulder. Bruce's breathing hitched, undetectable to the human ear. Loud as a drum to Clark's. He saw it clearly now, not held back by his need to respect Bruce's privacy boundaries. The inflammation. The nerve damage. If it were up to Clark, he would scan Bruce every day to make sure nothing was wrong. He kissed him, right where his deltoid started. 

He moved to Bruce's left side, the stitches on his stab wound there. It was clean after the shower, but needed antiseptic and a new dressing. “Let me,” he said. His thumb smoothed along Bruce's ribs, warm skin. It shivered with Bruce's breathing, alight with nerve endings firing signals to his brain that came out in shallow breaths and an increased heartbeat. Clark never wanted to stop hearing him react to his touch like that. 

“I… yeah. Okay,” Bruce whispered, maybe not trusting himself to speak. 

“I'll take care of you, B. I love taking care of you,” he reassured. Forever , however long that may still be. He turned Bruce a quarter, so that he could see in the mirror what Clark was doing, without having to twist his spine. As he padded cotton along the wound, Clark frowned. Would this be the last wound? The last scar?

“Ask whatever you want to ask, Clark. I hate watching you squirm like that,” Bruce said above him. 

He finished putting new gauze and tape over the wound, smoothing it down. Then he looked at Bruce in the mirror. “Can we do one last patrol together?” 

Bruce didn't respond. Which either meant he didn't want to, or he had to think about it - and that was rarely the case. 

“I'll fly you around, if you want,” he added.

Bruce's mouth became a thin line. “I'm not scared, Clark,” he rasped. 

“I know,” Clark said quickly. He twisted the edge of his towel, in lieu of a cape. “Maybe I am. Just a little. I mean, I won't get to do that as much anymore.”

“Oh.” Bruce turned back towards him. He touched Clark's cheek. “Sunshine. Yes, we can do that. One last time.” 

Clark revelled in the feeling of his husband's hand against his cheek. He'd missed his touch so much more than he'd realized the past months. He let out a shaky breath.

“Don't let anyone know I'll miss the feeling of you catching me most of all,” Bruce said before Clark pulled him into a hug. 

“Won't,” he mumbled. “I won't.”

Brunch - or more accurately, lunch - was chaotic. The hotel staff kept thanking them profusely when they entered the dining area. People flocked around their table to get a glimpse. Clark was more thankful for his disguise now than ever before. Diana had texted them a picture of the same screenshot Duke had sent, but printed out and attached on the watchtower cafetaria fridge. Bruce was not amused, but at least able to let it go for now. 

Clark - Carl - spoke to every one of the people coming to their table. Even Paul shuffled around to thank them, sporting a black eye. 

“Privacy is simply not meant for us, I'm afraid,” Bruce said when it had finally quieted down around their table. 

“We could take this back to the room,” Clark said, indicating the food in front of them. “I wouldn't mind spending all day there.” 

Bruce raised an eyebrow, much like the way Alfred was prone to do. “Wouldn't you? And I thought you wanted to be on vacation so bad.”

“Touche,” Clark smiled. “I don't care what we do, as long as it's together.”

“In that case,” Bruce started and grabbed his hand over the table. He gently rubbed the spot where Clark's ring should be. “I've taken the liberty to arrange for us to stay at a small hotel in the hills for our last three nights here.”

Despite the years between them, Clark felt a blush creeping up to his cheeks. “When did you even have time for that?”

In answer, Bruce smiled secretively. Whenever he wanted to surprise Clark, he did it well and went for it all the way. 

As with any and all of Bruce's surprises over the years, Clark had no idea what to expect. The hotel, when they got to it, was hidden between foliage and the rocks and a winding road. It was private and much more luxurious than the place in the city and Clark heard many birds. There was a patio and a view that stretched for miles over the hills and towards the sea. 

Dinner was a table set for two and outside and a waiter seemingly hired specifically for them, holding out bottles of wine for Clark to taste and approve and bringing food so fresh that Clark could almost make out the scent from the dirt it was grown in in these very hills. It was beautiful and perfect and most of all it was Bruce. He sat across from Clark, following his every move with his eyes and loving smile. 

“That was delicious, B, thank you,” he said when they'd finished eating every course. “I've had a perfect anniversary.” 

“It's not over yet.” Bruce got up. He held out his hand, and lead Clark to the middle of the paved patio where chairs had been cleared. Soft guitar music started playing from a speaker 

“Dancing? Oh my, very romantic.”

“Something slower,” Bruce winked. “So you'll be able to keep up.” 

“Try me,” Clark challenged back. 

“Soon. First, something much more important.” Bruce slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out a small box. Clark's heart skipped a beat. It was the same box that had been burning in his pocket and in his sweaty hand over ten years ago now. Even the second time around getting down on one knee in front of someone, he hadn't been any less nervous. For a very brief moment, he wondered if there would be more of that in his very long future. But no matter what, Bruce was in front of him, right now, and would be for many years to come. 

"Clark,” Bruce started, an uncertain smile playing around his lips. He opened the box, where both of their rings lay. “Will you spend the rest of my life with me? I know I can be an asshole sometimes and I'm really bad at communicating how I feel, but…”

Clark tried to hold back a sob with a laugh. It came out an ugly combination of both. "Oh Bruce, I want to be yours forever if you'll let me."

"Let's just start with the remainder of my life, and we'll see what happens after that, okay?"

Clark nodded. “Okay.” He could do that, one step at a time. 

Bruce took his hand and put Clark's ring back on his finger, and then his own. “Happy 10 years,” he said, looking down at their joined hands and then up at Clark. 

In his eyes, he saw hope, and love. He looked younger than the day before because of it already. And even as he heard Bruce's skin wrinkle and contract to form a smile, he was comforted in the knowledge that Bruce would be with him for many years to come. And Clark would do his damn best to show him how much he loved him, every single day. He would kiss him, and look out at the sunset with him, watching the earth spin, and sleep with him in his arms again. 

He grinned, and kissed Bruce, and whispered in the space between them. “Happy anniversary, sweetheart.”

Bruce guided him to the center of the patio, where they swayed and spun slowly on the rhythm of the guitar music. Bruce stepped graciously, almost flying across the terracotta tiles. And how could Clark not be sure of this man's love for him, who moved so well with him and held him so close, a hand low on his hip and smiled and blushed at him.

Bruce spun out… and back into Clark's arms. Just as he always would. 

Chapter Text

~ 6 months ago ~

“Bruce, where are you?”

Bruce bit down on his fist. Leslie sat across from him, in her small office in the clinic. She waited for him to catch up.

“Denial,” he said finally, clenching hard. He wouldn't let the tears win. 

“Hey, that's the first step,” she tried, feigning a smile that Bruce refused to look at. She got up slowly and shakily and walked around her desk to reach out to him. His shoulder. His stupid right shoulder. Permanent nerve damage, early onset arthritis. His joints ached. And painkillers could only do so much. They couldn't fix his timing, his dwindling reaction speed, his decreased force. 

“Things end,” Leslie said to break the silence in the small room. But nothing ever ended. Not really.

Bruce closed his eyes.

“If my allies can't rely on me-” he started. “If I can't trust myself…” he couldn't finish any of the thoughts. He wasn't finished . Gotham still needed him, as much as he would want otherwise. Nearly 30 years of crime fighting, cleaning her up, and what had he accomplished? He wasn't done. “I thought I would die out there. I was supposed to die out there.” 

“I can't tell you what to do, Bruce. This decision is yours and yours alone.” She got up again to shuffle over to the window. “I'm going to retire,” she said to the dreadful alley that her office looked out at. “I should have, already. If you continue, know that I won't be there to patch you up.” 

The hint was as clear as any, and Bruce wouldn't get any more than that, he knew. No one would tell him what to do. Even Clark had only asked him when he'd be done, three years ago. 

“I need time,” he told his friend. His own voice sounded foreign to him. Final, decisive, while in his mind, he wasn't nearly ready to voice it out loud yet. 

“Do it wisely. You get something few of your colleagues and friends do.”

“What's that?” 

“A happily ever after, with your husband.” 

Bruce didn't acknowledge her. There was no happily ever after for him, let alone for him and Clark. 

“Bruce?” Leslie snapped him out of his thoughts again. “How do you think he'll take it?” 

“Better than me, I suppose.” Clark would be relieved, at first. Until… Bruce wasn't sure. He had a hunch. He just needed… input. Data. Proof. There was no point in thinking in hypotheticals.

Next to him, Leslie hummed. “It's a lot to come to terms with, Bruce. Don't forget you have a companion to share your burdens with.”

“I’ll tell him,” Bruce said, staring into nothingness and mentally plotting the timeline of the end of his career. “When the time is right.”

A few days later, Bruce climbed the trail from his plane to the entrance of the Fortress of Solitude, his tread heavy. 

The doors opened automatically for him, having detected his bio signature the moment he landed. Inside, it was cold. It always was, when Clark wasn't there. 

“Kel-Ex, warm up the main area and the trophy room. I'm going to be here a while.” 

The small robot flew close to Bruce, while 3 Superman robots followed closely behind. “As you wish, Bruce-El.”

One of the robots took Bruce's insulated cape and gloves. He kept his cowl on. “Let us know if there is anything you need, sir.” 

"Your direction indicates the computer. I've placed your tea there,” one of the other robots said. 

Bruce huffed, and walked on. He tried to ignore the humanoid droids swarming around him, but even after coming here for years, he still wasn't used to it. They certainly made more noise than Alfred. 

The robot was right; his first stop was the computer. It was not his only one, though. If it was, he could have accessed the files he was looking for from the cave. The thing was, he had read these files before, but his hunch was never confirmed. He needed more. 

While scientists on Krypton knew about the behaviour of their cells under a yellow sun, and had conducted countless theoretical studies of it, no one had ever gotten to test it before the untimely demise of their entire planet. Until Clark. 

Bruce read them for a second time now. Indestructible cells. 

Power from the sun, stored in hyper mitochondria. 

Deterioration of DNA: unknown. 

Degeneration of telomeres: unknown. 

But Bruce had possession of Kryptonian cells, ones that had been exposed to a yellow sun for 53 years. 

From his belt, he retrieved a vial containing residue of his husband shaving himself with his heat vision in front of the mirror that morning. He'd scraped it out of the sink after Clark left for work. 

In the Fortress’ trophy room, he set up a cell analyser and gamma ray microscope. One of the robots stood beside him as he looked through it. 

“Is Kal-El in trouble, sir?” it asked after a while. 

“On the contrary,” Bruce said. He sat back and took off his cowl. “I think I am.” 

“I thought you and your spouse agreed not to look for this, Bruce-El.” 

“He'll live for thousands of years, Kel-Ex. He deserves to know.”

The robot that had followed him popped into his line of vision again. “Don't you?” Bruce looked at it, quizzically. 

Bruce could analyse his own cells. But he'd just find what he already knew. If there wasn't some disease slumbering in there, he'd have 30 more years at most. 

“There'll hardly be any surprise in my genetic makeup.”

The robot held out his hand. It was funny, how the things Clark had built himself were so much more like him than his ancestral servant Kel-Ex. “That's not what I meant,” it said, and took Bruce's hand to pull him up. 

“The portal isn't stable,” The robot said after guiding Bruce to a room behind the trophy room. “But we can use it to see.”

“See what?” Bruce asked.

The robot stood at the controls, and the circular device powered up in a swirl of stars and rainbows. “Your husband, of course. Behold, the 76th century, aboard Superman's intergalactic Starship of Solitude.”

The swirling colors faded, revealing the interior of a ship. The stars were slowly sliding past outside the windows. And there was Clark, in a variation of his signature red and blue suit, not a day older, smiling. 

“You're my favorite grandpa!” A child grinned as they jumped into Clark's arms. They looked humanoid, but their skin was purple. 

Clark laughed heartily, putting the child back on the ground after a hug. “I bet you say that to all of them, Nox.” Bruce took a breath. Even the smile lines around Clark's features looked the same. “But just between you and me, you're my favorite great great great great great grandchild.”

“That wasn't enough of them. You've gotta say it faster, like the Flash!” 

“Alright, chum. Are you ready?” Clark took a pose, sucking in a deep breath. But before he could start the waterfall of words that was bound to be the right amount of greats, a door on the far side of the room slid open. Out stepped another person, dressed in the same red and blue as Clark. 

“Moira,” Clark said, and walked to them with open arms. He kissed their cheek, eyes closed. Bruce sucked in a breath.

“Kal, companion,” Moira said. “Look who's here to visit.” 

Clark's smile grew wider. “Diana!”

With quick strides, Diana crossed the room as well and enveloped Clark in a hug. “Kal. I heard you were close. No longer on New Krypton?”

“Not since 44 years ago. We felt it was time to go interplanetary for a while, see where we can help around the universe.”

“And you didn't think to visit me first? You wound me, Kal.”

Clark plucked away a stray tear from the corner of his eye. “Sorry. Sorry. There's so much to be done. And I know Earth is in good hands.”

“Grandpa, who is this?”

“You've heard of Wonder Woman, Nox. Her name is Diana, and she's one of my oldest friends, from the 21st century.”

“Wow, you're ancient.” Nox started up at them, wide eyed. 

“And I'm older than him,” Diana grinned, pointing at Clark. The child whispered something, and Diana turned back to her friend. “You know Earth is never far, Kal. We miss you there.” 

“We haven't been there for… centuries. I doubt they still remember us at all.” 

Bruce clenched his teeth. How could Clark abandon them all?

But in the 76th century, Diana shrugged. Her hair fell over her shoulder. “You've become somewhat of a legend. They've made up some crazy stories about you.”

“Pshh, I'm sure you make sure they don't stray too far from the truth. And you know, if you ever need help, we're just one hyperjump away.”

Moira and the child walked out of the room, after Clark promised them that he and his friend would be down for supper soon. 

Diana looked exactly the same as she did currently, although that wasn't much of a surprise to Bruce. In the 76th century, she raised her hand, gently touching Clark's shoulder. 

“How are you, Di?” 

“I’m… good. The Earth Council takes up a lot of my time, and not everyone always gets along, but for the most part… we do alright.” Diana smiled ruefully. Bruce almost looked away, feeling like he shouldn't know any of this. Like he was intruding. 

“But tell me about you. How have you been? How's Moira?”

“Things are good, Di. Moira has been by my side for so long now, we understand each other on a deeper level. They… we believe in the same things. For the past 4000 years I've finally felt like I truly belong somewhere. The house of El is doing good. We're making a difference. And we've seen so many great things, I can't wait to tell you all about it.” 

“It sounds like we have a lot of catching up to do.”

“You're welcome to stay for a while.”

“Just as you're welcome on Earth, Clark.”

Clark tensed. So much that Bruce could almost feel it through the centuries separating them. He bit the inside of his cheek.

“No one has called me that in a very long time.” Clark's eyes looked sad. Sadder than Bruce had ever seen him. “Clark Kent died, Diana. With him, 55 centuries ago.”

Bruce had seen enough. He tasted salt. A sob escaped his mouth as he rapidly turned away and started walking back to the main room. 

“Wait!” The robot yelled. “There's…”

Bruce didn't listen. He demanded his things back, removed any trace of what he had done in Superman's home, and walked out back to his plane, trying to face the truth. The truth that he held Clark back, and kept his world small, so much smaller than it should be. Clark needed to be with someone like Moira, someone who would let him reach his full potential. Someone who wouldn't keep him tethered to Earth. Someone who could be with him for over 4000 years, instead of the measly human lifetime which was all Bruce could give him. 

He was certain now. Sooner or later, he'd have to let Clark go. If he did it first, it would be easier for Clark, when the time came. 

It was Bruce who had to do it, because Clark would never drop him like he should. He would wait patiently and try to love him until the last day of his life, even as that dwindled with every new sunrise. And still, Clark, with all the goodness of his heart, would mourn him for eternity. 

He already saw it now; Clark's worrisome features as he looked at Bruce, loathing at every sign that Bruce was human and aging. He saw it in the 76th century, in the press of Clark's lips, sealed tight upon hearing his earth name. He saw it every night in bed, when Clark let him sleep on his own side, a world between them. 

They didn't even have good sex anymore. 

They didn't fit each other anymore. No more hand and glove.

They were Superman and Batman, the World's Finest. And Bruce was going to break that balance. The fact that the first cracks were already showing would only help him in his task. 

It was the better way, for both of them. But God, he'd miss flying in Clark's arms. 

Bruce pressed his nose into Clark's shoulder, warmed by the gentle touch of the red cape and his arms around him.

“Ready?” Clark asked, folding back his cape from around Bruce, mid air. They were flying over the Gotham bay, he could smell it. “Almost there.”

Bruce hummed. Yes. 

“They're all here,” Clark warned him, smiling, excitedly, right as the house came into view. 

“Great,” Bruce said drily, but he couldn't withhold a smile at the prospect of seeing all of their kids and extended family again. 

They landed on the patio behind the house, where the pool met the steps up to one of the back doors. Everyone was there, gathered together despite the light drizzle that had started during his and Clark's flight back from Barcelona over the Atlantic. Stephanie and Barbara were huddled together underneath an umbrella, Dick held one up for Kory and Mar’i, his arms wrapped around both of them. Conner and Tim stood next to them, complete opposites in the way they dressed, but clearly a pair. Duke stood with his hands clasped together in anticipation, and Jason stood at the far back, looking over everyone and smiling brightly. Damian and Chris were soaked in rain, pulling their long hair over their eyes, and Jon supported Alfred near the door. 

And Cassandra… Cass stood in the middle, arms planted on her hips and her short hair framing her face. 

For a moment, no one said anything, as Clark let Bruce out of his cape and his solid embrace, anticipation singing between them, all eager to find out if their plan worked. And then Mar’i freed herself from her dad's arms, and ran up to them. 

“Grampa! Grampa!” She said to both of them, and jumped into Bruce's arms. 

“Oof!” Bruce huffed. “You've grown bigger again, honey. Have you been eating your vegetables like I told you?” Mar’i nodded proudly. 

And apparently, that was cue for everyone to start talking, and laughing.

“We tricked you!”

“What did you think?”

“You fell for it hard, old man.” 

“How was it?”

“So, did it work?”

“Oh yes,” Clark answered between hearty laughs. “Best anniversary ever.” 

Bruce's breath caught in his throat. It really had been. And to think he'd almost ruined it completely. 

Some of the people present high-fived each other. Bruce looked around himself. He'd never seen so many smiles at once. The chaos was loud, and imperfect, but it was his. His happily ever after, with Clark at the center. 

“Grampa? Are you okay?” Mar’i was still in his arms. She touched his nose. 

“Yes, honey,” he said. “More than okay.” 

“Aww don't get all mushy on us now, old man,” Jason said to him over most of the small crowd. Bruce wasn't. He wasn't. He had to get to the bottom of this. 

He walked over to Cass, Mar'i on his left hip. “And all of this was your idea?” He asked. 

Cass’ answer was as straightforward as ever. “Yes. You needed it.” 

He pulled her into a hug. “Thank you,” he said. He stood up straighter. Mar'i held onto his collar. “Listen up, all of you,” he easily broke through the cacophony of voices. “This is the only time you'll ever hear me say this after successfully pranking me: Thank you.” 

They all started laughing, and grinning, and hugging him and Clark. and Bruce felt himself smile, too. He put Mar'i back on her own two feet, and she jumped up and down.

For a while in the drizzle, Clark told animatedly, about William and Samuel, and how he had thought Bruce's reasoning had been ridiculous, until it wasn't. His smile lines were unmistakable, his cheeks rosy with excitement to tell their family everything and show them pictures. Bruce stared at him, unapologetically, and said nothing. 

Adventures, big or small, it didn't matter to Clark. They were all worth it. He told his family stories, holding them tight. In the 76th century, he'd tell Diana excitedly about the latest world he had saved from the brink of extinction. Moira would be by his side. They'd laugh together, and maybe even remember another. Clark would be loved, long after Bruce was gone. And that knowledge was enough.

A cosmic fault had made him doubt Clark's love for him, and it was so wrong, and so clear now, in the way that Clark smiled at him. For months he'd despised his own humanity next to Clark's, but he'd forsaken to simply ask Clark what he saw. 

Bruce let all the love he hadn't allowed himself to feel all of that time flood back into his heart as he looked at his husband now.

Clark turned to him, while their family walked up the steps into the house. He reached out his hand. “Honey? Will you come inside? Everyone is getting soaked out here.” 

Bruce took a step. “I can't believe I almost lost you.”

“You'll never lose me. And I'll never ever lose you, Bruce.”

Bruce placed his hand in his husband's outstretched one, feeling warmth. He saw love in Clark's eyes again instead of the concern he'd come to loathe. He saw a man who could lift the world and chose Bruce. He saw a man who would have to live tens of thousands of years without him after he'd be gone. His heart skipped a beat. 

__--------~~~~~~~~*~*~*~*~*~~~~~~~~--------__

In the 76th century, Diana walked out of the ship's control room, leaving Superman in silence with only the stars as companionship. Using the lift to the observation deck, he left the safety of the vessel and traded it for the stillness of naked space. 

It was easy to let himself float, and hear absolutely nothing except for the heartbeat of the universe. 

In the dining room of the Starship of Solitude, he watched Diana play with Nox, while Moira set the table. He was grateful for them. He was surrounded by love, both familial and platonic. Romance was a thing of the past, another thing he and Moira agreed on. 

Love, like water, changed, adapted, and still, it was just as powerful. He'd never run out. And he had so much more to give, to the universe. 

He turned around, watching the stars, and the birth of galaxies in the distance. 

He was happy. And yet, he'd never forget.

“Clark,” said a raspy baritone in his memory. “Don't live in the past.”

“I'm sorry.” He smiled, remembering a frown, and dark and stormy eyes. “Sometimes I do. Courtesy of my eidetic super memory.”

He pulled out the silver chain that hung around his neck, hidden underneath his suit. On it were two rings. 

Forever yours, was inscribed on the inside of his own. The same words, in Kryptonian, on the other. rraotiv uldif.

The black inlay on his late husband's pulsed in the proximity of the Trifid nebula, a swirl of red and blue surrounded by the black of a universe asleep.

Crystalline tears floated in the vacuum, splintering the beauty in front of him into all the colors on the entire spectrum of light, colliding in a cloud of stardust. He kissed the rings, and whispered into nothingness. 

“Bruce. My supernova.”