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It was well past noon when Bruce woke to the midday sun shining through his open bedroom window. The curtains fluttered in the breeze – it was uncharacteristically warm, for October in New Jersey – and the distant chatter of a flock of birds drifted up from the manor’s grounds. Bruce grunted, sighed, and rolled out of bed. His mattress was still indented with the vague shape of another man, the same man who’d inconsiderately left Bruce’s window open all morning.
Bruce slid the window closed and grabbed his phone off the nightstand. Predictably, his email inbox was full of “urgent” messages from work or the press, but he hadn’t missed any calls or texts, which meant Clark hadn’t tried to get a hold of him. He refused to wonder what that meant, because obviously it didn’t mean anything. All it meant was that Clark didn’t have anything to say to him, and if he did, he was waiting to say it in person. It certainly didn’t mean Clark was avoiding him, or that he regretted anything.
Cutting off that train of thought before it had a chance to leave the station, Bruce opened the message app and typed out a quick text, then hit send before he could second guess himself.
You left my window open, it read.
Not waiting for a reply, Bruce returned his phone to the nightstand and yawned his way to the bathroom to get ready for the day.
After showering, grooming, and getting dressed, Bruce retrieved his phone, and steadfastly ignored the jolt in his stomach when he saw a message waiting for him.
Thought you could use the fresh air, Clark had replied, and Bruce resented the way he could instantly and vividly picture the jovial smirk Clark must have had on his face when he’d typed it.
I get plenty of fresh air, he typed back. He pocketed his phone and left his bedroom, making his way downstairs to the kitchen, where he knew Alfred would have breakfast waiting for him. When he arrived, he was mildly surprised to see Tim sitting at the kitchen table, stuffing his face full of whipped cream-laden pancakes. Tim wiped his face with the back of his hand and greeted him through a mouth full of strawberries.
“Where were you last night?” he asked as Bruce sat down across from him with a plate of his own, sans whipped cream. “Damian told me you ‘took the night off,’ whatever that means.”
Bruce didn’t make eye contact. This was hardly unusual behavior for him, so it shouldn’t arouse Tim’s suspicions that Bruce kept his attention focused intently on the food in front of him instead of on the conversation at hand. “Exactly that,” he said. “I took the night off.”
This was all he planned to tell Tim. He certainly wasn’t planning on telling Tim the truth about where he’d been and what he’d been doing all night. If he had his way, he wouldn’t be telling anyone, though he suspected Alfred already knew. The man was a better detective than Bruce could ever hope to be when it came to the Wayne family’s personal lives.
Unfortunately for Bruce, Tim – a brilliant detective in his own right – was hardly satisfied with this non-answer. “To do what?” he prompted, washing his meal down with a glass of orange juice.
Bruce finally looked up from his plate to glare at Tim. It was a look his family knew well, a nonverbal way of warning those on the receiving end of it to shut up and mind their own business. “That’s a private matter.”
To Bruce’s great disappointment, Tim grinned a wide, Cheshire Cat grin and set down his utensils, folding his hands in front of him on the table and leaning forward, obviously intrigued. “So you slept with someone,” he inferred.
“Private, Tim,” Bruce warned a second time. Unfortunately, Tim had known him long enough to no longer be afraid of his warnings. What could Bruce do to him? Ground him from hero work? Cut off his allowance? These were punishments Bruce wasn’t afraid to enforce, but he preferred to save it for more serious infractions. And so Tim continued his deductions undeterred.
“But even when you sleep with someone,” Tim said thoughtfully, more to himself than to Bruce, “You always manage to sneak out in the middle of the night to do a sweep of the city. So it must’ve been someone you actually care about.”
“Tim.” Bruce was beginning to regret taking Tim under his wing, if only because it meant Tim could now use the skills Bruce taught him against him. And he wasn’t half bad at it, either.
“Selina?” Tim guessed, then, answering his own question, “No, she’s still in prison… Diana? She’s way out of your league… But who else?” Tim paused, bit his lip, and then, “Clark?” His eyes widened, and he must’ve seen something in Bruce’s expression, some flicker of emotion that gave him away, because, “Oh my God, Clark?”
“Tim…”
“You slept with Clark?” Tim practically shouted.
“Keep your voice down,” Bruce hissed, glancing over his shoulder to make sure they weren’t being overheard. “I’d rather my ten-year-old not hear about my sex life.” He knew that he was all but confirming Tim’s suspicions by not continuing to deny them, but he also knew that Tim wouldn’t believe his denial for a second. He was too perceptive, the little fucker.
Tim lowered his voice to a far more appropriate volume, heeding Bruce’s warning (for once). “I didn’t realize you and Clark felt that way about each other,” he said. “Actually I didn’t even know Clark was into men.”
Bruce stood abruptly, shaking his head, his chair scraping against the floor and his utensils clanging down onto his empty plate. “We are not having this conversation,” he said definitively. Once again, Tim ignored him, even as Bruce turned and started to walk away.
“How long has it been?” Tim called after him. “Was last night the first time? Bruce? C’mon, Bruce!”
Bruce sped into the Batcave, bringing the Batmobile to an abrupt stop once inside. His joints hurt, his muscles ached, and a brand new, impressively sized bruise was likely blossoming on his side where he’d been slammed into a brick wall earlier that evening. At least he’d come out of his fight with Killer Croc without any broken bones. It wasn’t very often he could say that.
Inside the Batcave, it was as dark as it still was outside, with artificial lights illuminating the center of the cavernous space where Bruce’s many Bat-themed vehicles lay dormant and a wall of monitors sat waiting to be of use, but not tonight. Tonight, Bruce was taking his aching body straight to a scalding hot shower and then straight to bed, where he would remain until late afternoon the next day.
With this plan in mind, Bruce stepped out of the Batmobile. He was so tired that, at first, he didn’t notice the black-and-blue-clad figure standing to his right, partially obscured by shadow, although that was only because said figure was almost as stealthy as the legendary Batman himself.
“So, Clark, huh? Finally.” It was Dick. Bruce knew that without turning to face him. He could picture his oldest son clearly: Leaning against the wall of the cave, arms crossed over his chest, a knowing smirk on the face that had won the title of Gotham’s Most Eligible Bachelor every year since Bruce had crossed the line from “bachelor” to “single dad.”
Sure enough, when Bruce sighed and made eye contact with Dick, he was doing exactly that – leaning against the wall of the cave, arms crossed over his chest – and his smirk widened into a grin reminiscent of the one Tim had worn that morning. “I knew it was only a matter of time,” Dick said, excitement bubbling out of his voice.
Bruce feigned ignorance, even though he knew doing so was futile. “What are you talking about?”
Dick rolled his eyes, taking none of Bruce’s shit. “Come on. Obviously Tim told me you and Clark are sleeping together.”
Bruce groaned inwardly and shut his eyes, silently cursing his children’s inability not to gossip about him behind his back. Dick continued, ignoring Bruce’s obvious discomfort. “So is it serious?” he asked. Bruce shook his head, not as an answer, but as an end to the conversation.
“Dick, you’re my son,” he said. “I’m not discussing this with you.”
This didn’t seem to strike Dick as an acceptable response. “Why not? We’re both adults here. And Clark’s my friend too.” He brought himself up to his full height, which was still an inch or two shorter than Bruce. “Besides, I know you know all about my love life.” Dick had a good point there. A few good points, as a matter of fact. Bruce didn’t like it one bit.
“At least tell me when it started,” Dick said diplomatically.
Bruce sighed, giving in. He knew this wasn’t going to end any other way. He was getting too old for this whole “fatherhood” thing; at least, the parts of it that required him to constantly argue with his children. “Last night was the first time anything happened.”
“But you’ve had feelings for him for a while. I know you have. As soon as I was old enough to know what it looked like when someone was interested in someone else, I knew you were interested in Clark.” Dick smiled again, less smug and more genuine. “I’m glad you both finally got your act together.” Dick’s tone then turned more serious. “Are you planning on telling the others?”
“Others?”
“The rest of the family. Tim told me first, and I made him promise not to tell anyone else. I threatened him, actually.”
Usually Bruce would have scolded Dick here, told him not to threaten his brother, but in this case, he was grateful. “There’s nothing to tell,” he said. “We slept together. Once. That’s not a relationship. It would be premature to announce it to anyone.”
Dick seemed to accept this. “If you say so,” he conceded. “But you’d better hurry up and decide whether you want to make it into a relationship or not. I don’t know how long Tim can keep this a secret from everyone. You wouldn’t want Damian to find out from him before you get the chance to tell him.”
Bruce winced. He could only imagine how Damian would react to the news. No, he definitely did not want that. “Point taken,” he said, then took a seat at the massive array of monitors mounted on the wall in front of him, turning in his desk chair away from Dick and signaling an end to their conversation. He heard Dick walking away, and called out over his shoulder, “Dick?”
Dick came to a sudden stop. “Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I don’t know when you decided a rooftop in Gotham in the middle of the night was the perfect date, but I wish you hadn’t.”
Bruce’s deep, sardonic voice drifted through the cold February air. A wind whipped over the building he had perched on top of to survey the streets below, but the insulation in his suit kept Bruce warm. Warm enough to function, at least; not quite warm enough to be comfortable. He’d been about to return home for the night – earlier than usual, because this weather was admittedly getting to him – when someone had landed soundlessly behind him on the roof. It didn’t take much guessing to deduce who this someone might be; Bruce knew quite a few flight-capable superheroes, but only one of them dared show up in Gotham unannounced.
“We haven’t seen each other in weeks,” Clark said, pleading his case. Bruce turned to face him, a disapproving look on his face, but inwardly he wasn’t altogether displeased, especially when he saw what Clark had in his hand: a cup from Bruce’s favorite local coffee shop. (How he’d managed to transport it without spilling it everywhere, Bruce hadn’t a clue.) “Besides, I knew you weren’t busy. I checked before making the trip.”
Bruce still wasn’t sure how he felt about Clark using his super senses to keep tabs on him, but he knew Clark never used his powers to invade Bruce’s privacy. He only ever checked up on Bruce when he knew Bruce was out acting as the Batman, and even then, only if he had reason to be worried about Bruce’s safety or, as was currently the case, was planning on visiting Gotham.
Putting aside his ambivalence toward Clark’s superpowered espionage, Bruce had to admit, Clark was right on both counts: The two of them hadn’t seen each other, outside of official League business, in longer than usual, especially in the context of their now four-month-old relationship. And Bruce wasn’t busy. True, Gotham never slept, but its more notable rogues did have their off seasons.
“Lower temperatures, lower crime rates,” Bruce explained. “Especially once the holidays are over. No one wants to walk out into a New Jersey winter unless they have to.” Bruce accepted the coffee cup Clark offered and noticed it was cold. He frowned, went to take a sip, and his frown deepened when no liquid came out. When he removed the lid, he saw why. “Was this coffee meant to be iced?” he asked jokingly, holding the cup upside down. A solid block of frozen, dark brown liquid fell out and shattered on the roof beneath Bruce’s feet. “Because it’s frozen solid.”
Clark laughed. “It must’ve been the flight over here. I probably should’ve seen that coming. It’s pretty cold up there,” he said, gesturing to the sky.
“I can imagine.”
A moment passed between them wherein Clark examined their surroundings. “Where’s Damian?” he asked. Bruce chuckled inwardly. Of course, Clark knew Damian was nowhere near either of them. He wouldn’t have bothered to show up otherwise. Damian was… not a fan of Clark.
“I sent him home to bed,” Bruce said. “Things weren’t very exciting; he was complaining. I told him to ask Alfred to make him some hot chocolate and then get some sleep.”
Clark nodded his understanding. A moment of comfortable silence passed between them. He gestured to the shards of shattered frozen coffee on the roof between them. “Sorry about your coffee.”
“It’s fine.” Bruce wasn’t too broken up about it. He was more concerned with why Clark kept abruptly changing the subject.
“If you’re done for the night,” Clark said slowly, taking a step closer to Bruce, “We could head back to the manor and get coffee there.”
Bruce smirked. Now he saw where this was going. He played along. “Usually when I head back to the manor after a night out, it’s to go to sleep. I don’t think coffee would be very helpful.”
Clark broke into a grin. “I don’t know,” he said slyly, and now he had firmly planted himself within Bruce’s personal space. “Something tells me you won’t be getting much sleep tonight.”
Bruce lifted a single dark eyebrow. “Is that so?”
Clark slipped an arm around Bruce’s waist and drew their bodies together. Arousal stirred beneath Bruce’s stomach. “Not if I have anything to do with it,” Clark nearly whispered. Bruce fleetingly wondered what would happen if one of Gotham’s rogues came upon Batman and Superman making out on a rooftop. He didn’t think he would ever live it down.
Which brought Bruce to another thought: Damian. Damian, who didn’t like Clark very much. Damian, who didn’t know his father had been having sex with Clark for the past four months. Damian, who was probably still awake back at the manor, waiting for Bruce to return.
Bruce sighed.
“I’m afraid that’s not a good idea,” he said, reluctantly extricating himself from Clark’s embrace.
“Why not?” Clark asked, visibly disappointed. “Don’t tell me you have somewhere to be in the morning. You never schedule anything in the morning.”
“No, but you have work,” Bruce reminded him.
“Yes, but I need significantly less sleep than the average person,” Clark countered. “I think I could probably get by without sleeping at all.” He frowned thoughtfully, considering the idea. “I’ve never tried it.”
“Regardless,” Bruce said, “Every night you spend at the Manor is another opportunity for Damian to finally wise up and figure out what’s been going on here. I’d rather not take that risk.”
Clark didn’t look happy about that, but he seemed to understand nonetheless. “Well, we can’t see each other during the day, because unlike you, I actually have to work for a living,” he said wryly. “Lois already has to cover for me when I disappear to fight evil. I can’t add disappearing to have sex with Batman on top of that. And the Justice League tends to take up the rest of our free time. I like working with you, don’t get me wrong, but I’d appreciate the chance to spend time with you outside of League business.”
Bruce agreed with all of Clark’s points. He considered Clark’s argument, trying to think of some way to work around their busy, conflicting schedules and spend more time together. “We’ll just have to see each other on your days off,” he concluded. “At least until I tell the kids.”
Clark paused, looking at Bruce strangely. “Were you planning on telling them?” he asked. He sounded surprised.
“Eventually.” Bruce had to admit, he hadn’t given it much thought since Tim and Dick had found them out a few months ago. But he wasn’t deluded enough to believe he could keep his relationship with Clark a secret from his children forever.
“I didn’t realize this was something you were ready to tell people about.” The tone in Clark’s voice made Bruce vaguely uncomfortable. He felt like he’d admitted to something more serious than he’d meant to. He backtracked immediately.
“It’s not a matter of being ready,” he said. “My children are all detectives. Tim already knows we’ve been sleeping together. He told Dick, and it’s only a matter of time before he tells the others. They’ll all find out sooner or later.”
Clark nodded. “In that case, probably better to tell them sooner.”
“My thoughts exactly. I’d much rather be the one to break the news. Especially to Damian.”
Another nod. “Alright. I understand.” Clark took one step back, and then another. “I guess that’s a ‘no’ for tonight, then?”
Bruce didn’t want it to be. He really, really didn’t want it to be. But… “It probably should be.”
After a quick, “See you around,” Clark took off, leaving Bruce alone on the rooftop. He waited a moment or two in the silence of the night before taking a running leap off of the building in the direction of Wayne Manor.
“Eventually” slowly inched closer to reality over the next few months as Bruce realized he couldn’t keep his relationship with Clark a secret from his children much longer. His children were some of the few people he felt he could be completely honest with, some of the few people he didn’t have to keep up some sort of secret identity around, and keeping such a big secret from them – because it was a big secret, no matter how much he tried to downplay this budding relationship to himself to avoid thinking about just how in over his head he was – was beginning to take a toll on him.
So he did what he always did in these situations: He called a family meeting.
Bruce, Dick, Tim, Cassandra, and Damian were gathered in the main living room in Wayne Manor, sprawled out on sofas and armchairs and waiting for the final member of their clan to arrive. Dick kept glancing over at the large grandfather clock standing against the far wall and sighing, visibly annoyed. Finally, heavy footsteps announced the addition of Bruce’s second oldest and most problematic child, smoking a cigarette and scowling.
“No smoking in the house,” Bruce said automatically. Jason put out his cigarette on the sleeve of his leather jacket and flicked it at Bruce’s feet.
“This better not be a waste of my time,” he said, settling into the only unclaimed armchair in the room.
“You wasted everyone’s time by showing up half an hour late,” Dick snapped.
“You could’ve started without me,” Jason countered.
“This is a family meeting,” Bruce said definitively, glaring at both of them and hoping to put a stop to this argument before it began. “I wanted everyone to be here.”
Jason sank into his seat, his scowl deepening. “I don’t know what could possibly be so important that we all had to be here at once to hear about it.”
Damian nodded and turned to his father. “Todd makes a good point. Did someone die?” Of course the youngest Wayne would always jump straight to the most morbid conclusion.
“No one died,” Bruce said before anyone could react to Damian’s question. “I just have an announcement.”
“Are you… adopting someone?” Cassandra asked from where she was sitting next to the roaring fire. It was well into spring, but the weather in New Jersey had yet to catch on to that fact, and the manor could get drafty at any time of year.
“I think I have my hands full for the time being,” Bruce said. Then, before anyone else could venture a guess, “No. I’m in a relationship.”
Damian was the first to react. He shot to his feet. “What?!”
Jason groaned. “Oh, who cares? I can’t believe you’d call a family meeting for that.”
“I thought I should keep my children informed,” Bruce argued, “Before one of you finds out on your own and tells everyone else behind my back.” With this, he glared pointedly in Tim’s direction. Tim, to his credit, looked at least mildly guilty.
Cassandra brought things back on track just as it looked like Damian was about to start yelling. “Who are you… in a relationship with?”
Bruce gritted his teeth and prepared for the explosion he was about to set off. “Clark Kent.”
A louder shout from Damian – “WHAT?!” – echoed across the high ceilings and hardwood floors. Bruce winced. To be honest, it wasn’t quite as bad as he’d expected. At least Damian hadn’t stormed off or threatened to kill anyone. Yet.
“Clark has lower standards than I thought…” Jason muttered, almost to himself. Tim and Dick exchanged a knowing glance, and Cassandra looked thoughtful but not displeased. “I like Clark,” she decided aloud.
“We just recently started seeing each other,” Bruce added as a caveat, “So there’s no guarantee this relationship will last. To be honest, I think it’s still too early to even call it a relationship.” He quite purposefully ignored Dick, who was sitting beside him, whispering, “It’s been like six months,” followed by, “Serious commitment issues,” loud enough for only Bruce to hear. “But I wanted you all to be informed nonetheless.”
Jason sat back up and gestured in the direction of the front door. “Now that that’s out of the way, can I go?”
Damian was still fuming, but hadn’t had the opportunity to get a word in until now. “Father, have you gone mad? The alien?”
“Clark’s a good guy,” Dick said firmly, cutting Damian off. “He happens to be my friend. And he’s never been anything but kind to you.”
“He’s from another planet and he can kill you in more ways than I can kill you.” Damian turned back to his father, pleading his case. “He can’t be trusted.”
“I would trust Clark with my life,” Dick said.
“Father, this is ridiculous.”
“Damian, you don’t have to like him,” Bruce said.
Damian crossed his arms over his chest and pouted. He looked like the ten-year-old child he was, instead of the murder-happy vigilante they were all used to. “I don’t plan to.”
“Are we done?” Jason asked again.
“Wait!” Dick exclaimed out of the blue, a wicked glint in his eye. “Are we all supposed to be keeping each other updated on our love lives? Because I think Tim—”
“Shut up!” Tim shouted, his voice cracking and his eyes going wide. “I don’t even have a love life! Dick is going to propose to Barbara!”
“Hey! That was supposed to be a surprise.” Dick turned to face the rest of the group and blurted, “Tim has a crush on Kon but he’s too chicken to do anything about it.”
“Hey!”
“Have we finished?” Jason interjected.
“Everyone, calm down,” Bruce said quickly, before things had a chance to escalate. “Yes, Jason, you can go.”
Jason was on his feet and walking toward the door before Bruce had finished his sentence. “Finally.”
“Tim, you’re a great kid and I can’t imagine anyone who wouldn’t want to go on a date with you, especially someone you’ve been friends with for years. You don’t have anything to be afraid of.”
“I’m not ‘afraid’…” Tim grumbled. Bruce ignored him.
“Dick, no one will be surprised when you propose to Barbara. You’ve been dating for years.”
“Fair enough.”
“Cassandra… just keep doing what you’re doing. And Damian, you’re not allowed to date for at least five more years.” Damian didn’t appear to have any objections to that. “Now, does anyone have anything else to add that isn’t an attack on one or more of your siblings? No? In that case, meeting adjourned.”