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2020-11-04
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Shift 2:Shifting Up

Summary:

Genre: Slash; pre-slash
Pairing: Superman/Batman
Other Characters: the JLA
Sequel to: "Shift"
Rating: PG (OT)
(Author's Note: This story is a sequel to "Shift", but one does not need to read that story first to be able to understand the events here.
Disclaimer: Superman, Batman, the Justice League, and all characters herein are the property of DC Comics and Time Warner; no copyright is being violated and certainly no money is being made from the internet publication of this bit of fiction.)
Submitted through the BatmanAndSuperman mailing list. This list can no longer approve new members posts, please join us at Batman_And_Superman

Work Text:

Shift 2:Shifting Up
By Paxwolf

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

The growl reverberated in the air between them as Batman landed lightly beside the gasping Superman. The Dark Knight shifted easily to avoid an errant power blast that had bounced off Green Lantern's ring shield and then turned to loom over the hapless Kryptonian. Superman yanked his gaze up in time to see his teammate fling out a batarang in a perfect arc, deflecting a round of incoming artillery fire, before re-focussing his patented Bat-Glare back down on him. He grimaced, trying to draw in a breath.

"I should ... think it ... pretty damned ... obvious," he managed to wheeze out, still on his knees and not having much luck yet in levering himself to his feet. One arm was pressed tightly over his midriff.

"You idiot, Clark!" Batman hissed at him, and then from the corner of his eye Superman saw the marble column on their immediate right begin to crumble under the sudden strike from another of Weapon Master's stray blasts.

Batman tracked his gaze and threw himself into an instant dive onto the Man of Steel, hurling him backwards and knocking them both out of the path of the falling concrete debris. They landed in a tangle, and at that proximity Batman couldn't miss the grunt of obvious pain that tore out of Superman's throat at the hard impact.

He pushed himself up and glared still harder down at the Kryptonian lying splayed beneath him.

"Why did you insist coming on this mission, Clark? You would have done far better providing tactical support back at the Tower."

Superman's own eyes narrowed as he met Batman's infuriated stare. "I was healed, damnit. And Weapons Master ... is a Class A menace. The League needed ..."

"The League needed you to stay behind and recover," Batman snapped. "We would have done just fine. We didn't need you here, Superman."

"I've roped the cannon!" Wonder Woman shouted from across the marbled hall. "Flash!"

"Get him before he teleports in something else!" cried Kyle from behind them, as a bright green flare momentarily lit up the hall.

"Mine!" Flash shouted as a red blur swept past.

Another blast blew out the wall opposite them and Flash was no longer a blur.

"No, mine!" Aquaman drove in with a hard smile.

The sounds of the ensuing scuffle, punctuated with bursts of profanity from their target, signalled the end of the battle.

"Looks like that's over then," Superman remarked almost conversationally. He quirked an eyebrow up at Batman. "Mind getting off me, Bruce?"

Batman clenched his jaw, noting that despite the calm joviality that Superman was striving to project, that his breath was still coming in little laboured hitches, and that his face was very pale.

"Are you going to concede that you were - utterly - in the wrong, Clark?"

Superman's gaze darkened and his own jaw set stubbornly. "Hardly."

He had been tempted to say "Hell, no," but it wasn't really his style.

Instead he satisfied himself with wriggling a little to his left for leverage and then abruptly pushing the arm not trapped beneath his hip straight up.

Batman went flying.

Superman started to smile and instantly suppressed it even as the burning in his torso intensified manifold at the sharp movement.

Batman somersaulted in the air and came to a crouched landing, glaring daggers at Superman.

"Kal?" Diana stepped over to him. "Are you all right?"

He sat up with an effort he masked.

"Just a little winded, Diana. Thanks."

She helped him to his feet, exhibiting all the grace he could not yet muster himself, even as she turned a frown on Batman, who snorted and stalked off over to their new captive, now held within a green-energy display case.

"What happened?" she asked quietly, eyeing them both as she coiled her lasso, reattaching it to her belt.

Superman shrugged. "Guess he's a bit moody today."

"So what else is new?" Wally quipped as he zipped over to them.

"That was quite the hit you sustained, Kal-El," J'onn's soft voice sounded by his ear. "How are you faring?"

Superman let out a breath, bracing his ribs. Why was everyone hovering over him today?

He called up a grin from somewhere. "I'm fit as a fiddle, J'onn, now that you all took down our rather feistier than normal adversary. Good work, everyone," he said to the assembling League, straightening with effort. "His weapons packed a bit of a nasty punch this time around."

"Don't I know it," Wally said ruefully, rubbing his head where his mask had been singed away, revealing a shock of red hair.

"Yeah," Kyle said, seating himself on the ring-willed shelf on top of his construct, heels drumming on the edge, admiring the facets of the case. "If you hadn't pinpointed his base of Ops, Batman, there's no telling what kind of damage he could've caused down here."

"And," Wally added, "if you hadn't attracted WM by taking those blasts at close range like that, Supes, we probably wouldn't have gotten the drop on him."

Batman grunted. "I'm heading back to the Watchtower. You can deal with the trash."

He threw another hard look at Superman and teleported away.

"What's with him?" Flash asked, cocking his head.

"That was a reference to Weapons Master and not you, right?" Plastic Man asked, open-mouthed, stretching his neck to peer at Superman, getting right in his face.

"I ..."

"You seem to be doing pretty well lately," Kyle said, looking over at Superman with a grin. "In the latest `Let's See Who Can Tick Batman Off Most' pool."

"Yeah, big winner," Wally added, as he sped about and piled all the weapons their foe had employed in their fight. "You're in his very bad bat books. What's your secret?"

"Thus far," J'onn said dryly, as Superman was opening his mouth to answer. "It seems to have something to do with the little trick of throwing himself between Batman and certain death."

Wally blinked. "Oh, yeah. Gotta try that ploy next time."

Superman snorted at J'onn. "And I was just supposed to stand there and let that cannon dissolve him into a billion or so microscopic bits?"

He shook his head and sighed, folding his arms across his chest, hoping the gesture looked resigned rather than agonized.

Diana laid a hand on his shoulder. "Only Batman would be angry at having his life saved, Kal. But ..." She bit her lip.

"But what?" Superman asked a little testily as he turned too quickly and the motion jerked at his ribs.

All right, so maybe he hadn't yet completely healed ...

"You have been taking a good many risks of late, Kal," Diana said, her tone both a little too careful and disapproving all at once.

He frowned. "I have not."

"Kal ..."

He looked at them. "It's true I'm not invulnerable to everything they throw at us, and it's true I'm not infinitely energized, but I do have to pull my weight around here, you know."

"Am I hearing this right?" Wally asked, brows raised. "Superman feels like he's not doing his share?"

"Man, you're like on twenty-four, seven," Kyle added. "You trying to prove something?"

"'Cuz it's not like some of the rest of us already feel inadequate or nothing," Plas said, his hand molding a report card with a sizeable letter D on the front.

Superman closed his eyes and shook his head, swaying slightly. "I'm not trying to ..."

"Perhaps we ought to finish this at the Watchtower," J'onn broke in calmly, as armoured police officers began to pour into the hall.

Superman sighed. "Yes. Let's."

--

Fifteen minutes later, the entire Justice League was assembled in the conference room. Or nearly the entire League. J'onn had succeeded in talking Superman into a brief check over.

Superman came in from the infirmary, J'onn trailing at his back. Batman turned at the sound of the doors with a jerk, then went back to studying the computer, his scowl deepening.

"J'onn," Superman said, casting a quick glance at Batman with another small sigh, "You're hovering. Would you please stop playing nursemaid? I'm fine."

"Then you must have a differing definition of the word than do the rest of us, Kal-El," came J'onn's imperturbable response.

Batman grunted almost inaudibly from the corner. Superman rolled his eyes and moved to take his seat, but didn't argue.

"Okay, people, let's debrief," he said tiredly, "and while we're all here, we'll get the month's monitor rotation set and out of the way."

"Just how I want to spend my evening," Kyle slumped in his chair. "Setting up shifts. Oh fun."

"And here everyone thinks the life of a superhero is so glamourous," Wally grumbled as he got everyone coffee in three seconds flat. "Bored silly already."

"What took you so long, man?" Kyle ribbed as he blew the steam off the surface of his cup's contents.

"Had to fix that stuck filter," Flash answered, thwapping Kyle on the back of his head. "Since SOMEbody whose turn it was failed to manage it last week."

"I'm no good at kitchen stuff," Plas said, failing to look guilty whatsoever. "I knew you could do it."

"Lazy bastard ..." muttered Wally as Plas' cup disappeared from in front of him.

"Hey!"

"Let's get down to business so that we're not here half the night," Superman said, turning a mock frown on the three of them as Plas stretched his arm to try and snag Kyle's cup.

"Gotcha, boss," said Flash innocently, wrapping his hands around his own. "I'm all ears."

"Me too," Plas chirped, his audial appendages immediately quadrupling in size. "Lay it on me."

The meeting went quickly and smoothly, members reporting details of the battle and the list of weapons confiscated from their opponent, and outlining measures for preventing a like escape from happening again. The new shift schedule was arranged and set with little complaint as Superman skillfully accounted for members' various non-League occupations and activities.

"Okay, then," he said at last, draining his mug and gingerly pushing his chair back from the table. "If there are no further orders of business, I think we can call it a day."

"Good call, Supes," Wally said with an exaggerated yawn, ignoring Plas' bad imitation of him. "I'm bushed."

Everyone began to gather their things and get up from the table.

"I have one more `order of business'," rumbled out a quiet voice, cutting through the bustle like a blade.

Superman looked up in surprise. "Batman?"

The Dark Knight sat back, hands flat on the table in front of him. He stared almost challengingly across at Superman, who leaned his weight forward onto his arms as he rose, trying to act nonchalant about his unusual posture.

"You have something you wish to address, Batman?" Diana finally asked, her head tilted in curiosity.

Batman let loose a small hard smile. "I do." He looked straight ahead, gaze not wavering, pinning Superman with his stare. "I would like the League to instate new strictures on allowing injured, ill, or otherwise incapacitated members into combat situations."

Superman's eyes narrowed, and after a second, he slowly sat back down. He said nothing, but his stare locked onto Batman's. Everyone else stared at them.

"That is not a bad idea, Batman," J'onn said into the silence that had descended into the room.

Superman jerked his gaze to the Martian. "What?"

"We have never needed such measures before," Aquaman said with a frown. "It is obvious when we cannot fight. We are all adults here - well, mostly," he added, looking at Wally, Kyle, and Plas.

"Hey!"

"I second that `hey'!"

"Hey, I'm fine with it. Grown-ups are highly overrated."

"You're overreacting," Superman said quietly, eyes trained on Batman.

"I don't think so," Batman returned, equally fixed. "You are solid proof of that."

Superman's rare temper flared up, and for once he didn't bother to suppress it. "I'm fine!"

Batman merely flicked a pointed look at J'onn, who shrugged.

"We both know the truth of that statement, Kal-El."

Superman ground his teeth.

Diana looked at him in concern. "Are you still in pain, Kal? It is unlike you to take so long to heal. Have you exacerbated your previous injury? You really should not have come to join the battle in your cond ..."

"I could handle it," Superman said, turning to her in exasperation. "I was fit for duty. I could help speed matters along, prevent anyone from getting unnecessarily hurt..."

Batman interrupted with a barbed snort.

"I was fine," Superman said, and for a moment, the barest hint of crimson flashed in his blue eyes.

"Methinks the lad doth protest too much," Wally deadpanned, then flinched as Superman turned an uncharacteristic glare on him.

"Hey, Big Guy," Kyle soothed, laying a hand on his arm. "We just don't want you to exert yourself when you're under the weath ..."

"Is everyone ganging up on me here?"

"Poor, poor Superman," Plas said unsympathetically. "He's got too many friends."

"Perhaps you ought be taking things a little slower, my friend," J'onn was saying gently. "At least until you have completed your healing process. As quickly as your body normally recovers, even you need a greater amount of rest than you have recently been allowing yourself."

Superman opened his mouth to protest again, then looked across at Batman, who was sitting silently, a slight smirk playing on his lips. He closed his mouth, lips compressed into a thin line.

"There are other members of the JLA who are more than capable, Kal," Diana was saying from his other side, eyes full of concern. "You need not take on everything yourself. Teammates watch out for each other."

Superman glanced at her and then back at Batman. "New strictures won't be necessary," he said tightly. "I'll get some rest."

"That is all we ask," Diana began.

"No, it isn't," Superman said, more sharply than he'd intended. He grimaced and then rose from his chair slowly. "Next time you all decide to stage an `intervention', how about centering it around something important."

He turned to leave.

"And this wasn't important?" Batman said, unable to resist throwing in the last word.

Superman stiffened slightly, and then swung back to match hard looks with Batman.

"This wasn't supposed to be a game of one-upmanship, Bruce," he said softly. "I had your back."

"And I can handle myself," Batman snapped, abruptly rising. "I don't need you getting hurt on my account for ridiculous reas ..."

"Let me get this straight," Superman interrupted. "You'd rather have taken a potentially fatal hit in order to protect your professional pride?"

Batman's lips thinned.

"I do not think you are getting it straight at all, Kal-El," J'onn said quietly, obviously attempting to defuse the escalating argument.

"Stay out of this, J'onn," Batman growled. "Superman has got to learn to recognize his own limitations. This incident today, together with the one earlier this week against Ra's Al Ghul, has amply illustrated his recent lack of good sense."

Superman's brows drew down. "I thought we had come to an understanding about that `incident'," he said through his teeth.

"And I thought you would have learned something from it," Batman hurled right back. "Apparently you're slower on the uptake than I'd previously always credited you with."

"You are unbelievable," Superman said after a second, voice soft, and eyes anything but.

The other League members sat stilly, looking back and forth between them and then at each other.

"Gentlemen," Diana now said, voice very firm. "You both may have a point, but perhaps ..."

"You're right, Diana," Superman said, not looking at her. "And I apologize. This is neither the time nor place for such a ... discussion."

He pushed off from the table, expression stony.

"No. It isn't," Batman echoed, cowled eyes mere slits. "And once our erstwhile `chairman' here acknowledges his error in judgement, we will have finished it."

"I don't understand you," Superman shot back, voice colder than many there had ever heard. Superman hoped it managed to conceal the huge ball of hurt lodging inside him right at that moment. "What happened today was ..."

"Sheer lunacy on your part," Batman answered, leaning forward fast over the table.

"If it means saving your - or any - life, then I'll happily go on being a `sheer lunatic'," Superman said evenly.

Batman's fists clenched.

"Hey, break it up, you two," Wally finally broke in, an alarmed look on his face. "Jeez, it's like supervising a playground fight in here!"

"Yeah," Kyle chimed in, looking between Batman and Superman anxiously. "We are all on the same side here, you know."

"Tell him that," Batman hissed. "And while you're at it, tell him to stop taking stupid risks. And then remind him that he is neither invincible nor immortal, despite his apparent sudden belief in his own mistaken press."

He whirled and swiftly disappeared out the door without a glance back.

Superman stood stock still for an instant, expression dark. The silence in the room was deafening. Then, not looking at his teammates, he settled his shoulders, turned a little too carefully, the rest noticed, and strode out the opposite door without a word.

The remaining members of the League sat at the table, looking at each other.

"O-kaaay," Wally said slowly into the silence. "I was wrong. That was an interesting meeting."

"What was that all about?" Kyle asked almost plaintively. "I mean, we've all seen them fight before ..."

"Regular fireworks `round here," agreed Plas, a giant scorecard morphing out of his hands.

"... but that was new," Kyle finished, throwing Plastic Man an irked look. "I thought if Bats accepted anyone as his friend, it was Supes."

"There was nearly more in the way of conflict in this room than during the battle with Weapons Master," Wally said, a worried frown etching its way between his brows.

Aquaman sat back with a grunt, a rather incongruously entertained look on his face. "Quite telling, I think."

"What?"

Arthur just shrugged.

"More importantly, what can we do about it?" Kyle asked.

J'onn sighed deeply. "Not much, I'm afraid. Let us hope that they work it out between themselves. We can only intervene if the current friction in their partnership affects League performance, after all."

"That may be true, J'onn," Diana said unhappily, looking at the closed doors. "But such unaccountable anger on both of their parts is disconcerting, to say the least. And it is ... uncomfortable."

"Speak for yourself, Princess. I kinda liked it," Plas piped up. "That was fun."

"Fun?" Kyle stared incredulously at him. "Are you nuts? Wait," he slapped his forehead. "Who am I talking to?"

"You're a riot, GL," Plas said, "but really. It was like watching a well-matched tennis game. You know, breaks up the monotony. The ball fairly whizzed back and forth over the net there, yeah? Twenty-four love."

"You're such a leech," Kyle muttered, fending off Plas' suddenly leech-like fingers crawling across the table at him.

Flash stretched and in a half-second, had snatched everyone's empty mugs. "Well, I hope their little spat gets fixed - and soon. Bats alone is creepy enough to hang with when he's upset ..."

"Just when he's upset?" Plas popped in, his face now covered with an extra spooky Bat-mask, pointed ears huge and reaching to the ceiling.

" ...but to throw our usually amiable and easy-goin' Supes into the mix," Wally continued with a shake of the head, ignoring Plastic Man. "That's downright scary."

"Yeah, what's the world coming to?" Plas said, flowing from a parody of Superman into an over-inflated crater-covered beach ball. "Or at least the moon? Flyin' the not-so friendly skies here."

"It seems so," Diana said, concern in her eyes as she stood, "This cannot continue. Perhaps, as Kal rather flippantly stated, an `intervention' of sorts will be required. For both of them."

"Wait and see," J'onn said reassuringly, also rising. "For as we all know, time can work many wonders, and heal many hurts."

But over a week later, the two men in question had still not resolved the issue between them. Both had largely succeeded in avoiding the other, even when JLA business called them each to the moon or to trouble spots around the globe.

Wonder Woman finally had succumbed to her need for peacemaking, and attempted to talk to both of them. Predictably, she had been met with cool stubbornness from Batman. And although she encountered a warmer response from Superman, he was no less obstinate. Neither would concede to being in the wrong, and neither was willing to back down, not even in the interests of relieving the tension that filled the Watchtower whenever either was present. She felt that Batman's constant projection of anger and coldness was primarily a shield, and that Superman seemed more bewildered than truly angry at Batman's response to his actions. But still she could not get them to compromise.

Despite all of her entreaties, they each refused to approach the other to work out a reconciliation. J'onn, much to her surprise, had likewise declined to speak with them, or assist her in urging their teammates to reach an amicable solution to their disagreement.

"I trust they will resolve things on their own, eventually," the Martian only said when she pressed. "And truthfully, it is rather none of our business. It is not their working relationship that is at stake here, Diana, but their friendship. That is at the heart of the matter. And without either of their express invitation, there I shall not tread."

Batman had heard of his response, and was grateful for J'onn's decision to not interfere, though of course he would never voice it. Everyone else knew that to bring up the subject of a certain Man of Steel in his presence was paramount to a death wish. Privately, he also understood Diana's position, and could appreciate her concern for his welfare, and Kal's, but it was far easier to simply avoid her and her constant attempts at mediation.

He had become a master of avoidance in his life, after all. He had been doing his level best to not only avoid an encounter with Superman, but to even think about him. Or about the root of the actual problem between them. As it stood, he was none too happy with himself that he had allowed his views to get so adamantly public during the debriefing session. He had allowed himself to become ... emotional. And in front of the League at that.

He growled low in his throat at the memory. Only Superman could arouse that level of ...

He cut off the thought. There he went again. He had been trying to not think about Superman, and yet there he persistently crept in. Again.

He clenched his fists, and forced his mind to concentrate on the readouts his computer in the Batcave was currently displaying.

He had now been able to avoid Superman for over two weeks, and was determined to not let himself dwell on him.

It seemed he was much more successful with the former than with the latter. He could keep out of Superman's way, made easier by the fact that it was obvious that his Kryptonian teammate was doing the same. But he couldn't seem to excise him from his thoughts.

Batman had attempted to busy himself with a heavy workload of both criminal cases and Wayne Enterprises in nature. But lately every little thing seemed to serve as a reminder of ... of him. Every newsflash, whether from Metropolis or internationally, seemed to either contain a mention of Superman, or be written by Clark Kent, Lois Lane, or a number of other professional associates of his. Even the sight of a Daily Planet newsbox on a street corner or in the lobby stand of his building seemed to send a jolt down his spine.

Then there was all the merchandising. Never mind that there were plenty of images of other League or JSA or Titans members, even of himself, but the plethora of t-shirts, ballcaps, mugs, and assorted other products with Superman's shield or likeness on them had seemed to have increased tenfold in the past month. He couldn't get away from it. Even a glimpse of the stars above on a clear night, the merest suggestion of astronomy or alien life on other planets, and his mind would return to Superman with an almost painful predictability and ridiculous frequency.

At the point where his colleague began appearing in his dreams night after day, and indeed whenever he tried to catch a wink of sleep, he knew avoidance and distraction were no longer working. If indeed they ever had.

At the point where even Alfred began commenting on his surliness, and both Dick and Barbara had point blank asked him what was up with him - having heard through the grapevine that he'd had a falling out of sorts with Superman - he knew he couldn't let it go any longer. He had to try to rid himself of the constant spectre of Superman, especially the spectre of him being hurt or tortured or ... or even killed in front of his eyes, usually because of some foolhardy attempt to save him. He had to do something.

What, he hadn't the faintest.

That alone was unusual enough for him that he determined to take action, to rid himself of the haunting presence of a certain Kryptonian from his head if he at all could. But what to do? He still had no clue. And that was completely unacceptable for the World's Greatest Detective. He smiled in grim irony.

Gathering evidence was generally the first task one undertook. Granted, this was far from an ordinary case. However, even if it was more personal than usual, he figured that he would still be able to be objective. But all the objectivity in the world still didn't help him determine a viable course of action.

So it was that Batman found himself one November-cold night letting himself silently into Clark Kent's Metropolis apartment, having rather cleverly discovered that both owners would be out for the evening, Lois out of town on a press assignment, and Clark working late in both of his capacities.

He stood in the darkened apartment and abruptly realized he had no idea why he was really there. He had simply felt ... compelled. Compelled to come and study Superman, perhaps in the hope that with clearer understanding of both the hero and the journalist, the alien and the farmer's son, the public figure and the private man, and analyze his motivations in every aspect of his life, he himself would be better able to calculate why all of what had happened was affecting him so profoundly. Perhaps by studying Superman's home, he would gain some insight into his own ... obsession.

He sighed inaudibly as he glanced around at the darkened living room. It was ironic, really. He had known and worked with Superman for a number of years. He probably already knew the man about as well as he was ever going to. Spying on him wasn't likely to reveal anything amazingly new.

He moved from room to room, noting the changes in décor and furnishings from when he had last set foot there. He tried not to feel too guilty about his trespass, and gave a mental shrug. It wouldn't be the first time.

He paced through the quiet rooms, relieved that the Dog no longer lived in the apartment but had instead taken up residence at the Fortress. Invading Superman's primary residence wouldn't have been so welcome a thought had a fiercely-protective and territorial mutt with super-powers been guarding the place.

And so Batman was understandably surprised when an unexpected sound rose from the couch in the living room. He whirled instantly, batarang in hand, as a dark shape flowed from the couch and moved across the floor towards him.

Had one of Superman's enemies discovered where he lived? He tensed.

A soft mew drifted up towards him from the shadows and he relaxed.

Right. He had nearly forgotten that the Kents kept a cat. The animal meowed imperiously at him for a moment, then stalked off haughtily with its tail in the air when he didn't stoop down to pet it. Two yellow-green eyes caught the reflection from the faint nightlight in the hallway and stared balefully at him from a chair.

He holstered his weapon, and resumed his exploration, but he had stopped really seeing, and wandered, deep in thought.

A noise from the balcony doors alerted him, and with a speed the Flash would have been proud of, melted instantly into the shadows.

Muscles tense, he watched as the glass doors slid open and Superman stepped through, uniform and hair sodden with rain, and expression and posture tellingly weary. Batman frowned.

He had earlier heard on the MPD bandwidth of the day's battle against Metallo, and could well guess at the toll taken by a tussle with the Kryptonite-powered villain. Never mind that the knowledge had aided in his unfathomable decision to visit Metropolis. He hadn't, however, expected Superman to be back so soon. He knew that his customary nightly patrol generally went on much longer. Or had Batman miscalculated? He frowned. Why would he have done that?

He looked back at Superman.

He must be tired, he thought. He watched Superman's slow movements critically. Or hurt. Again.

He sighed noiselessly. For a man with a patented invulnerability, Superman certainly seemed to have a penchant for injury.

He watched broodingly as Superman wandered almost aimlessly through the darkened apartment, not bothering to turn on any of the lights. And how after a few minutes he had given a deep sigh of his own and ended up at the doors again, staring out into the night through the rain-spattered glass.

The cat jumped off the chair and began to wind itself about Superman's legs. His mouth twitched into a small smile as he crouched, reaching out to stroke the cat's fur gently. A loud purr emanated from the creature.

"Hey, Leroy," Superman said softly. "A little lonely, were you? Tell me about it."

He scratched the cat behind the ears, and then rose back to his feet, looking like all the weight of the world was on his shoulders as he did.

Batman watched as Superman reached up a hand to rub at the back of his neck, and then with another sigh, fingered the collar of his uniform as if it were irritating the skin there. Then he slid his fingers underneath and deftly detached the heavy cape from his neck. He ran a hand down a long rip to the tattered ends, and then dropped it over the back of a chair, the material draping down in damp folds and trailing onto the floor. He stood still for a long moment, outlined in stark relief against the lights of the city. Rivulets of rain running down the windows were reflected back onto the side of his face and neck, making it appear as if ghostly tears were running down his skin and costume.

Batman's eyes hooded. He flicked a look out the window and wondered how far Superman was seeing, or if he was seeing anything at all.

After a few moments, Superman shifted his shoulders and moved away from the windows. He stepped over to his desk against the wall, sank into a chair, and flipped on his computer. He bent his head to study a sheaf of paper notes on the desktop, before opening a file and beginning to type speedily.

Batman remained motionless, watching him. He found himself mesmerized by the superspeed rhythmic tap-tapping of Superman's fingers on the keyboard, and by the way the light from the screen limned the angled, chiseled planes of his face, highlighting the otherworldly blue of his eyes. The expression of concentration was mixed with one of almost ... contentment? and Batman wondered, not for the first time, if Superman felt true joy in his writing, if it was the one area where he excelled that had little to do with his alien heritage and was therefore purely an ability on which he could be judged fairly, humanly.

After about fifteen minutes, Superman stopped writing, and reading a new file that he had called up, snorted faintly. He typed another minute, and then leaned back. A grimace of discomfort crossed his face and he sat up immediately. Shaking his head with another little sigh escaping his lips, he abruptly pushed his chair back and stood. He stretched out his neck from side to side, as if sore, and rotated his shoulders back as if they were stiff. Did Superman sometimes experience muscle pain as normal men did? Batman couldn't recall if he had ever heard him complain about aches or not. He frowned again. He should remember things like that.

He stealthily moved to the side to better see as Superman stepped into the open-walled kitchen, set down a bowl of food for the meowing cat, flick on the light above the stove, and fill a kettle with water from the tap. A soft homey glow filled the space, and Batman saw Superman go still for a moment. He couldn't see what he was staring at. There didn't seem to be anything particular within his line of sight. And he couldn't possibly be aware of Batman's covert presence.

After a moment, Superman returned to motion and set the kettle on an element to boil. Batman wondered why he didn't simply heat the water up in an instant with his heat vision. It would have been much faster and more efficient.

Batman glided back to the shadow of the closet and watched as Superman returned to the living area, moving a little less wearily, his usual panther-grace evident in the way his long legs strode across the floor. Superman glanced at his computer for a moment, then looked away and leaned down to switch on a table lamp. He then stood there for a moment, still, almost hesitant, as his gaze returned to the dark windows and the balcony and city beyond. He let out a huff of air abruptly, frowning down at the floor as if frustrated about something. Then his shoulders lifted slightly. Turning, his hands went to his waist and loosened his belt, yanking out his shirt ends. He began to pull the uniform shirt over his head, stripping it off in an economical movement. He looked down at the shirt in his hands for a moment, the red and yellow-emblazoned `S' staring back at him. He turned it over and fingered a long rent in the material. Batman peered closer at it. Was that a bloodstain?

Batman clenched his teeth as the memory of the battle against Ra's weeks before loomed up unbidden in his mind. The wounds he had witnessed the Man of Steel suffer for his sake ... he shuddered slightly and pushed the memory down. He watched as Superman abruptly bunched the fabric in his hands, staring down at it with an expression Batman couldn't quite decipher. He frowned as Superman threw the balled shirt onto the couch with enough force to send the uniform bouncing off the cushion and onto the floor. Superman left it there. Batman saw the long line of a healing scar dissecting the small of his back as he turned. His gaze narrowed.

Superman's hands reached behind him to trace the wound, eyes staring out into the city. He began a series of slow stretches, muscles flexing, almost as if testing that weary, resigned fashion as he headed slowly into the master bedroom. A moment later, Batman heard the sound of a shower starting.

Trying to suppress the unaccustomed guilt at his near-voyeurism, Batman stepped over to view the contents of Superman's computer. He knew that now would be an ideal time to make his unseen and unheard exit while Superman was occupied with showering. But first he would just take a quick look at whatever Clark was writing before he escaped. Purely, of course, to assuage his curiosity.

He had been working on his Intergang story, Batman saw. Hmm. He thumbed through the papers on the desk, and then scrolled up the screen, scanning the article. Clark had managed to amass some credible evidence against Intergang in recent months, and the exposé was beginning to take damned fine shape. He smirked. It was always good to see the national crime cartel taken down a peg by non-superheroic means. Means that would stick in court.

He straightened, preparing to leave.

Then he spotted, open on a scaled-down screen, a file marked `kryp.doc'. He paused for a moment. It could be files on the effects and properties of Kryptonite. Or simply information on what to feed the Dog.

It might be nothing. Or it could be Superman's private journal. Or it could be nothing. He paused, staring at it. But then again, it might prove to be invaluable to his ... investigation. It might prove to be what he had come here for. It would undoubtedly prove fascinating reading if nothing else. He hesitated one more moment, everything Alfred had ever drummed into him about invasion of privacy and dangerous control freak tendencies swirling through his mind. He had to look at it at least. But he wouldn't go too far into the file. It would take only a moment to memorize the screen, and then he could take his leave.

He maximized the window. Pulse speeding up a little, he waited, and then Kryptonian symbols filled the screen. He deflated, a little surprised by how great the sense of disappointment was. He had mastered a fair amount of spoken Kryptonese over the past year, but reading huge amounts of text in the difficult alien language in under a minute confounded even him. He would have to come back, with his translation program and a copy disk.

If I care to go that far, I mean.

He frowned.

How deep am I willing to dig for this?

He sighed regretfully, tapped a key to minimize the screen again, and then nearly leaped onto the ceiling as the teakettle whistle began to shrill.

Shit.

He shut off the monitor quickly and began to edge silently towards the balcony doors, the kettle still whistling merrily away on the stove. Then suddenly, there was a peripheral blur, and a breath of wind washed over him. Batman went still, and Superman was once more in the kitchen, reaching at normal speed to turn off the stove and lift the kettle away. He was soaking wet, clad only in a towel barely cinched around his hips as he absently ran another towel through the wet black strands of his hair. He reached up into an overhead cupboard for a teabag and a mug, turned to fill it from the kettle, and suddenly froze.

He was staring straight at Batman. Who stared right back at him, unmoving.

Neither moved nor spoke for several seconds. Then Superman's wide, surprised eyes narrowed. He lowered the towel from his touselled head and with deliberate precision, carefully set his cup down the counter's Formica surface.

"Batman," he said, and there wasn't exactly a world of warm welcome in that voice. So different than what he had heard in the past. Superman stepped into the glow of the living room, eyes not leaving Batman, who still had not moved. "Something I can help you with?" he asked pointedly.

Batman's face creased in an outward scowl even as he uncharacteristically floundered for a believable excuse for his presence. Why had he come here?

Superman cast a quick glance around the apartment as if to assure himself that no one else had snuck in while he had been in the shower, presumably any others of the Bat clan. "Well?"

"I have some information on Intergang for you," Batman said at last, keeping his voice gruff. Intimidation usually worked wonders for him in similar circumstances.

Superman only lifted a brow and he glanced at his desk. "You were aware that I was conducting an investigation into new Gang activity?"

Batman emitted a very convincingly grouchy harrumph. "Of course. I keep informed on all current national criminal doings. Given your previous series of investigations and the attempt on your life that resulted, it was only a matter of deduction to conclude that you would be following up on the rise of Gang-patterned crimes."

It was a bit too wordy for Batman to have normally said, but there was little help for it now, so he merely waited, arms folded, and didn't waver in his own stare.

Superman all but snorted. "Fine. It's true I could use a bit more background for the story. Give me what you've got."

"You're still not in the mood for a civilized conversation, I see," Batman said shortly, and whirled around to make his exit.

He was two steps from the glass doors when he felt a hand lightly grip his arm. He swept around in sudden anger to meet Superman's hard stare.

"Exactly why are you here, Bruce?"

Batman's lips compressed into a hard line of his own.

"I told you wh-"

"Uh huh. How about the truth this time." Batman looked at him, eyes flaring. Superman didn't seem to notice. "Does it have anything to do with why you've masked your respiration and heartbeat from me?" he demanded. "Or are you just out to test your newest toys on me tonight, the ignorant guinea pig once again?"

Batman bristled.

"Contrary to your belief," he snapped. "I don't revolve my life - or all of my inventions - around you."

"Nor I you," Superman all but snarled. "And I'm so sorry if I wasn't quite oblivious enough to make for a successful experiment for you."

Batman drew himself up. "It is important to know when my equipment will work against meta-powered adversaries," he shot back, having no idea that those words had been about to come out of his mouth. And how often did that happen, that he didn't pre-plan every sentence? He had to get out of there, now.

Superman was staring at him, a torrent of different emotions playing across his too-expressive face, and in his eyes, clear as a summer's sky.

How could he possibly clarify to Superman the reason for his espionage when he himself didn't understand it? "Unlike some," he heard himself hissing, stepping back towards the doors, "I don't have powers to rely on in a combat situation with super-villains."

"And I'm suddenly an adversary now, is that it?"

There was suddenly, clear as daylight, bright pain behind the surface anger in those eyes, Batman now saw, and it stopped him from saying the first thing that leapt to mind. But he couldn't allow it to stop him from leaving. Or his purpose - whatever that really was.

He shook his head, mind flailing.

"You don't understand," he could only say, fists tight at his sides.

Superman made a small, unidentifiable sound. "Then help me understand."

Batman's head came up at the new notes, the hidden plea that had threaded the strident words. He turned almost against his will to stare into Clark's eyes, so open right at that moment, so clear, so very vulnerable.

I could hurt him so easily, Batman realized right then. He's so guarded in public, but with those he trusts, he wears his heart on his sleeve. And despite everything I am, he trusts me. Despite everything I've done, he trusts me.

Superman took a step closer, eyes searching, anguished. Batman could feel the alien heat radiating from that body, the sheen of moisture on bronzed-fair skin rising in little tendrils of steam around him.

"I thought we were more than colleagues, more than teammates, Bruce," Superman said, voice quiet. "I thought something had shifted in you a few weeks ago. That you had finally and truly accepted my friendship." He swallowed visibly. "Tell me." Those blue eyes stared into his own, so penetratingly, as if staring straight into his heart. "Tell me what I've done wrong."

He could hear the pain, the fear of loss resonating in that timbre-soft voice. It nearly undid him. How on earth could he not respond to it? But how could he either? It was too dangerous. Much too dangerous.

He folded his arms across his chest and scowled forbiddingly, marshalling his defences. "I've told you time and again that I do not need your protection in battle, Superman. Yet still you refuse to listen."

He watched as Clark released a slow breath, the blue brightness of his gaze shuttered as he lowered his head.

"And just what was I supposed to do, Bruce?" the question was so quiet Batman had to strain to hear it. Superman stared at the floor. "Let you get hurt or ... or even die when it was within my power to save you?"

Unaccountable anger swept unbidden through Batman. "I don't need saving, Clark. Especially not by you."

He whirled again and strode towards the balcony doors, intent on getting out. Getting out now, before ...

And suddenly Superman was squarely in front of him, standing resolutely between him and the door, water dripping down his skin, with an unreadable, almost fey light gleaming in his eyes. Batman pulled up despite himself, breath caught. Then he clenched his fists.

"Get out of my way, Superman."

His hand itched towards his utility belt.

"Why are you here, Batman?"

The voice was flat, uncompromising.

Batman stared back, not giving ground.

Why am I here? Batman's heart thudded painfully against his ribs, mind swirling. Because ... because I cannot stand any more to watch you be hurt again and again, in my dreams, in my reality. Hurt for me. And to see you ... possibly die for me. Not you. I can't do it, Clark. Not any longer.

But he couldn't say that, even if he now suddenly saw the starkness of that thought looming in mighty and terrifying realization. He couldn't ever say that.

Batman tightened his jaw. His eyes narrowed to slits as he stared back, seeing Superman's pulse throb rapidly in the exposed neck, the breath coming fast with the rise and fall of his chest, the confusion warring with determination in those eyes. Eyes that were just then bluer than the heart of a flame. Eyes that threatened to either drown or scorch him, he wasn't sure which, as they hypnotically held him. And for a blinding instant all time seemed to stand still.

He could not speak, drawn against his will into that flame, against all reason, like a moth, inexorable to his solitary death, to his ultimate destiny. He shuddered.

No!

He shook his head savagely, breaking the hold, the spiralling down into ... what? A growl escaped his throat, and he stepped back, stubbornly denying the new truth suddenly welling up in his heart. The stark clarity of the truth that now flooded in understanding in his mind, in his soul, throughout his body.

Oh god ...

He stared at Superman, staggered under the weight of realization, of emotion heaving in tumultuous waves upon him, heart pounding. No, no ...

Oh YES ...

As if from a great distance he watched as Superman closed his eyes, his shoulders slump as if in defeat, the anger that had fueled him drain away with a long sigh that escaped his lips. He watched as Superman tipped his head back, eyes shut as if in pain, his throat swallowing hard. Batman couldn't move, staring at him, own pulse racing.

How could this be?

Superman ...

There was a long silence, and then Superman was lowering his head and his eyes were unveiling as he levelled a look of some magnitude at Batman.

"What do you want from me, Bruce?"

There was a world of despair in that voice, a world of crushing loneliness and pain in every line of his body, in every nuance of his face.

This is why I was so angry. Why I was so ... afraid. I can't lose him ...

And all of a sudden Batman could not bear it any longer, could not think, could not resist, his defenses crumbling, could not deny or lash out, could not run away any more. Not any more.

What do you want from me?

And before he was even aware he was moving, he had shifted forward fast, shoved Superman back hard against the reinforced glass, and was kissing him roughly.

He felt as though a searing flame was arcing through every nerve of his body and thrilling along every synapse. He shuddered uncontrollably as if jolted with a spark of pure electricity, even as he felt Superman freeze against him in shock of his own.

He was kissing Superman. Kissing Clark. On the mouth.

Part of him reeled at that awareness, and part of him trembled. He wanted to run, to shout out in denial, to tear both himself and Superman apart in rage and fury, to sweep away out of reach, to hide away forever in the darkness.

How can this be???

But right then, even more, in that shattering moment of infinite truth and clarity, he wanted to cry out to the heavens in glorious freedom, in pure joy, in utter, final triumph. Part of him was terrified, and wanted to run, oh yes, but right then, the bigger part of him wanted more than anything to just pull Superman further into his arms, deepen the kiss, and never, ever let him go.

Oh god ...

I love him.

Batman shuddered again as the recognition of that truth resounded in a thunderous crescendo throughout his being, coupled with an overwhelming heat that swept right over him as he pressed harder against Superman's nearly-naked body, his hands gripping his wet head, running down that neck, those muscled arms and sides.

And God above, it's undeniable that I ...I want him too.

His own mind still whirled in shock even as it sang in fierce joy.

Mine. He's mine.

It seemed his body knew what his heart and mind had not, what they had fought against, and perhaps even a deeper part of him, his very soul, also knew, and in tandem at last, hummed now in victory, in utter completion.

Clark ...

Another part of him, the analytical side, still quested for answers, even in those few seconds of overwhelming ... everything.

How ... how can this be? How has this happened?

The shock and confusion whispered again, but then was silenced under the louder truth, and he saw with blinding clarity how everything now seemed to make sudden, absolute, perfect sense.

Kal ...

Superman made a noise, and the immediate eternity of that spellbound moment abruptly shattered, and then they were apart, both gasping for breath, each staring wide-eyed at the other, not sure who had broken the kiss.

Batman's mouth was dry, and dizziness assailed him as he tried to assimilate all that had just happened.

"B-Bruce," Superman was trying to say, raising a hand to his mouth. "My God..."

He was trembling, Batman saw, and he couldn't blame him. He was feeling more than a little shaky himself. And for the life of him, right then, he couldn't think of a thing to say.

He stepped back a fraction, releasing his hold on Superman slowly, reluctantly. He realized he was afraid to let go, for what if he never was able to touch him, touch him like this ever again?

Superman didn't move a muscle, still leaning back against the wet glass where he'd been pushed, eyes glittering in the half-light, so gloriously displayed in front of him.

He's beautiful.

Batman struggled to breathe, to get some logic and reason functioning again in his brain, to wrestle his clamouring body back under control.

"Batman ... what the ... hell are you doing?" Superman finally said, gathering himself with obvious enormous effort, voice a little hoarse, still shocky.

Batman took a breath and shook his head. The last thing he felt like doing was lying anymore, not to Clark, and not to himself. And he sure as hell wasn't feeling up to an explanation right then. Especially not when all he really wanted to do now was grab Superman again and kiss him until his usually not-so-obtuse partner finally grasped just what he was doing. And what he was meaning by it. And finally accepted the truth of things for himself.

It was a mammoth struggle to refrain. Probably it helped that Clark would likely toss him straight over the balcony rail if he tried, now that the initial shock that had held him immobile had somewhat worn off.

Somewhat.

He doubted the shock would ever wear off completely.

And what could he really say, anyway, that would help? "Oh, Superman, I just wanted to find out if you felt and tasted as good as I've only just now realized I've been wanting to know for, really, forever. Hope you don't mind."? He repressed a grin and sighed inwardly.

What could he say that would possibly make sense to the bewildered and flustered Man of Steel before him? Now that the first mad moment of clarity and impulse and ... need was over, (though it will never be over, his mind whispered to him knowingly) there were so many obvious complications that were rising up, so many problems, obstacles, and damnable realities. And what could he possibly say with words anyway? Hadn't his actions already spoken volumes?

He shook his head again, suddenly weary and inexplicably saddened.

"For a man with super-hearing, you certainly don't listen very well," he finally said, still fighting down the sparks that continued to jump in little pleasurable jolts up and down his spine.

God, what had changed? This was what he'd been feeling all along, what he had been so cleverly repressing, denying? It would take some time for he himself to come to terms with what had been revealed to him this night. That was a certainty.

"What?" Clark blinked at him, clearly nonplussed, completely thrown off balance.

Bruce tried to hide a smile. It wasn't often one could do that with Superman.

"What ... what do you mean? Why did you ..." Clark struggled to speak, and the sheer confusion in his eyes caused the smile to disappear from Bruce's lips.

He sobered, and just looked at Superman mutely, drinking in the sight of him. He watched him fighting with his own tumult of no doubt overwhelming truths and tangled feelings. What would they spell out when clear? Was there any cha...

Ruthlessly, Bruce quashed the thought. He couldn't afford to give into either despair, or maybe what was worse, hope.

Superman finally drew a breath, straightening away from the glass with apparent effort, seeming to gather himself. He folded his arms protectively across his chest, looking suddenly and absurdly vulnerable in his defensive _expression and his ... towel.

Bruce swallowed, looking at him.

Clark opened his mouth, drawing breath, squaring his shoulders with his gaze hardening as if preparing to do battle. "How ..."

"No." Batman raised his hand, and shook his head fiercely. "No. No more talking. No more arguments. Not tonight, Clark. You figure it out. I've had enough."

The world felt like it was crashing down around him. Unable to speak, unable to do anything else, Batman swept with disconcerting suddenness towards the doors. Superman jumped at the brief touch on bare skin as Batman brushed by him, but the Dark Knight merely reached past his shoulder to yank the doors open with unnecessary force.

He paused on the threshold, heart racing, the cold wind whipping his dark cloak back into the apartment. He gazed unflinchingly at Clark, seeing the shock and bewilderment and ... maybe something else? still swirling in the depths of the azure eyes staring back at him.

"Bruce," Superman himself seemed to be having difficulty mustering coherent speech right then, but he made no move to stop him, instead just holding his gaze almost beseechingly. "Why?"

The question was nearly plaintive, and obviously far more he was asking through that single inadequate word. And words, indeed, Batman thought, would always be inadequate.

He stared back.

They stood like that, a frozen tableau of complicated emotion and turmoil, for a moment of a lifetime.

"Kal."

The one word reverberated in the room between them, the deep, soft richness of Bruce's voice conveying a universe's worth of telling.

Then he turned and disappeared into the night, shadows swallowing him in their entirety.

Well, as entirely as super-senses would allow, he mused, a bitter smile twitching at his mouth.

Batman looked back as he swung out, unable to stop himself. He filled his vision with the glimmering light of the window above him, shining through the rain. Superman was still standing at the door, motionless, one hand half-raised as if to ... what? To stop him from leaving? To push him away? To call him back? To wipe his mouth?

But after a second, he saw him only press his hand to the glass, and then Batman was falling, falling fast, and the night had enveloped him completely in its comforting, familiar folds, and the sight behind him was lost from view, and he made his escape.

He knew, even as he fled, that neither he nor Kal would be able to escape from the truth of what had been uncovered between them. They would have to deal with it sooner or later; avoidance would no longer be an option. But for now, Batman, even as he felt the tremours of aftershock begin to set in, remembered. Even as the cold settled in around him, he couldn't help hoarding the feeling of warmth he had found most unexpectedly that night, and could not suppress the memory of the kiss that he had so brashly taken.

Against all odds, against all plans, against all expectations ... he shook his head, still overcome with wonder ... and about a billion other things. He smiled a little wryly to himself, then frowned, troubled.

They ... and the League, would have to deal with this newfound truth. And what would happen because of it? He did not know. He wasn't so sure of anything any more. Except for one thing.

He breathed out slowly, and touched his lips.

Kal.

Things between them, it was clear, had shifted once again.

He only hoped they would both survive it.

End this part