aftermath

four

IV. unveiled

Clark knows, without a doubt, that something is wrong. Something is wrong with his best friend. He has never seen him act anything remotely like this, flinching away at his touch, trembling at his glance. Not even Joker drugs or Scarecrow gas or anything, really, has ever resorted Bruce to this... this fear.

And Clark isn't stupid. He knows, with only a little doubt, that it must've originated from the fight with his copycat. Everything points to it.

At the League meeting, he was unnerved by the absolute certainty of Batman's refusal to show the security feed. He had chalked it up to humiliation, and a great deal of it at that, but there was something in his voice- something that indicated more-

And he had been told to delete it, but he hadn't. Clark's stomach rolls thinking about the huge betrayal of trust, and how Bruce would skin him alive if he ever found out.

But he can't bring himself to erase it, or watch it, for that matter. Either option fills him with unimaginable dread.

Yet the way fear blooms rapidly in his friend's eyes just at the sight of him... Clark clenches his eyes shut, fists tightening and loosening. He wants to grab the perpetrator by the neck and twist until something snaps. He wants to hold Bruce, dissolve the distress in his face...

Now, he stands before a screen in the Fortress of Solitude.

"I can't," Kal-El whispers into the air. "I can't, what am I thinking-"

Still facing the screen, he flies to the back of the room. Batman's cowled face stares up at him, delusional and scared and in pain. He can feel the rough push against his torso as the Dark Knight explodes out of his grip, as if he's a poison he needs to get away from.

He sees Bruce avoiding his eyes. Bruce has never avoided eye contact. He's always met his eyes head-on, even when lying straight to his face. As familiar as Bruce's heartbeat is, it doesn't skip a beat when he lies.

Something happened, and Clark needs to find out.

He sits before the screen, and presses play.

"Just the person I wanted to see," Hal Jordan announces as he strolls into the Watchtower's file base.

Batman tenses momentarily, before relaxing a fraction when he recognizes the obnoxious drawl of the Green Lantern. Usually, he would roll his eyes and fire back with some cutting edge remark (in this case, "I as well,"  might've done justice).

But he's busy right now.

"What, no scalding comment back? I'm wounded," Jordan presses a hand to his heart in mock despair. "Chill out, Spooky, I'm just here for some video records of that fight with Lex Luthor we had two weeks ago. Apparently, the Guardians suspect he's got ahold of some alien tech from who knows where."

Work. Bruce relaxes more. This is something he can talk about. "Adaptoid tech? It would explain the rapid advancement of his suit's versatility."

"Huh." Some shuffling of walking feet. "I hadn't thought of that, but it actually makes sense..."

Batman easily navigates the super-computer, digitally shifting through hundreds of files to retrieve the one he's searching for. The screen is a flashing, psychedelic mirage of rotating circles and groups of color-coded, alphabetically ordered cases. He takes pleasure in navigating the modern layout he's designed.

"Hey." Hal says right behind him, and Batman almost, almost flinches.

"Do you mind?" He growls roughly, but there's a miniscule tremor in his voice.

"You've been really  off your game, Bruce. Not that I care, but... it's unnerving. You're never off your game." Hal looks puzzled and mildly worried. "Did something awful happen?"

Yes. It's always in the back of my mind, ready to explode in full picture before my eyes, no matter where I am or what I'm doing. "No. I'm fine."

He continues typing. It's taking some time to track the file.

Why?

Then Hal's voice gets very, very quiet. "It's what happened with Clark's clone thing, isn't it?"

Batman pauses for a full second now, fingers hovering over the keyboard before diving back down. It's an aggressive kind of typing now, a hard clack of the keys.

"It's none of your business."

"He tortured you, didn't he? Or... or did something bad, I don't know. You're looking for the video feed right now, aren't you?" No answer. "I know you think I'm stupid, but I'm not. And neither is Clark. He probably thinks you hate him... He's always looking like a wounded puppy now."

Bruce turns and looks at Hal. Blue clashing against brown. "It's none of your business."

"Believe it or not, I don't want you to spiral. Neither does Clark. Or the League, for that matter."

"The whole League is on my back?"

"No," Hal says simply. "At least, I don't think so. They don't seem to think you have a soft side. But I know you, Bruce." Jordan raises his hands, palms up, in an 'open-for-discussion' manner. "Tell me what happened. I swear it I won't tell anyone. If you say it out loud... maybe you'll feel better."

Does he know?  Batman narrows his eyes at Hal.

No. He knows something happened, but he doesn't know exactly what.

Then Bruce turns back to the screen, at the code scrawling across it, and clenches his fists in sudden realization.