Title:  Relationships, Head Injuries, and Eggs for Breakfast
Pairing: Black Canary/Green Arrow, Batman/Superman (pre-slash)
Rating: PG
Warnings: This was a chapter of a virtual season that I eventually had to drop out of due to time constraints.  The chapter stands okay by itself, so I’ve decided to post it here along with the rest of my fic.  Enjoy!
    
*_*_*_*

Clark landed gently on the balcony and, with the ease of long practice, slid the glass door of the four star Gotham Towers hotel room open with a foot.  Gently he murmured little words of love and comfort to the woman in his arms.  He could hear the pulse beating in her cranium and measured closely the hard, tympanic whoosh-whoosh across the inflamed area from the injury.  'She's got a headache,' he mused, 'and a slight concussion, but for now her intra-cranial pressure seems to be regulating itself.'  He decided she didn't need a trip to the ER just yet.

Lois stirred and groaned, pushing away from Clark's chest as soon as she opened her eyes. "I c'n walk.  I c'n, ooohh God…" she managed before she sunk to her knees.

She’d been semi-conscious since he’d dropped Batman off at one of his emergency bolt-holes here in Gotham, and he’d been monitoring her vitals ever since.
 
"Shhh, easy Lois," Clark soothed, again lifting her off the floor and helping her to the couch.  "A couple of Tylenol and a good night's sleep and you'll be right as rain."

"Stop that," she snapped, more awake now and clearly irritated.  She scrambled out of his arms and onto the couch.  "Stop patronizing me.  God, Smallville, how many times 'r we gonna have this discussion?  You can't keep treating me like a broken doll!"  Lois pressed her fingers gently to her temples, trying vainly to ease the pain down from excruciating to simply horrible.  

"Lois, you're hurt.  And remember?  You called me to come and help you?  Just for once will you admit that you need some-"

"Damn it, Smallville, I'm human.  Humans get hurt. Now just-" she stopped short, wincing at the volume of her own words and pressing her palms against her head as though to soak up the pain.

Superman fidgeted.  As usual lately, she made him feel too big, too clumsy, too inept to be helpful.  Wasn't he supposed to save her from the exploding warehouse?  Should he have ignored his manners and let her limp home in a taxi?  Was he supposed to pretend that he couldn't practically feel her pain?  Rao, what did she want from him?

"You know, maybe I should just go."  he ventured, holding his hands up in defeat.  Maybe they could try this again in the morning.  He rose to leave, but was startled by the grip on his wrist.

"No, wait," she managed, more softly this time.  "Clark, hon, I didn't mean to snap.  I'm just tired and I hurt and I was kidnapped again. Jesus, I'm so tired of being kidnapped."  She grinned weakly up at him, and Clark had to smile back.  This was the woman he'd fallen in love with.  Brave, headstrong, and so painfully beautiful.  Memories of a hundred nights just like this one came to mind, and he remembered all over why he'd always admired that fierce independence.

"You'd think after all this time you'd be used to a little explosion here and there."  he joked quietly, resettling them both onto the couch.

"It's not the bombs so much as the head injuries", she quipped back, and for a minute they were back in their old routine, the give and take both familiar and comforting.  Then she frowned and looked away, and the moment passed.  "Clark, I've got something to say."

"It can wait until this goes away," he soothed, using his free hand to smooth the hair back from her forehead.

"No, now.  Tonight."  she insisted.  Lois struggled to sit upright, pinning her husband with an intense, if slightly unfocused stare.  "We both had a wake-up call tonight, Smallville.  God we've both been so consumed with our separate lives, our separate responsibilities…Clark, we could have lost everything."

He could have lost Lois.  Clark found himself cradling his wife, rocking her gently as her oh-so rare tears leaked into his shirt.  How could he have let it get this far?  Surely their marriage was more important than their jobs, their goals and ambitions?  When would he learn to put Lois first?  Why did he keep messing up like this?

"What do you want, love?  Tell me, just name it and it's yours."  And it felt good saying that.  It felt as though the past year hadn't happened and he was back to being the Clark he'd always tried to be, saying the right things, being the best human he could.  "Talk to me, Lois," he crooned gently.

"I don't want you to go back to Bruce," she sniffed.  "I want you to stay here, with me."

"For tonight?"  he asked, his lips pressed tenderly to the crown of her head.

"For tonight, for always.  You’re my husband, Clark, my husband.  You and me, we'll work through this, just like everything else.  Just like always, my husband, my beautiful, brave hero.  Stay?  Please?"

It was on his lips to agree when he felt something stir deep inside, and for the briefest of moments he had a wild desire to say "No".  To kiss her gently and leave, back to the darkness and the fascinating, unpredictable, quicksilver mind waiting for him miles away.

He shook it off.  The impulse quieted, as it always did.

"… I'll stay.  Of course I'll stay." he promised.

He swept her up and carried her gently into the bedroom, settling them clothes and all onto the bed and covering them both with a blanket.  Lois kept talking after that, about how good they'd be and how right it was.  Clark rocked her gently as her words grew softer and softer, until finally she slept.  Yes, he could spend less time on League business.  Rao knew he'd only been spending the past decade training up new heroes for precisely the day when Superman would no longer be around.  And yes, while he'd assumed that time would come because he'd be, well, gone, it applied in this situation as well.  Truly.

And Lois would spend less time on Daily Planet business, he supposed.  She'd go undercover less, and would make sure to keep Clark informed and up to date on her activities, to keep him from worrying.  They'd be Lois and Clark again, the best team in Metropolis.  Husband and wife.  

Clark shifted Lois until he was a bit more comfortable.  It was good that they'd talked this through, he mused sleepily.  Communication, the key to saving their marriage.  He yawned and snuggled a little deeper into the covers.  Tomorrow he'd go tell Bruce all about this wonderful breakthrough he and Lois had shared.  He'd pick up his things and away they'd be, back to Metropolis, back to the best parts of their marriage.  And the League?  He yawned again.  Tomorrow.  He'd talk to them about cutting back his shifts first thing tomorrow.

*_*_*_*_*

Dark blue eyes bored straight ahead, practically burning a hole through the wall.  Good, this was good, of course.  Get the two lovebirds back to Metropolis and out of his life.  A shadowed hand flicked a switch, cutting off the video feed and leaving a greater darkness behind.  The gaze never strayed, the eyes never blinked.  The best thing to do, now, would be to disassociate himself completely from this little domestic scene.  Yes, it was obviously the most logical course, to leave them in peace.  

And yet…

The hand moved again, joined by its mate at the keyboard to the right.  Clickety tap, an electronic slight of motion and suddenly Lane and Kent had reservations at the Flowering Lotus for the following evening.  Good food, excellent and discreet service, just what a couple falling back in love would look for.  They had to get it right this time, and he'd make sure they did.  He had to make sure that he'd never have to go through anything like this again.  Ever.  He should never have allowed him to come here, never have allowed himself to feel the loneliness, never, never, never-

Batman stood and with long, lanky strides flung himself towards the Batmobile.  Tonight was a night for fear and judgment for all the criminals and thugs out there.  Tonight they'd all feel the coldness that lodged in his chest and would wail their cries of pain and loneliness when no one came to save them from the big, bad Bat.  They'd scream and beg and plead precisely because he couldn't.  Tonight the last light and warmth in his world had left his house, and all he could do was track down the people responsible for it.  To the warehouse district, then.

*_*_*_*

Lois’ eyes opened, bright with plans for the day.  Her headache was starting to fade, and that was good enough for her.  She found herself lying in bed, head pillowed on Clark’s massive chest.  The man in question was sprawled boyishly in sleep, his head hiding under the crook of an elbow, snoring ever so slightly.  Huh.  Somehow the picture didn’t quite jibe with the ‘S’ he still wore on his chest, but that’s why she fell in love in the first place, she mused.  

Two years of marriage and ten of investigative reporting had taught her to move quietly, so she succeeded in creeping off of the couch and into the shower without waking her husband.  Probably just as well, she thought, scrubbing furiously at her slightly matted hair.  She wanted to do something nice for him to make up for how she’d been acting lately, some sort of surprise.  And hey, while she was out, there was nothing stopping her from popping over to the warehouse district to follow up on the Senator Bailey sighting.  She grinned to herself.  There were always things to do, people to call, and truths to rub in certain politician’s faces.  At least, there would be as soon as she figured them out herself, and she couldn’t wait to get started on them.

Lois poured the body soap into her hand and ran through her mental rolodex.  Most of her usual informants were Metropolis based, and while one or two might be able to tell her Senator Bailey’s agenda in Gotham, she’d bet that it would cost more money than usual to get the full scoop.  The man was scum, old money whose family had been trying to run Metropolis for generations.  This wasn’t the first time she’d linked him to incriminating goings-on, but she’d never had enough evidence to convince Perry to print an expose.  Not that she had any more than a hunch at the moment, but it was enough to light the fire in her gut and get her instincts twitching.   

A quick mental add-up of her “snitch money” and she regretfully discarded that option.  She’d used up most of her personal account two weeks ago for that union mess on the Metropolis docks.  And it still burned, that Perry wouldn’t authorize a Daily Planet spending account for bribing snitches!  How did he think she was going to deliver the goods if she didn’t have the capital?

Huffing in annoyance, she slapped the water off and toweled dry with a purpose.  Well fine.  Time to forge new information pathways.  A name floated up from her subconscious, and with it a phone number.  Dinah Lance, aka  Black Canary, JLA reserves.  Lois smiled in satisfaction.  A strong, capable woman, determined like herself to make her way in a man’s world.  Perfect.  Sometimes she really liked the way she thought.

*_*_*

Clark awoke to the second knock, wondering blearily how long he’d slept.  The sun shone full through the balcony doors, and… oh.  He was alone on the couch.  Suppressing a sigh of disappointment, he climbed to his feet, running a hand through his black curls on the way to the door.

“Who is it?” he called, wondering where the heck Lois had gotten off to already.

“Housekeeping”, announced a bored voice and Clark tensed, clutching at his shirt just as the lock turned and the door began opening.

“Umm, just a sec!” he yelled, sprinting into the bedroom and stripping off his uniform in what was probably unseemly haste.  Suitcase, suitcase, where were his clothes?  Oh. At the Manor, of course.  Crap.

“I’m, um, just sort of naked in here,” he called a bit desperately, hoping to keep the housekeeper in the outer rooms.  

He tugged his boots off, balled up his uniform, and threw it, cape and all, under the bed.  He was just reaching for a sheet to wrap around his waist when the obviously hearing impaired young woman ambled into the room.

She gaped at him as he pulled the sheet to barely cover his privates, a blush running all they way down his very exposed skin.

“Hi,” smiled Clark, completely embarrassed, peering shyly over a well-muscled shoulder.  “Umm, could you maybe clean someone else’s room right now?”

She continued to stand there, staring.  The keys dropped from her hands with a dull thud on the rich, white carpet.

Um, okay, thought Clark, using his free hand to move his curls out of his eyes.  Try again.  The young woman seemed mesmerized by the flex of his muscles, and he spoke very gently, to avoid spooking her any further.

Spanish, German, French, and even Hmong got the same results, and Clark was forced to conclude that she simply couldn’t hear him.  He tugged the sheet free of the bed and twisted it around his hips, then gently turned the young woman and led her out of the suite.  It was such a shame that a young person like her should go through life with a hearing impairment.  And so shy!  She’d almost hyperventilated when he’d kneeled in front of her to retrieve her keys.  He’d have to see about leaving an extra tip for her.

*_*_*

Dinah groaned and covered her face, wincing at the sound of the annoying buzzing under her ear.  Black, fishnet stockings hung askew over the side of the bed and her mouth tasted like day old cardboard.  What the hell had happened to her?

The sounds of cheerful singing and a great deal of banging in the kitchen reminded her, and she groaned all over again.  Oh crap.  Ollie.  How could she have been so stupid, so naïve, so completely masochistic!  Every time she’d convinced herself that she was over the womanizing, arrogant, smooth talking devil he would make bedroom eyes at her and she’d wind up right back here.  Head throbbing from too much celebratory wine, kitchen a mess, and that God dammed buzzing!!

Oh.

Groggily she slid her hand under the pillow and drew out her cell phone, flipping it open and propped it up near her ear.

“Hm?”  she managed.

“Dinah?  Dinah Lance?”

“Uh…” she agreed, ready to agree to anything as long as it meant the conversation would end sooner, and she could get back to nursing a truly spectacular hangover.

“Ms Lance,” the brisk voice continued, “this is Lois Lane, investigative reporter for the Daily Planet?  I believe we’ve met over a natural disaster or two in the past?”

Dinah blinked, and a surge of adrenaline cleared the fog and sharpened her interest.  “Oh, ah, Ms Lane.  Of course, of course.  I wasn’t aware that you had my personal number.”

Or knowledge of her private identity.  She and Lois had chatted and indulged in good-natured bitch-fests about men in general and Superhero men in particular over the odd rescue clean-up, but she’d never divulged her true name to the reporter.

“Relax, Dinah.  I’m just calling looking for a little help.  I’m currently in Gotham and I’ve run across an old acquaintance, Senator Bailey, and-“

“Lois,” she interrupted, “it is far too early and my head hurts way too much for you to mention that scum’s name.  At least not before coffee.”

“So you’ve heard of him,” Lois replied with satisfaction.  “What would you say if I told you that I saw Marcus Bailey in Gotham earlier today, talking about not being able to meet in a local restaurant named the ‘Iceberg’?”

Dinah stiffened and sat up, mind whirling and free hand grabbing for her robe.  “I’d say that the ‘Berg is a well known eatery best distinguished by it’s owner, Oswald Cobblepot.”

“The Penguin.”  Lois muttered.  “Of course.  Perfect.  Thanks ‘D’, I owe you!”

“Lois, hold on.  Rumor is that Oswald’s been getting into some pretty heavy stuff with some off-shores weapons manufacturers.  I don’t know all the specifics, but it’s something new.  Something that scares the piss out of me.  Are you listening to me, Reporter Girl?”

“I’m listening.  Any clues you care to share?”

“Nothing concrete.  But…”

“Tell you what,” Lois coaxed in her best deal making voice.  “You tell me what you know, or what you suspect, and I’ll see to it that your name and photo end up very, very well received in the next Superhero Sidebar the Planet runs.”

Dinah hesitated for just a second.  “Okay, it’s not news that I could use some good publicity right now, but you have to remember that this is just pure rumor with a whole lot of guessing involved.  Don’t stake anyone’s life on it, got it?”

“Scout’s honor,” swore Lois gravely.

“There are some nasty, really horrible stories filtering in from the Ukraine.  There’s some sort of pure-human movement starting up out in the hinterlands called Only Human, and it’s been getting ugly over there for years.  Lynchings, beatings, even a story of someone getting burned at the stake.”

“Who are the targets?”

“Given the name, who else?  Anyone suspected or accused of being a Meta.  It’s like a damned witch hunt over there.  Normally this sort of thing flares up in an uneducated populace, and then dies down after a few years or at most a generation.  But see, there’s a bunch of displaced ex-military in the area, left over from the fall of the USSR.  And one of them seems to have gotten his hands on some money and some brains, because suddenly we’re getting the most horrifying reports.”

She trailed off as her stomach twisted, thinking about those rumors.

“Go on,” whispered Lois.

“They’re making weapons.  Something new and awful.  Something supposedly that only works on meta-humans.”

“What do they do?”

Dinah shivered, remembering a photo she’d found in while ransacking a house on an unrelated case.  “The rumors aren’t consistent.  Some say that they cause some sort of brain damage, or seizures, or that they target the DNA that makes a Meta different than a Normal.  One photo I saw… it might have been ‘shopped.  But this man, his skin was just oozing off his body.  He was lying in a hospital bed and his skin was just puddling in a bloody mess around him.  I think it’s the worst thing I’ve ever seen.”

“God,” breathed Lois.

“Yeah.  Like I said, rumors.  All rumors.  But if even half of them are true, and Cobblepot’s set himself up as a middle man, and if he’s talking with a man like Senator Marcus Bailey…”

“Those weapons could already be here,” finished Lois.  “Dinah, you’re the best.  I promise I’ll call and keep you in the loop on this.”

“You’d better be careful,” Dinah snapped.  “This isn’t some union worker’s strike or embezzling politico.  This story could be pure poison for you or anyone close to you.”

“Don’t worry, I’m used to handling myself in unusual situations,” Lois sounded vague, probably already running through schemes in her head.  “Listen, I’ve gotta go.  I’ll be in touch.”

And with that, Dinah was left holding nothing more than a dial tone and a growing fear that that she’d just waved a red flag in front of a charging bull.  Rumor also had it that Big Blue, the Man of Tomorrow, old Supes himself had a thing for Ms Lane.  If Dinah had just led his civilian honey into the Penguin’s clutches, well… the big guy had bailed her out a time or two, and she just didn’t think she could bear having him turn those sad, soulful eyes on her when he learned the news.

Scrambling across the bed, she grabbed her JLA communicator and beeped him.  After waiting a few impatient seconds, she beeped him again.  Didn’t the man have super speed?  What the hell was wrong with him that he couldn’t pick up the damn phone?  

So intent was she on her task that she didn’t notice the man behind her until he smooched her cheek, tickling her with blond whiskers.  A second later she grimaced apologetically at the crumpled Green Arrow, now at the other side of her room.  “If you didn’t want a good morning kiss, you just had to say!”  he groused, picking himself up and dusting off.

“It’s not that,” she replied distractedly.  “Look, we’ve got a real problem here.  I’m calling Oracle.”

“Ready to run out on me already?”  he gasped, hand pressed to his heart in an agony of hurt.  “But Sweetcheeks, I made eggs!”

Against her better judgment, Dinah found herself softening towards the tall, well muscled clown in front of her.  Damn the man for being so good at knowing how to make her laugh.  “Ollie, I’m serious,” she returned, though not without a smile.  “This is huge, for the meta community, maybe for everyone.”

At this, Ollie’s handsome face clouded over in thought.  Dinah watched as the gears kicked and whirred in his head, knowing that this was the man that she couldn’t get enough of; the moment when the mask slipped and the arrogant, self-centered ex-socialite gave way to the serious, intelligent, dedicated crime-fighter.  Ah hell, she had it bad.

“This is about those weapons you’ve been hearing about, isn’t it?” he asked without a trace of humor.

“Yeah, ‘fraid so,” replied even as she dialed a number into her communicator that she knew by heart.  Immediately she was beeped back, and she looked down at the comm set.  “Oracle.”  The usual green computer generated “face” was absent, showing Bab’s own red-headed, snub nosed self.  A measure of her trust for her chosen team, and one that Dinah never took for granted.  With Ollie in the room, she was careful to shield the display and refrain from using private names.

“Hi, it’s me,” she replied grimly.  “We’ve got problems. I think I stirred up a hornet’s nest and I could use your help to get it settled.”

“Oh?”  Oracle sounded intrigued, which didn’t stop the sounds of typing in the background.  The woman could multitask more thoughts than anyone Dinah knew, and the knowledge of how good her friend was at her job helped to settle Dinah’s stomach.  

“It’s about that picture I sent you last month.”

All activity ceased from Oracle’s end, and suddenly her face loomed large in the camera.  “And?”  she prompted.

“And I may have just pointed a certain reporter in their direction.” she admitted painfully.

“This reporter wouldn’t happen to have ties to the superhero community in general, and one very big superhero in particular?” Oracle asked grimly.

“I’m afraid so.  She just sort of… wiggled the story out of me!” Dinah exclaimed, making wiggling motions in the air with her other hand.

“She’s known for that,” sighed Oracle.  “Okay, it was sooner than I was planning on moving with this, but she’s upped our timetable and we’ll just have to roll with it.  Rose and Thorn are out on another assignment, and Batgirl’s currently in Bludhaven.  She’s en route to you now,” she continued, already sending a message to recall the little warrior, “but for now it’s you and Huntress.”

“Do you ladies think you could use a man’s touch to help things along?” Ollie asked wryly from his nonchalant pose against the far wall.  “I am, occasionally, good for more than eggs and… other things.” he added with a sly wink at Dinah.

“Good.  Take Arrow with you,” Oracle said before Dinah could do more than blush and glare at her lover.  “I see that a cab left the Gotham Towers about 10 minutes ago with the Eastside Docks as the listed destination.  I’ll keep an eye on it, you two get moving and meet Huntress at this address.”

Even as Dinah was memorizing the address, she was grabbing for her uniform and efficiently restocking her arsenal.  “Report to me when you’re in position.  Oracle out.”

“Well, Arrow,” Dinah threw a glance over her shoulder, tossing her blond hair as she did so.  “I guess make-up eggs will have to wait.”  

“All the better, Pretty Bird” leered Ollie as he swung his quiver and bow over a shoulder.  “I prefer make-up oysters even more.”

Grinning to herself at the thought of another romantic evening out with her man, Dinah swept out of the apartment and down to her bike, Arrow close on her heels.

*_*_*

Clark took a last look around the Flowering Lotus and stood, quietly leaving a generous tip to the waiters and then stalking out.  Underneath his reserve, his rarely seen temper was simmering.  Two hours.  Two!  What on Earth could have delayed her so long?  And not even a phone call.  Hell, not even a shouted “I’m going to be late, hon!” from across the city!

He strode angrily towards a dark alley, intent on nothing but getting suited up and into the sky.  The earth under his feet was a fragile, precious thing and he needed the forgiving flex of air and wind around him when he lost his cool.  

A dark, unkempt figure with rheumy eyes and a greedy soul saw him coming, took another look at his stormy expression, and faded back into the brickwork.  This wasn’t some mark, ripe for picking.  Something about this mildly dressed man made the thief remember fearfully the pictures his gran used to show him as a child, of angels and burning swords.  He let the stranger pass, and was grateful that the intensely blue eyes never turned his way.

Clark reached the alley, belatedly checked to see that he wasn’t observed, and then leapt.  His civilian clothes that he’d retrieved just that morning shredded and tore in his fierce upward flight, glasses crumpling and breaking under the force.  Underneath it all, like a new and glossy skin, lay his uniform.  Superman thundered across the sky and into the low hanging clouds, growing ever more angry by the second.

Clark felt as though his eyes were opening for the first time, and he felt so stupid, so monumentally foolish for believing in his happy little fairy tale.  It was obvious to him, now, that Lois took him for granted.  She expected him to be when and where she wanted him, but never took the pains to return the favor.  He felt used, neglected, worthless - she’d left early that morning, and the room service had delivered a nice little breakfast with her compliments, and he’d thought they were on the right track again.  But damn it, she hadn’t even bothered to call!  She’d sounded hurried, but enthusiastic about the supper when he’d finally raised her on her cell in the early afternoon, but then nothing!  She’d just stood him up!

He fumed, grinding his teeth and increasing his speed.  But would they have a nice, adult discussion about it when she finally did find her way back home?  Oh no, of course not.  He could just imagine how the scene would play out.  Instead of listening to him, she’d attack him emotionally for not being as serious about reporting, about uncovering the truth as she.  Didn’t she understand that this was just a job for him?  Just a tool to help him find the people who needed Superman the most?  And Rao help him if he tried to verbalize the mixed up jumble in his head!  Weakness!  That’s all she’d see in his uncertainty and confusion.

Well, he wasn’t weak, though he was tired, so Goddamned tired of it all!  He’d just kept thinking that if he could be a good enough husband, a good enough human, that she'd love him again.  That everything would go back to being good.

But he saw now that things had never been good.  Never!  All along he’d been trying to sing his song with someone else's voice instead of receiving the love and compassion he deserved for being himself.  Never, never had she offered to help him find his own unique sound, to discover the whole of who he could someday become.  Her needs, her stories, her curiosity and her ambition - that’s what their marriage was about.  

Superman tipped his head back and roared his frustration and anger to the heavens above him.  To hell with that!  To hell with all of it!  He’d find his wife, and then he’d show her, finally and truly show her what kind of man she was married to.  And then they’d see.  Oh yes, they’d truly see if their marriage was ever the dream that he’d thought it to be, or nothing more than a deceit.  

*_*_*

Bare hands gleamed under the bright light, sensitive fingertips holding a delicate tool.  Bruce poured the whole of his attention into the small gadget before him, barely breathing while he worked the tiny mechanism.  He loved working in his shop, loved the quiet absorption that came over him and stilled his too active mind.  

In slow, careful movements he reached across the workbench and picked up a thin shell of metal with two fingertips.  Quietly, almost reverently, he began the work of fitting it to the inner casing.  Maybe the end result would increase the power, containing and magnifying the energy within.  Or possibly it would just make the whole thing heavier.  That was part of the thrill, of not knowing, of discovery.

His fingers worked deftly of their own accord, allowing his mind to sink into a meditative state.  Only in these rare moments could he escape the anger that normally consumed him.  Anger for all the victims and potential victims in his city.  Anger at the passive, careless way Gotham’s people dismissed and ignored the downtrodden.  And deep down, where he didn’t like to look, the old and never fading anger of a child whose parents had left him to deal with the world’s horrors alone.

Hell.  His fingers started to tremble the smallest bit, and he was forced to put the stylus down and breath deeply.  Not the thing to think about when working with a nuclear powered generator - even one as tiny as this.

A light flashed on his console to the right, and Bruce raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“Kent?”

“What?”  came the mild response behind him.

He twisted in his chair, surprise already giving way to irritation at the breach in his privacy.  “How the hell did you get in here?”

“I memorized the atomic scanner’s frequency patterns last time I was here,” the huge man smirked.  “Hey, you’re the one trying to teach me to be sneaky.”

Jokes.  He was making jokes!  But underneath the calm exterior lay something that burned and tore at the other man… something that reminded Bruce of himself.  

“When you’re finished congratulating yourself on defeating a security system that I taught a teenager to circumvent, you might want to take a look at this,” he snapped, probing to see if he could get his visitor to show him what that darker emotion was about.  He took a micro CD from his belt and tossed it at Superman’s chest, watching with interest as the other snatched it from the air.

A small, mean part of him warmed in satisfaction to see Superman’s face crumple in hurt, then clear to professional neutrality.  The rest of him just felt like a shit for it.

The alien held the disk up to eye level and scanned the contents with some combination of laser vision and God only knew what else.  Clark must be very unsettled indeed, since he was normally quite careful to use all the human tools and amenities to appear as harmless as possible.  

When he was finished, the pale, sickened look on Superman’s face killed off even the small meanness in Batman’s psyche, and the two heroes stared at each other grimly.  “I came to you to ask if you’d heard or seen anything of Lois.  She missed our dinner date tonight.  I assume this,” he gestured with the disk, “is related.”

“I just received a coded message from Oracle.  Lane contacted Black Canary about a Senator Bailey she’d sighted here in Gotham, and one thing led to another.  Apparently the Birds of Prey finished extracting Lane from the mess she’d gotten herself into less then twenty minutes ago.  But it’s not over - the Penguin has identified her.”

Superman closed his eyes, his entire body a study in exquisite control.  Very gently he placed the disk on the table beside him, opened his eyes, and brought his hands together.  Bruce saw that Clark had removed his wedding ring and he watched with wide eyes as it was abandoned next to the disk.

“Yes, it is over,” he murmured so quietly that Bruce almost couldn’t hear.  Then with continued perfect control, he took a step towards Batman, and another.  His footfalls were exactly measured to tread softly, every muscle and tendon so gently, painfully precise in their movement.  Batman suspected that without that inhuman control, destruction would erupt from every movement and breath in Superman’s body.  His dark awareness nudged him again, and he shivered at the thought that he might some day see such unleashed power.  Incredible.

Superman took another step closer, and now he loomed over Batman, who’d never bothered to stand.  “Where can I find her?” he asked with quiet intensity that shook Batman and thrilled him to his soul.

“I’ll show you.”

---end

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