#batweek

In this moment, the man on the other side of the desk, the one that Clark has known for over a decade, was a complete stranger to him.

“There’s cream in your coffee.”

Bruce shook his head slightly, not looking up from the paperwork. “Milk.” Clark eyed the cup skeptically as it mocked him with its light brown colour.

“I thought you drank your coffee black.”

Bruce sighed, flipped the document that he was reading closed and rubbed his eyes. He looked tired, but then again, Bruce always did if you knew what to look for. “No.”

Gritting his teeth to keep himself from dropping his jaw, Clark used his x-ray vision at the man across the table from him even though he knew that Bruce hated it when he did so. Clark had to take the chance though; this was a safety matter. He needed to be absolutely sure that this was Bruce, despite what his senses already told him. He needed to confirm that this wasn’t a robot or a clone or a shapeshifter who had infiltrated Bruce Wayne’s life and resources.

Bruce could thank him for his diligence later.

But there was nothing out of the ordinary. It looked like Bruce, inside and out. It had the same scars and skeletal structure. It had the same heartbeat. It had to be Bruce.

The cup of cooling coffee between them screamed differently at Clark.

He was an investigative journalist, darn it. He needed to dig deeper. “Can we speak candidly, Mr. Wayne?” The question sounded simple enough to any prying ears, but the underlying implication was clear. Bruce raised an eyebrow slightly at Clark’s words, before reaching up and hitting a button on his watch. Clark’s hearing picked up a slight buzz filling the room and Bruce nodded for Clark to ask his question freely.

“Since when do you take milk in your coffee?”

That was not the question that Bruce had been expecting. “Since I was 16,” he replied slowly.

“I’ve known you for years, can’t even count the amount of times that I’ve drank coffee with you if I tried, and it’s always been black.”

“Oh,” said Bruce, small smile lifting the corners of his lips. He cleared his throat quickly and the beginnings of the smile disappeared. “Batman drinks his coffee black. I take milk in mine.”

Clark opened his mouth to argue and found that he couldn’t. He had spent a lot of time in the manor and had gone out for food plenty of times with Bruce, but looking back on it he couldn’t think of a time that he had ever seen him drink coffee as Bruce; he drank a lot of tea and water and the occasional alcoholic drink but Clark was drawing a blank on coffee. Yes, they had coffee in the Cave and the Watchtower and the Fortress but… how had he never noticed this? It had always been as Batman, not Bruce. Upon realization that this wasn’t something that he could debate because the evidence just didn’t hold up, he just laughed nervously while Bruce studied him from across the table. “Wow. You really take this secret identity thing to a whole other level, don’t you?”

“It takes more than a pair of glasses and a hair curl to fool the world, Clark.”

Clark shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “That isn’t my experience.” Not a day went by when Clark didn’t question how no one had linked him to Superman, but he was glad that the casual observer didn’t notice. Kids tended to recognize him, but they only ever smiled and maybe giggled if he winked at them, acknowledging the secret between them.

“Then how do you explain Clark Kent’s clumsiness? Or the sudden loss of Kansas accent when you are in the suit? You put on the same act as I do.”

“It’s not entirely an act. I’m clumsy as Superman too.”

“Rarely.”

“No, all the time. I just use my flight to cover it.”

To an outsider, it would look that Bruce didn’t react, but Clark knew better. He was the twitch near Bruce’s right eye and the way that his jaw clenched ever so slightly. “You can’t be serious.”

“It’s harder to trip over your own feet if you are always slightly floating.” Clark tried to appear nonchalant, but knew that he failed miserably.

“Now I know you are joking.”

“Of course I am.” Clark chucked and tapped his fingers against his cup. “Sure, I play a bit of a role, but I apparently don’t go as far as you and change my coffee order.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Do you even like black coffee?”

“I’m not opposed to it.”

“That doesn’t mean you like it.” Bruce just stared blankly at him for a few moments before he raised his hand to his watch to deactivate the disrupter when Clark sat up straighter as his brain caught up to the words, causing Bruce to halt the motion in midair. “Wait, ‘it’s nothing’ as in you don’t really see the problem or ‘it’s nothing’ as in you’ve changed more drastic details about yourself as part of your cover? Things that you are the only one who would probably ever notice?”

“Both.”

Of course he had. “Geez, Bruce,” groaned Clark, because this man was impossible. “Like what?” Bruce remained impassive and Clark had to stop himself from reaching over the table to give him a shake. “Don’t look at me like that. These are things I should probably know so I don’t accidentally blow your cover because I don’t know how deep you’ve gone down the hole of changing your identity.”

“There is nothing that big…” Bruce trailed off and realization slowly dawned on his face. “There is one thing that could be compromising if you slipped up. Or you should know in case of emergency and you need to make a decision for me. Batman is right handed.”

“You’re left handed?” Clark looked at the desk between them and realizes that there are several pens on Bruce’s desk and they are all on the left hand side. “How have I never noticed that? It’s like you’re suddenly Inigo Montoya.”

“Or the Dread Pirate Roberts,” agreed Bruce with a nod. “I’m ambidextrous but left hand dominant. If anything ever arise that one of my hands needs to be amputated, make a note that I’d rather keep my left one if given the choice.” Bruce took another sip of that befuddling cup of coffee as if he hadn’t just dropped that casually into conversation as if he was telling Clark that he liked green grapes more than purple ones. “That is a pretty big thing to miss for an investigative journalist.”

How could you argue that with someone who did their best to be an enigma? “You are a strange and paranoid man.”

“That is not a recent development.”

“Just a statement of fact.” Clark shook his head and looked Bruce over again. He may have used the x-ray vision again, just to make sure. Still Bruce.

“You’re staring.”

“Because it’s like you are an entirely new person. I don’t know you at all. I’m a little dumbstruck.”

“You know me better than nearly everyone. Less than Alfred. Maybe more than Dick.”

“And yet I didn’t know you were left handed or how you like your coffee. After all these years.” Clark put his now empty cup back on the desk and leaned forward on it. “What else are you hiding? Just hit me with it all now. I’m jumping in the deep end.”

“I was in an improv comedy troupe.”

“Bull.”

“For six months as part of my training to learn how to be adaptable to any situation.”

“But you aren’t funny.”

“That’s subjective.” Bruce almost sounded hurt. “I was better at the dry, dark humour, not knock-knock jokes.”

“Of course you were.” In reality, Clark actually did think that Bruce had a wicked sense of humour, but the thought of him in a group of people, performing for laughs just couldn’t compute.

“All of this is off the record, by the way.”

Clark shook his head and waved his notepad and pen. “You have to say that at the beginning of the statement for it to count when it is a prearranged interview. I can see my next byline now. ‘Batman is Secretly Left Handed’. It’s going to be my big break, just you wait. I’m going put my Pulitzer in the Fortress, next to Candor.” Bruce sat back in his chair and glared at Clark, which just made him snicker. That look was at least one he recognized and saw frequently. The familiarity of Bruce’s annoyance felt good. “No one cares, Bruce.”

“Now who’s not being funny?”

“Lois thinks I’m funny.”

“She’s laughing at you, not with you.”

“Ouch. I better use my freeze breath to look after that burn.”

“Don’t get any ice on my desk.” Clark grinned and stared up at the ceiling as he rolled his eyes. That was the type of Bruce humour that made sense. “You are the most frustrating billionaire I’ve spoken to this week.”

“I’m more frustrating than Luthor?”

“I’ve haven’t spoken to him this week.”

“I saw you punch him yesterday.”

“Gee, I don’t know what you are talking about, Mr. Wayne.” Clark adjusted his glasses carefully and shifted awkwardly in his seat, slipping into his regular role. “I did see that Mr. Luthor and Superman had an altercation recently while I was watching the news this morning but I, shy and unassuming Daily Planet reporter Clark Kent, haven’t spoken to him in months. Even if I did, at least I know how he takes his coffee. Lex likes mochas.”

“Seriously, Clark?”

“And you tried to say I wasn’t funny.” Clark thought back to the beginning of the conversation and remember something that Bruce had said about him. “You do the accent thing, too. That isn’t just me.”

“Voice modulation doesn’t count as an accent.”

“No, I mean…” Now it was Clark’s turn to trail off, because no. He had to know, right? Bruce’s expression was curious. Oh, he didn’t know. How could he not know? “You don’t realize you have an accent?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You speak differently depending on where you are, out of the cowl. I don’t mean the context, either. I mean your accent.” Bruce’s expression didn’t change, and Clark had to explain himself if this was going to make any sort of sense. “When you are being Bruce Wayne, like right now, you sound very posh, but generically North Eastern United States. Same when you are out of costume with the League.”

“Yes, that is how I speak, Clark. Because that is my voice.” said Bruce slowly, in exactly the accent that Clark had described.

“Nope. You speak differently at home.” Bruce’s eye twitched microscopically again. “It also comes out when you are injured or overtired but you have to be pretty out of it for it to slip through. I think only Diana and I have heard it outside your family.”

“I don’t.”

“You do. You sound…” Clark paused to think of the right way to phrase it. “Well, you sound a little British if I’m going to be honest. Inflexion. Tone. Lilt. Word choice. Mostly word choice.” He grinned the more that he thought about the first example that came to his mind. “Do you know that the first time I stayed overnight at the manor I couldn’t find my guest room because you told me it was on the second floor?”

“Your guest room is on the second floor.”

“No, it’s on the third. We’re in America, Bruce. Ground floor, second floor, third floor.” The grin on Clark’s face broke into a full smile as he started to chuckle. “Dick laughed at me for a solid twenty minutes when I had to ask for help when he found me wandering around hopelessly. He still laughs about it sometimes.”

“I suppose I can see that. I was mostly raised by Alfred. It must have rubbed off on me.”

“You also use biscuits for cookies and crisps for chips. Alfred is definitely to blame.” Clark was still chuckling to himself, but as he watched Bruce, Clark could almost see him forming plans to break the habits that he just mentioned because he was now aware of them. “Don’t start acting self-conscious about it now. I can see your brain over thinking. It isn’t something that you need to change to protect your cover.”

“But…”

“No.” Clark shook his head firmly. “It’s a Bruce thing. The real you. Not one of your masks. You shouldn’t have to hide who you are at home. Not from your family and not from me. Do you understand?”

“I…” Clark glared at him and Bruce cut himself off. “Yes, Clark,” he grumbled. “I hate it when you do that. Give me a Superman pep talk. Even a short one.”

“Excuse you. That was a Clark Kent pep talk. The Kansas accent was intact.” Bruce snorted and Clark beamed back. “And speaking of Clark Kent, he really needs to get a quote from you about this new green partnership agreement with GCE so that he can continue to get a paycheck from the Planet and pay for groceries.” He pulled out his phone to record and Bruce nodded and tapped his watch again, buzz of the disrupter disappearing.

They were back on the record.

As soon as he did, Clark could practically see the shield of Bruce Wayne, businessman, come back onto the face of the man across from him, but maybe he was able to see a version of his friend, his brother, a little better through it than he could before.

Maybe they both knew each other a little better now, even if it was something small like this.