Location: Batcave.
Time: 2:53 p.m.
They confirm it in the Batcave.
Clark leans against the main console, arms crossed, watching as Bruce removes his cowl with slow movements.
Clark: Does it hurt a lot?
The word comes out… wrong. Ill-fitted.
Clark: Bruce… does it hurt?
A second attempt. No qualifying words.
They both know Bruce should have lied.
Bruce presses his lips together. His mind is already racing: variables, risks, possibilities of exploitation. He doesn’t like any of them.
Clark: Let’s try something.
Bruce should say no. He doesn’t want to risk talking.
Clark swallows, even though it means nothing. Bruce trusts him—that’s not new, although… does Bruce really trust anyone? But he said… maybe…
Clark: Do you always tell the truth when you answer me?
Bruce closes his eyes. Curses silently.
It’s a growl, but Clark is used to it—and he has super hearing.
Clark: Are you giving me short answers to avoid saying more even though that’s going to slow us down?
With a snort, Bruce leans back against the Batcomputer and looks at him, brows furrowed.
Clark: Bruce, if this is happening, it could be dangerous.
Bruce: I know. And we need to figure out whether it happens with everyone or, coincidentally, only with you.
Clark: That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?
Clark sees Bruce struggle—but the answer slips out before he can stop it.
Clark laughs and Bruce grumbles a little, but the moment fades and they both sober up again.
Clark: If anyone finds out—
Clark: I would never use this against you.
And that’s the worst part. And the best.
Clark: Do you want me to avoid asking you questions?
Bruce thinks about it. Really thinks.
Bruce: I hate being exposed, but it’s a relief not having to avoid it and, since for now it’s only you, it’s okay to stop pretending and rest.
It’s almost verbal diarrhea on top of a lot of very pretty words, so Clark can only smile.
