FIC: 36 Views of Mt. Fuji: Spring (6/9)
Title: 36 Views of Mt. Fuji: Spring (6/9)
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Disclaimer: The boys belong to DC and to each other, but not to me.
Series Notes: 36 Views of Mt. Fuji is a series set early in Batman and Superman's careers, shortly after the S/B annual #1. The full series can be found here.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Superman and Batman do some breaking and entering, Clark takes a cold shower, and Bruce deals poorly with a crisis, among other things.
Word Count: 2700
Awake tonight
with loneliness,
I cannot keep myself
from longing
for the handsome moon.
--Ono no Komachi
Superman moved slowly over the Kyoto skyline, heading to where Batman was supposed to be waiting for him. He felt a strange mix of anticipation and worry. He hadn't seen Batman in costume since his realization last night that he was attracted to Bruce Wayne. Maybe when he saw Batman some of that interest would dissipate. After all, Batman was hardly a sexy figure. He was scary, and sullen, and generally very difficult to work with. Not "attractive" at all. So Superman harbored some hope that when he saw Batman--and was reminded of Bruce's darker side--some of the desperate yearning would abate. All things considered--
"You're late." The gravelly voice reached his ear and Superman jerked sideways a few feet as Batman seemed to materialize from the shadows at the top of the building Superman was passing. He stepped to the edge of the building and glared at Superman hovering in the air. His cape whipped around him like silken wings and his eyes were hidden; the cowl only served to emphasize the strong jawline and stern mouth of its wearer. Batman crossed his arms across his armored chest in a rippling storm of black cloth. Superman could faintly smell leather and sweat on the air between them.
No, seeing Batman wasn't going to help at all, Superman was forced to conclude. It was only going to make things much, much worse.
Business. He had to focus on business. "Tell me the plan again," he said, just as if he had some reason to hear the details once more beyond wanting some excuse to hear that voice, so much lower than Bruce's, rasping against his ears.
"We've been over this," Batman growled. You'd think being growled at by a crabby Bat would be a turn-off, Clark thought miserably, instead of...what it was. "This is the main office of Matsunaga Construction. We're going to get in there and see if we can find anything incriminating, anything that will give us a lead on what move to make next."
"Right. Got it."
"You'd better," Batman said, swinging fluidly down the side of the building to the window.
: : :
"I don't see anything of use on any of the letters on his desk," Superman said tersely after a moment staring at Matsunaga's huge ebony desk.
Batman flicked on the three computers sitting in a bank against the wall. "Check these," he said, going to rummage in turn on the desk. After a moment he looked over to see Superman closing a window on the screen. "What are you doing? Can't you just...scan them?"
"I can't read digitized information, Batman. I probably can't read what's on these computers much faster than you can, actually. I'm limited by the speed the documents will open."
Batman made an annoyed sound. "Then go through his filing cabinets. If we don't have to unlock them all the better. Leaves fewer traces." He began to type at the computers. After reading a file, he said, "Have you seen any memory sticks around here? There's something here that hints at the key information being on a memory stick."
"There are some in this drawer," Superman said, pointing to a filing cabinet. "But nothing useful on hard copy."
Batman growled and deftly jimmied open the cabinet. Inside was a welter of memory sticks of all kinds and colors, dozens of them. The pair stared at them. "No time to look at them all. No way to take them without drawing attention. But one of them has what I need." He banged the cabinet with his fist, glaring, then opened his hand and shot a glance at Superman. "Well. I'll have to think about this." He slid the drawer shut and re-locked it, then went to the window and slipped out into the night sky.
Superman stayed caught up with him, of course, until he came to rest on top of the five-storied pagoda of Toji Temple, dark wood beneath his boots. The Kryptonian slid through the air effortlessly to settle next to him and stare out over the city in silence for a moment.
"Bruce." Superman's voice was as gentle as the wind. "I know Seio was a friend of yours, but...promise me you won't do anything rash to his father. Even if you find out he is guilty."
Batman chuckled, very low, and Superman shifted uncomfortably next to him. He shot the other man a sardonic look. "Clark, I promise I won't hurt him. I might scare the hell out of him, and I plan to take him down if he did it, but I swear I won't hurt him."
Superman sighed. "Well, good. I trust you." The wind rustled through his cape and a fold of scarlet cloth whispered across Batman's legs.
Before he realized exactly what he was doing, Bruce had his gauntlet off and the cloth between his fingers, touching it speculatively. It was indeed warmer than expected, but the texture was very odd--slippery and yet velvety at the same time, it gave beneath the fingers while leaving a strange impression of softness. Its molecular structure must be very alien to achieve that effect--did the Kryptonians have polymers that hadn't yet been discovered on Earth? Or perhaps this was a natural material on Krypton? Bruce frowned, then realized that Superman was staring at him. He dropped the cloth. "The resiliency and dirt-repellent properties of your costume are very intriguing," he explained. "I would welcome the chance to analyze some if you have any spare material."
Superman reached up and unclasped something, and the whole cape came slithering off into his hands. "Here," he said, holding it out. "I can have the Fortress make another one," he said as Bruce hesitated. Bruce reached out his hands, greed overcoming reticence, and as he did the wind blew the cape up against him, tight against his body for a moment. He pulled it free with a silken-velvet crackle, like static, and held it in his hands.
Superman was still staring at him. The Kryptonian took a couple of steps away from him as he looked up from the cape and almost fell off the edge of the pagoda, floundering into the air ungracefully. "Well." Superman said. "I guess I need to. To go. To my hotel room. Now." The words seemed to be dragged out of him. "Right now." He was gone before Bruce could say good-bye.
Batman folded up the cape--which collapsed into an impossibly tiny square--and tucked it away in his belt. He was in no hurry to get back to his hotel room, so he simply sat for a while on top of the pagoda, looking out over Kyoto. He was thinking of Seio, his first real friend since that night in Crime Alley. His easy laugh and the curve of his cheekbones. Shattered blue porcelain on the tatami between them the night he had told Seio he had to leave Japan.
Not that cold body in the small apartment. That wasn't Seio.
Seio had never been cold.
: : :
Red cloth on black leather. Red cloth on black leather. Pressed against it, curved against it. Tightly. Red cloth. Black leather.
Clark was taking a cold shower, which meant little when he could bathe comfortably in liquid nitrogen. He tried it anyway.
It didn't help a damn bit.
: : :
Bruce Wayne was having breakfast with Adytha Harpswell in her suite, since she had refused to go out for breakfast. He was stifling a yawn. Adytha, rarely a good conversationalist at the best of times, was particularly boring this morning.
"Brucie, is there any chance you could, you know, tell him I'd like to see him again?" Adytha fluttered her eyelashes at him.
"He seems to have made a big impression on you, dear. I'm sure it was his progressive views on global warming that did it."
She missed his ironic tone. "Oh no, it was actually that kiss. I couldn't possibly expect you to understand what it felt like, Bruce. I've never felt anything like that in my life, really. No offense, hon," she added hastily.
"Well, one could hardly expect to compete with Superman, after all," Bruce said easily. Besides which, I never put my heart into it with you anyway.
"I suppose not," sighed the supermodel. "He's really...quite stunning, isn't he?" Her voice was dreamy.
Bruce felt a stab of annoyance, which was ridiculous--Kal was welcome to the vicious, backstabbing, tasteless cat anyway. "He puts his pants on one leg at a time like all of us, Adytha."
Her eyes grew large. "Are you sure?"
Bruce had an image of Clark levitating into his suit pants and almost snickered, but didn't need to worry about stifling his mirth as his cell phone rang, interrupting the conversation. "Sorry, dear," he said to the eye-rolling Adytha.
The conversation that followed went from casual to increasingly alarmed on Bruce's part, until he finally made some hasty apologies to Adytha and bolted into the hall. Clutching his phone, he stared around the blank hall, feeling something surprisingly close to panic. Groping for a solution mentally, he suddenly came across the answer:
Clark would know what to do. He had to find Clark.
He took off for the hotel restaurant.
: : :
The hotel's waffles were really quite good, but Clark was hardly tasting them. Chiaki Yamaoka sat across the table from him, making small talk and eating her own set of waffles. Clark wasn't exactly sure how he had ended up here on what practically seemed to be a date. He was rather afraid that his vague conversation about wanting what he couldn't have might have been misconstrued by the interpreter as interest in her. But her manner wasn't flirtatious at all, just friendly.
"Clark!" He looked up to see Bruce Wayne coming at him across the room, nearly at a run, cell phone against his ear. "Excuse me," Bruce said hastily to Chiaki, then turned back to Clark.
Clark jumped to his feet at the look in Bruce's eyes. Visions of catastrophe in Metropolis, in Gotham, danced before him. "What is it?"
"He's having nightmares. Dick is. He's afraid and he can't sleep, he's crying and nothing I say is helping, Clark, what do I say? Will you talk to him?" Bruce held the phone out with a look of naked appeal on his face.
Clark shot Chiaki an apologetic look, but she was already standing up, smiling. "I need to go freshen up," she said, waving Bruce into her seat. "Thanks for the breakfast, Clark." And then she was gone.
Clark would have been mystified, but he didn't have the time: a small and tear-stained voice on the other end of the phone caught at him. "Su--Clark?"
"Hey," Clark said, hearing his voice waver between the two personae and settle somewhere in the middle. "Hey kiddo. Bruce says you're having some problems sleeping?"
A muffled noise on the other end of the line. "I keep seeing them when I close my eyes. They fall and I can't catch them, and then I jump after them and I fall too, I fall and fall and fall and fall and--"
"Richard," Clark cut into the litany. "Hey. It's all right." Bruce was staring at him, his eyes shadowed, and Clark realized suddenly that Bruce didn't know how to answer the boy because he didn't have any real answer to his own nightmares. Falling, always falling. "I'm not going to tell you the nightmares will go away, Richard, or that they shouldn't bother you. Because they should. I'm just--I'm just going to keep talking to you, okay? We'll just keep talking until you feel better."
"Talk about what?" The boy's voice was still tight with tears and near-hysteria.
"Well, well..." Clark groped for something in his life that might interest or soothe him. "I'll tell you a story, okay? I'll tell you an old story from my home."
"A story from Kansas?"
Clark chuckled. "No, a story from...my home before that. Is that all right?"
"A Kryptonian story?" There was a hint of interest in the boy's voice, a little less agony. "That sounds cool."
"All right. It begins the way all old fairy tales begin on my home: 'Back when the sun and the moon were still young...an evil king conquered the city of Mor Shah-Val. But two heroes rose up to fight the evil king. They were called Nightwing and Flamebird, and they were the greatest heroes ever." Clark continued telling one of the many variants of the old legend in its non-rhyming form, detailing the magnificent adventures of Nightwing and Flamebird, and listening to Dick's breathing even out and lose its choking edge. He met Bruce's eyes and nodded reassuringly as he talked, and the other man's shoulders relaxed somewhat, the dark eyes losing some of their tension.
About halfway through the very long and winding story, he paused to take a breath and a new voice broke onto the phone. "Sir? I'm pleased to report that Master Richard is asleep."
The voice was English; it must be that butler of Bruce's, Alfred. "Oh," said Clark, "I'm glad to hear I managed to bore him to sleep."
There was a dry chuckle. "The boy is smiling, sir. He does not look bored, merely...happy."
Clark swallowed, feeling irrationally pleased. "I'm glad. Shall I hand you over to Bruce again?"
"If you don't mind, sir. And sir?" Alfred added before Clark could give the phone back, "Thank you."
"My pleasure."
Bruce finished up the call as Clark ate a bite of cold and soggy waffle. He glared at Clark, his worried look gone. "I suppose you're going to ask for another favor for doing that," he growled.
Clark swallowed waffle. "Oh, no, I wouldn't--"
"--Don't give me that routine, I know you're going to demand something in return." Clark shook his head and Bruce made an annoyed sound. "I assume you're going to act as though I owe you dinner at the Manor again or something when we get back to the States." His eyes glinted.
"I wouldn't presume to--"
"Dick would like to see you again," Bruce said irritably. "I'm sure you'll remind me of that as well. That the least I could do is have his hero over now and then if you're going to protect him from nightmares."
Clark stared at him. "I'd...love to see Richard again. And visit you--your house."
An angry snort. "I figured. Demands, always demands with you. Well. Let's get it over with. Are you free Sunday night?"
"That's the same day we get home."
Bruce gave him a thunderous look. "That's what works for me. Have you got a problem with that?"
"No."
"Good. I'll have Alfred make dinner. And you can spend the night." He glared at Clark's blank expression. "It would make Dick happy. So I presume you'll insist on it."
"...All right," Clark said rather faintly.
Bruce threw his napkin down and stood up with the air of a man who has reached the limits of his tolerance. "I owe you for helping with Dick, Clark, so thank you. But you are really one pushy bastard."
Then he was gone and Clark was alone with his cold waffles and his total confusion. He wasn't sure what had just happened there, but slowly through the befuddlement, one thought made its way:
He was going to find out what color the sheets at the Manor were.
Clark Kent carefully cut another piece of syrupy waffle and chewed it thoughtfully for a long time, staring into space.
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Disclaimer: The boys belong to DC and to each other, but not to me.
Series Notes: 36 Views of Mt. Fuji is a series set early in Batman and Superman's careers, shortly after the S/B annual #1. The full series can be found here.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Superman and Batman do some breaking and entering, Clark takes a cold shower, and Bruce deals poorly with a crisis, among other things.
Word Count: 2700
Awake tonight
with loneliness,
I cannot keep myself
from longing
for the handsome moon.
--Ono no Komachi
Superman moved slowly over the Kyoto skyline, heading to where Batman was supposed to be waiting for him. He felt a strange mix of anticipation and worry. He hadn't seen Batman in costume since his realization last night that he was attracted to Bruce Wayne. Maybe when he saw Batman some of that interest would dissipate. After all, Batman was hardly a sexy figure. He was scary, and sullen, and generally very difficult to work with. Not "attractive" at all. So Superman harbored some hope that when he saw Batman--and was reminded of Bruce's darker side--some of the desperate yearning would abate. All things considered--
"You're late." The gravelly voice reached his ear and Superman jerked sideways a few feet as Batman seemed to materialize from the shadows at the top of the building Superman was passing. He stepped to the edge of the building and glared at Superman hovering in the air. His cape whipped around him like silken wings and his eyes were hidden; the cowl only served to emphasize the strong jawline and stern mouth of its wearer. Batman crossed his arms across his armored chest in a rippling storm of black cloth. Superman could faintly smell leather and sweat on the air between them.
No, seeing Batman wasn't going to help at all, Superman was forced to conclude. It was only going to make things much, much worse.
Business. He had to focus on business. "Tell me the plan again," he said, just as if he had some reason to hear the details once more beyond wanting some excuse to hear that voice, so much lower than Bruce's, rasping against his ears.
"We've been over this," Batman growled. You'd think being growled at by a crabby Bat would be a turn-off, Clark thought miserably, instead of...what it was. "This is the main office of Matsunaga Construction. We're going to get in there and see if we can find anything incriminating, anything that will give us a lead on what move to make next."
"Right. Got it."
"You'd better," Batman said, swinging fluidly down the side of the building to the window.
: : :
"I don't see anything of use on any of the letters on his desk," Superman said tersely after a moment staring at Matsunaga's huge ebony desk.
Batman flicked on the three computers sitting in a bank against the wall. "Check these," he said, going to rummage in turn on the desk. After a moment he looked over to see Superman closing a window on the screen. "What are you doing? Can't you just...scan them?"
"I can't read digitized information, Batman. I probably can't read what's on these computers much faster than you can, actually. I'm limited by the speed the documents will open."
Batman made an annoyed sound. "Then go through his filing cabinets. If we don't have to unlock them all the better. Leaves fewer traces." He began to type at the computers. After reading a file, he said, "Have you seen any memory sticks around here? There's something here that hints at the key information being on a memory stick."
"There are some in this drawer," Superman said, pointing to a filing cabinet. "But nothing useful on hard copy."
Batman growled and deftly jimmied open the cabinet. Inside was a welter of memory sticks of all kinds and colors, dozens of them. The pair stared at them. "No time to look at them all. No way to take them without drawing attention. But one of them has what I need." He banged the cabinet with his fist, glaring, then opened his hand and shot a glance at Superman. "Well. I'll have to think about this." He slid the drawer shut and re-locked it, then went to the window and slipped out into the night sky.
Superman stayed caught up with him, of course, until he came to rest on top of the five-storied pagoda of Toji Temple, dark wood beneath his boots. The Kryptonian slid through the air effortlessly to settle next to him and stare out over the city in silence for a moment.
"Bruce." Superman's voice was as gentle as the wind. "I know Seio was a friend of yours, but...promise me you won't do anything rash to his father. Even if you find out he is guilty."
Batman chuckled, very low, and Superman shifted uncomfortably next to him. He shot the other man a sardonic look. "Clark, I promise I won't hurt him. I might scare the hell out of him, and I plan to take him down if he did it, but I swear I won't hurt him."
Superman sighed. "Well, good. I trust you." The wind rustled through his cape and a fold of scarlet cloth whispered across Batman's legs.
Before he realized exactly what he was doing, Bruce had his gauntlet off and the cloth between his fingers, touching it speculatively. It was indeed warmer than expected, but the texture was very odd--slippery and yet velvety at the same time, it gave beneath the fingers while leaving a strange impression of softness. Its molecular structure must be very alien to achieve that effect--did the Kryptonians have polymers that hadn't yet been discovered on Earth? Or perhaps this was a natural material on Krypton? Bruce frowned, then realized that Superman was staring at him. He dropped the cloth. "The resiliency and dirt-repellent properties of your costume are very intriguing," he explained. "I would welcome the chance to analyze some if you have any spare material."
Superman reached up and unclasped something, and the whole cape came slithering off into his hands. "Here," he said, holding it out. "I can have the Fortress make another one," he said as Bruce hesitated. Bruce reached out his hands, greed overcoming reticence, and as he did the wind blew the cape up against him, tight against his body for a moment. He pulled it free with a silken-velvet crackle, like static, and held it in his hands.
Superman was still staring at him. The Kryptonian took a couple of steps away from him as he looked up from the cape and almost fell off the edge of the pagoda, floundering into the air ungracefully. "Well." Superman said. "I guess I need to. To go. To my hotel room. Now." The words seemed to be dragged out of him. "Right now." He was gone before Bruce could say good-bye.
Batman folded up the cape--which collapsed into an impossibly tiny square--and tucked it away in his belt. He was in no hurry to get back to his hotel room, so he simply sat for a while on top of the pagoda, looking out over Kyoto. He was thinking of Seio, his first real friend since that night in Crime Alley. His easy laugh and the curve of his cheekbones. Shattered blue porcelain on the tatami between them the night he had told Seio he had to leave Japan.
Not that cold body in the small apartment. That wasn't Seio.
Seio had never been cold.
: : :
Red cloth on black leather. Red cloth on black leather. Pressed against it, curved against it. Tightly. Red cloth. Black leather.
Clark was taking a cold shower, which meant little when he could bathe comfortably in liquid nitrogen. He tried it anyway.
It didn't help a damn bit.
: : :
Bruce Wayne was having breakfast with Adytha Harpswell in her suite, since she had refused to go out for breakfast. He was stifling a yawn. Adytha, rarely a good conversationalist at the best of times, was particularly boring this morning.
"Brucie, is there any chance you could, you know, tell him I'd like to see him again?" Adytha fluttered her eyelashes at him.
"He seems to have made a big impression on you, dear. I'm sure it was his progressive views on global warming that did it."
She missed his ironic tone. "Oh no, it was actually that kiss. I couldn't possibly expect you to understand what it felt like, Bruce. I've never felt anything like that in my life, really. No offense, hon," she added hastily.
"Well, one could hardly expect to compete with Superman, after all," Bruce said easily. Besides which, I never put my heart into it with you anyway.
"I suppose not," sighed the supermodel. "He's really...quite stunning, isn't he?" Her voice was dreamy.
Bruce felt a stab of annoyance, which was ridiculous--Kal was welcome to the vicious, backstabbing, tasteless cat anyway. "He puts his pants on one leg at a time like all of us, Adytha."
Her eyes grew large. "Are you sure?"
Bruce had an image of Clark levitating into his suit pants and almost snickered, but didn't need to worry about stifling his mirth as his cell phone rang, interrupting the conversation. "Sorry, dear," he said to the eye-rolling Adytha.
The conversation that followed went from casual to increasingly alarmed on Bruce's part, until he finally made some hasty apologies to Adytha and bolted into the hall. Clutching his phone, he stared around the blank hall, feeling something surprisingly close to panic. Groping for a solution mentally, he suddenly came across the answer:
Clark would know what to do. He had to find Clark.
He took off for the hotel restaurant.
: : :
The hotel's waffles were really quite good, but Clark was hardly tasting them. Chiaki Yamaoka sat across the table from him, making small talk and eating her own set of waffles. Clark wasn't exactly sure how he had ended up here on what practically seemed to be a date. He was rather afraid that his vague conversation about wanting what he couldn't have might have been misconstrued by the interpreter as interest in her. But her manner wasn't flirtatious at all, just friendly.
"Clark!" He looked up to see Bruce Wayne coming at him across the room, nearly at a run, cell phone against his ear. "Excuse me," Bruce said hastily to Chiaki, then turned back to Clark.
Clark jumped to his feet at the look in Bruce's eyes. Visions of catastrophe in Metropolis, in Gotham, danced before him. "What is it?"
"He's having nightmares. Dick is. He's afraid and he can't sleep, he's crying and nothing I say is helping, Clark, what do I say? Will you talk to him?" Bruce held the phone out with a look of naked appeal on his face.
Clark shot Chiaki an apologetic look, but she was already standing up, smiling. "I need to go freshen up," she said, waving Bruce into her seat. "Thanks for the breakfast, Clark." And then she was gone.
Clark would have been mystified, but he didn't have the time: a small and tear-stained voice on the other end of the phone caught at him. "Su--Clark?"
"Hey," Clark said, hearing his voice waver between the two personae and settle somewhere in the middle. "Hey kiddo. Bruce says you're having some problems sleeping?"
A muffled noise on the other end of the line. "I keep seeing them when I close my eyes. They fall and I can't catch them, and then I jump after them and I fall too, I fall and fall and fall and fall and--"
"Richard," Clark cut into the litany. "Hey. It's all right." Bruce was staring at him, his eyes shadowed, and Clark realized suddenly that Bruce didn't know how to answer the boy because he didn't have any real answer to his own nightmares. Falling, always falling. "I'm not going to tell you the nightmares will go away, Richard, or that they shouldn't bother you. Because they should. I'm just--I'm just going to keep talking to you, okay? We'll just keep talking until you feel better."
"Talk about what?" The boy's voice was still tight with tears and near-hysteria.
"Well, well..." Clark groped for something in his life that might interest or soothe him. "I'll tell you a story, okay? I'll tell you an old story from my home."
"A story from Kansas?"
Clark chuckled. "No, a story from...my home before that. Is that all right?"
"A Kryptonian story?" There was a hint of interest in the boy's voice, a little less agony. "That sounds cool."
"All right. It begins the way all old fairy tales begin on my home: 'Back when the sun and the moon were still young...an evil king conquered the city of Mor Shah-Val. But two heroes rose up to fight the evil king. They were called Nightwing and Flamebird, and they were the greatest heroes ever." Clark continued telling one of the many variants of the old legend in its non-rhyming form, detailing the magnificent adventures of Nightwing and Flamebird, and listening to Dick's breathing even out and lose its choking edge. He met Bruce's eyes and nodded reassuringly as he talked, and the other man's shoulders relaxed somewhat, the dark eyes losing some of their tension.
About halfway through the very long and winding story, he paused to take a breath and a new voice broke onto the phone. "Sir? I'm pleased to report that Master Richard is asleep."
The voice was English; it must be that butler of Bruce's, Alfred. "Oh," said Clark, "I'm glad to hear I managed to bore him to sleep."
There was a dry chuckle. "The boy is smiling, sir. He does not look bored, merely...happy."
Clark swallowed, feeling irrationally pleased. "I'm glad. Shall I hand you over to Bruce again?"
"If you don't mind, sir. And sir?" Alfred added before Clark could give the phone back, "Thank you."
"My pleasure."
Bruce finished up the call as Clark ate a bite of cold and soggy waffle. He glared at Clark, his worried look gone. "I suppose you're going to ask for another favor for doing that," he growled.
Clark swallowed waffle. "Oh, no, I wouldn't--"
"--Don't give me that routine, I know you're going to demand something in return." Clark shook his head and Bruce made an annoyed sound. "I assume you're going to act as though I owe you dinner at the Manor again or something when we get back to the States." His eyes glinted.
"I wouldn't presume to--"
"Dick would like to see you again," Bruce said irritably. "I'm sure you'll remind me of that as well. That the least I could do is have his hero over now and then if you're going to protect him from nightmares."
Clark stared at him. "I'd...love to see Richard again. And visit you--your house."
An angry snort. "I figured. Demands, always demands with you. Well. Let's get it over with. Are you free Sunday night?"
"That's the same day we get home."
Bruce gave him a thunderous look. "That's what works for me. Have you got a problem with that?"
"No."
"Good. I'll have Alfred make dinner. And you can spend the night." He glared at Clark's blank expression. "It would make Dick happy. So I presume you'll insist on it."
"...All right," Clark said rather faintly.
Bruce threw his napkin down and stood up with the air of a man who has reached the limits of his tolerance. "I owe you for helping with Dick, Clark, so thank you. But you are really one pushy bastard."
Then he was gone and Clark was alone with his cold waffles and his total confusion. He wasn't sure what had just happened there, but slowly through the befuddlement, one thought made its way:
He was going to find out what color the sheets at the Manor were.
Clark Kent carefully cut another piece of syrupy waffle and chewed it thoughtfully for a long time, staring into space.