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This is utterly ridiculous. Bruce pretended to sip at a glass of champagne while fidgeting with his phone, avoiding meeting anyone’s gaze.
He’d been trapped at the Gotham Historical Society’s Halloween gala fundraiser for the past hour. He should’ve only been there for 20 minutes, but technical difficulties with the sound equipment had delayed his speech. Bruce would’ve normally sent the director of the foundation to do this sort of glad-handing, but the board chair of GHS had been a close friend of his mother’s.
“It would mean the world to our members, and to Martha, if you handed the check over personally. She loved Gotham Gardens so much when we were girls,” she had sighed wistfully.
Bruce gritted his teeth at the memory. He didn’t need to be told by some society harpy how much his own mother had loved the botanical gardens—he had visited them with her numerous times as a child. Which was why he’d donated half a million dollars in her name for their restoration, and why he was here tonight. On Halloween, of all nights, one of the most dangerous nights of the year in Gotham.
The museum’s hall was full of the city’s elite, most dressed in keeping with the ball’s theme of “Heroes Through Time.” It was the historical society, after all, and Bruce had spent the past hour counting all the George Washingtons, Amelia Airharts, and Christopher Columbuses. Ugh. He half-wished that the theme had been “Enchantment Under the Sea.” He would’ve paid good money to see his society “friends” dressed as aging merpeople.
He checked his watch. Thirty minutes until sundown. Batman needed to get out there, on the street—
“Mr. Wayne, we meet again.”
Bruce’s ears were already warming as he turned around. Standing behind him was a very smug-looking Clark Kent in a grey three-piece suit, his Daily Planet lanyard slung around his neck.
“Must be a slow news day in Metropolis if the Planet sent their Pulitzer-nominated reporter to cover a Gotham society event,” Bruce said, arching an eyebrow. What the hell are you doing here, Clark?
Clark shrugged. “Bruce Wayne is always worth a trip from Metropolis.” Happy to see you, too, dear.
“Shouldn’t you be out reporting on something important? Exposing corporate wrong-doings and the like?” Why isn’t Superman out on patrol?
“How do you know I’m not?” Clark’s eyes darted towards the stage, where the techies had been struggling with the wiring for what felt like far too long…
Bruce was already moving towards the stage when Clark’s voice stopped him. “It’s been taken care of.”
Bruce scowled at him. “What has?”
“The usual. Uninvited guests, surprise party favors. Loose ends, all wrapped up, and no one the wiser.” Don’t worry. No one saw Superman on Batman’s beat.
The warmth of gratitude was quickly speared by a lance of annoyance. “Really, don’t you have someplace better to be?” I don’t care if we are a couple, Kal. Gotham’s still my city to watch over.
“And miss the fanciest Halloween party on the East Coast?” Come on, Bruce. This is the closest I get to spending Halloween with you.
“You don’t even have a costume.” Bruce had to fight to repress his smile on that one.
“Neither do you.” Clark pointed to Bruce’s sleek, black Brioni tuxedo. “No heroes to inspire you, Mr. Wayne?” Seriously, lighten up, Bruce.
“Really now?” Bruce looked away to survey the room, suddenly unable to look Clark in the eye. His heart fluttered nervously. “Look again.”
He knew Clark was using his X-ray vision on him when he heard the little gasp of surprise. Bruce cocked his head, turning back to Clark with a tiny grin. See? I do have a costume.
Clark’s eyes were wide, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. He swallowed hard, and met Bruce’s gaze with such a look of utter adoration that Bruce was afraid Clark might forget their covers and sweep Bruce up in his arms. Clark managed to hold himself in check, but Bruce knew he could hear his accelerated heartbeat, feel his intake of breath, smell the subtle release of pheromones that told him with biology what Bruce couldn’t with words: I love you, too, Kal.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’m just going to have to give this speech acapella,” Bruce sighed. “I have a full schedule tonight.” Going to be a long night. Don’t wait up.
“Good luck with that. Looks like a tough crowd.” Be careful out there.
Bruce gave him a wide smile. “I’m good with crowds.” I always am.
“Until next time,” Clark said. He held Bruce’s gaze for almost too long before sliding away. Bruce pretended to be fussing with his smartphone instead of watching Clark leave. He took in Clark's tall posture, his light step, the flush on the back of his neck. A man head-over-heels in love.
Bruce knew exactly how Clark felt. He placed a quick hand over his chest, where the family crest of the house of El was hidden under his thick, black tuxedo shirt. Superman shirts could be bought on practically every street corner in Metropolis, though Bruce was one of only a handful of people in the world who knew what that big red “S” really stood for. Bruce had picked up the shirt on a lark the last time he’d been in Metropolis, not really sure what he’d intended for it. When he’d found out the ball’s theme, he’d known exactly what to do with it.
Bruce wasn’t dressed as Superman—he was dressed as Clark. Sure, he didn’t have the glasses, or the god-awful suits Bruce kept begging Clark to let him replace. But it was the spirit of him—Clark, who every day put himself on the line to better the world. Clark, who insisted on working a humble job to stay in touch with humanity. Clark, who loved Bruce unconditionally, despite everything Bruce put him through. Clark, who was just…just the best person Bruce had ever known.
If that wasn’t the definition of a hero, Bruce didn’t know what was.