Batman is looking out the window. His gauntlets are off but his cowl is still on. He’s eating an apple. Clark watches him chew, watches the muscles flex across his stubbled jaw, listens to the snap-crunch-mush.
A long long time ago, when it’d first heard M- when it’d first heard the eating of an apple, the sound had driven it crazy. Too sharp, too mushy, under the Kansas sun.
Here, it’s... good.
Batman sighs. A huff of air, quiet, tired, human. It’s strange to see him like this. Clark likes it. He’s not so much, this way.
It has to come to an end, of course. Almost finished his apple, Batman turns back toward the table, and by the minute stillness, the alert that comes over him, Clark knows Batman has seen him.
“Hello,” Batman says, and then tries to smile. “You’re out.”
Clark is still.
Batman looks at him for a moment. It’s hard to read any emotion behind that mask. “Do you want an apple?”
Test. But this time, Clark thinks it will take the risk. “Yes.”
Batman might smile. It’s so faint Clark might be imagining it. He stands up, and Clark forces itself to stand still, but all he does is go back to the bowl. He picks up an apple, and then he eyes Clark for a second.
“Catch,” he says, and with an easy underhand toss he throws the apple to Clark.
Clark fumbles it. For a second it’s in its hands and it’s beautiful, gold and red and yellow banded and sweet smelling and cool and solid, and it fumbles and drops it. It bounces off its foot and rolls a few feet. Batman hns. He doesn’t sound angry, but Clark’s already on its knees, snatches the apple up.
“Let me wash it-“ Batman says, but Clark doesn’t hear him because it’s already taken a bite out of it.
God.
The taste -
It doesn’t taste a thing like its memories of apple. Its memories might as well have been sawdust and cardboard for all they tasted next to this sweet reality that bursts across its mouth. A sound comes from it. In a fit of desperation it presses its tongue to the bulk in its mouth, works its jaw around the crispness. Swallows because it needs to have it in a way that can’t be taken away. In two more bites it’s taken it all, flesh and seed and stem as well, little bitter accents twining with the overwhelming sweetness, juice on its chin.
“You seem to like apples,” Batman says after a few long seconds.
He doesn’t sound angry. He still doesn’t sound angry. He sounds... Clark ventures a look. He’s smiling. Batman's head is tilted a little to the side, and he’s smiling. And Clark, raw with memories of Kansas in him, shakes his head in disbelief, and a laugh - one single exhale, a hoarse bark - escapes it.
