#writeboardd

———

there's an article in the paper about the anniversary of some renowned artifact anonymously returned to a museum across the world after it was stolen a hundred years before. bruce makes an offhand comment about how awful the security in the museum was when he was returning the artifact; no wonder their property got stolen.

"that was you?" clark asks incredulously, coffee mug frozen halfway to his mouth.

bruce raises a brow, looking at clark over the edge of the newspaper. "it wasn't hard to find. some collector was gloating about the vase being in his family for nearly a century. it was the perfect chance to practice moving through a laser hallway."

clark can't wipe the disbelief off his face. "i wrote a paper on that for my history class."

bruce smirks. "did you commend my skill while you were at it?"

———

another time, bruce catches sight of someone in a crowd and immediately sweeps clark into a dark corner.

"not that i don't like feeling you like this," clark starts, his hands gripping bruce's waist, "but it's the middle of the day and we have a reservation i'd rather not be late for. what's wrong?"

bruce has that faraway look in his eyes he gets when he's focusing more on his surroundings than what's right in front of him. clark tries not to be offended; there's usually good reason when it happens. eventually, bruce refocuses and meets clark's eye. "you see the man behind me? large, brown hair, scar in his eyebrow?"

clark frowns and searches the crowd. "...yes," he says. "is he a threat?"

bruce huffs a breath. "hardly. i bested him three times in a boxing tournament when i was younger and stole his title. he's never gotten over it, and i'd rather not cause a scene as bruce wayne right now."

clark's jaw drops. "three times?"

"i gave him that scar," bruce replies simply.

"but—why?"

bruce shrugs. "i was in between mentors, and i needed something to do. figured i'd see if i could win it."

clark's mouth flattens as he shoots bruce an unimpressed look. "naturally."

bruce only grins.

———

a month later bruce gets drugged at a gala and clark is too late to stop it. after whisking bruce away, clark hovers over him, periodically checking his pulse and breathing.

"clark, i'm fine," bruce insists for the third time. "it was just a paralytic, and not potent enough to do any damage."

"everytime i say i'm fine you insist on making sure," clark replies, giving bruce a flat look and crossing his arms.

bruce shakes his head, the ghost of a fond smile on his lips as he leans against the wall. "touché."

satisfied, clark resumes his diligent monitoring, going over the events of the night that led to the incident. he's surprised bruce is being so lenient about it, but he's never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth—

wait.

"how did you know the drug was only a paralytic?" clark asks, his mouth ticking downward.

bruce lifts one shoulder and lets it drop. "when you've been doing these galas for as long as i have, you get to know the taste."

clark's brows draw together. "how did you know the concentration wasn't right? surely whoever did this would want it to work, so why would they skimp on the dosage—?"

clark cuts himself off the second he notices the slight raise of bruce's shoulders, the way he curls them forward and tilts his head to avoid clark's gaze.

"bruce," clark begins, his voice edged with exasperation. "don't tell me you got it in your head that you should build up a tolerance to different toxins when you were twenty."

"of course not." bruce's shoulders hunch further. with a sheepish smile, he says, "i was nineteen."

clark loses sight of wayne as he ducks into an alley, but he hears the sickening crack of bone giving way to a harsh blow and puts on a burst of speed to get there that much faster, heart in his throat. by the time clark rounds the corner, the scuffle is already over. a man rolls on the pavement at wayne's feet, clutching his nose and whining as he stumbles up and shoves past clark, sprinting away.

clark almost follows him, but the young cry of surprise stops him short. he glances back to the alley, awestruck, catching wayne's bewildered gaze as the man shakes out his bruised hand.

dick grayson, wayne's new ward, stands there with stars in his eyes, mouth open and smiling. he uses wayne's arm to haul himself upward to hang from wayne's neck, feet kicking. wayne, for his part, barely moves.

"you were so cool!" the little boy gushes, giggling when wayne wraps an arm around his waist and brushes his hair back, checking for injuries. "you've gotta teach me! please!! i wanna hit bad guys like that—"

and, to clark's astonishment, bruce wayne starts blushing, going bright red from his ears to his neck. clark watches, a little wondrous as dick continues, as wayne flushes darker, because clearly wayne has more than just air in that head of his.

it's painfully endearing to see him get all hot-faced because of something his foster kid said. because—does wayne ever blush? certainly not from flirting or being flirted with, but he's pink-cheeked just for being called "cool" and isn't that just—incredibly, horribly—cute?

wayne meets clark's gaze, looking utterly overwhelmed, and clark just tucks his lips into his teeth, rocking on his feet with a charmed smile.

everyone is worried when batman stops responding to his comm mid-battle, and clark can't justify abandoning his post when hal is closer to b's last known location.

and then hal's blood curdling scream pierces through the comm and clark is racing fast enough to create a sonic boom, except...what he sees is more than a little confusing.

one of the sentry droids that the aliens have been using for protection lays sparking off to the side. hal is flat on his front, cheek smushed into the pavement, clearly unable to move very much—what with the massive cat perched on his back.

"um, hal?" clark asks, inching forward. "everything okay?"

the cat licks over hal's hair as he grumbles, making it stick up in all directions. "i think spooky got transformed," hal says, his voice strained under the cat's—bruce's?—weight. "he scared the shit out of me, but he was only going after the robot."

"yeah..." clark says, distracted. "i see that." as he steps closer, the cat lifts its massive head, eyes piercing as it tracks his movements. it's tail flicks quickly, ears swivelling forward to give clark its full, undivided attention.

clark shivers. that's definitely bruce.

———

the battle wraps up and clark manages to corral bruce back to he cave with the rest of the league in tow. they call zatanna. she says to let the spell run its course, as its safer to let it be than try to tamper with bruce's physical form any further.

that leaves bruce stuck as a big cat for a week.

and acting like one.

he prowls around the cave, slipping into the shadows with ease and using the rosettes in his fur to help blend in with the rock walls. more than once, he sneaks up behind a league member and pounces on them with a snarl, effectively terrifying them but never causing any real harm.

clark is the only one who maintains the opinion that bruce is cute. the others shoot him weird looks and then promptly designate him as bruce's babysitter for the week he's stuck like this.

clark really doesn't mind. bruce obviously enjoys sneaking up on people, and from the research he manages to do while bruce sleeps, clark discovers it's actually a common way for jaguars to play and teach each other how to hunt.

time progresses. bruce takes it upon himself to groom clark's hair multiple times. clark just smiles through it, privately amused and also grateful for his invulnerability after feeling the sharp bumps on bruce's tongue. bruce initiates play hunting and tackling far more than clark would have expected, but he's not going to complain. clark takes time to work on his articles when bruce slinks off to rest, except apparently bruce gets sick of that, because he clamps down on the arm of clark's chair with his powerful jaw and literally drags it over to the cots in the cave. they rest together. clark tries to enjoy the warmth of bruce's back against his side while it lasts.

———

all in all, the week passes quickly enough, but as the hours tick down to minutes, clark admits to himself that a part of him will miss how playful bruce was as a big cat, and also how much time he got to spend with bruce, alone together, completely uninterrupted.

and then bruce turns, and clark watches it happen before his eyes as bruce's fur shrinks away to scarred skin and hard muscle, his padded toes stretching into thick, callused fingers, and the shape of his eyes returning to a more natural almond.

clark notices two things, after it's all said and done:

bruce is stark naked

one day clark kent is delivered to his waiting room by his colleague jimmy olsen, who explains they were in gotham covering a gala, and clark suddenly started slurring and wobbling on his feet. bruce quickly welcomes them in, setting to work on examining clark and trying to land on a diagnosis.

…except, bruce is stumped. bruce is never stumped. he runs more tests with a furrowed brow and doesn’t stop even as mr. kent starts to get better as the night drags on. he reluctantly lets the man leave after many hours go by with nothing to show for it and a completely healthy mr. kent practically begging to be sent home. bruce makes him promise to come back or visit his family doctor if his condition worsens again, and then that’s that.

but it nags at bruce. it’s been years since he’s encountered a problem he couldn’t at least start to understand within a few hours. (and he’s spent hours.) every spare moment he has between patients and paperwork and prison escapes is spent researching mr. kent’s symptoms and trying to discern any type of familiar pattern. he looks back at mr. kent’s bloodwork, and decides to put it under a microscope in the cave—and what he finds is something he’s never seen. ever. he cross-references his physical examination to the scans and the blood, his disbelief expanding as he finally settles on an answer.

his conclusion? mr. kent must be gravely ill with a disease that’s never been documented before. and bruce desperately needs to let him know.

he uses the cave computer to do a little snooping, finds that mr. kent is a reporter for the daily planet, and his business number is on their website. he gives mr. kent a call, and the moment he introduces himself, he's hung up on.

bruce doesn't let that deter him. mr. kent must be embarrassed about the way he'd flirted with bruce while woozy from his fainting episode, but alerting him of the sickness bruce has found is far more important than protecting his feelings. bruce tries again. mr. kent ignores his calls, and each time he tries from a new phone, mr. kent hangs up again.

bruce has no choice but to go to metropolis himself.

the daily planet is a chaotic mass of reporters and loose paper. it reminds bruce of the hospital. mr. white is kind enough to show bruce to mr. kent's desk when he shows up, and bruce dutifully ignores how the room seems to quiet as everybody's eyes follow him towards mr. kent.

the man himself nearly falls out of his chair when he sees bruce, and a blush races across his face when bruce asks to speak in private.

mr. kent looks like he's trying not to laugh when bruce explains his theory. bruce has to remind himself that everyone reacts to illness differently, and pulls out the files he definitely shouldn't have smuggled from the hospital to show to mr. kent.

"i'd like you to come back to the hospital for more testing," bruce says. "thomas wayne memorial is outfitted with the most advanced medical equipment in the country, and it will help us determine methods of treatment."

"...wow," mr. kent says, his face pale as he reads through bruce's extensive notes. "thank you for going to the trouble, dr. wayne, but i've made it this far in life without weekly appointments, and there's no way i could pay for all this on a reporter's salary even if i wanted to."

"cost is not an issue," bruce insists. "anything not covered by your insurance or wayne foundation grants will be handled by my personal funds."

"that's incredibly generous," mr. kent says, his eyes wide with disbelief. "i can't accept."

"mr. kent," bruce starts. "i couldn't drain all the cash from my bank accounts if i tried for the rest of my life. money is nothing to me. human life is everything. please consider this treatment."

mr. kent sighs. "my folks took me to the doctor when i was a kid. i can't remember all of the medical jargon now, but the doctor said i'd be dealing with dizziness from time to time for the rest of my life. not deadly or impactful enough to be treatable."

bruce frowns. that doesn't make any sense. he hadn't seen a mass on the image of mr. kent's brain to explain the disorientation or slurred speech, and there was no reported head injury, from the past or recently. "i mean no disrespect to your doctor or your parents, but i truly believe there is something worth investigating. the results of your tests are nothing like i've seen before."

mr. kent grimaces, handing back the file. bruce knows he's losing.

"would you at least give me the name of your doctor?" bruce tries. "i'd like to compare notes, if you're amenable to sharing your old files."

"doc macintyre passed away a few years ago," mr. kent says. "sorry."

bruce ends up leaving metropolis with nothing to show for it, unease building in his chest. mr. kent had gotten cagy the more bruce pushed, and ultimately said he wouldn't be seeking treatment.

bruce tries his hardest to forget about it, but some part of his mind is always turning the problem over, searching for a new angle. he seals the files and all of mr. kent's results per his request and dives into his other work—which isn't exactly hard when superman arrives in gotham seeking help with blood spilling from his gut.

batman drives like hell back to the cave, where he hauls superman up onto a cot and begins the agonizing process of removing tiny shards of kryptonite from his wound while simultaneously handling blood loss and managing superman's pain. when he finishes, he puts a vial of blood into a machine in the cave that will tell him if the kryptonite is out of kal's bloodstream or still needs to be flushed. superman sleeps as bruce cleans up, his face smooth and unburdened with rest.

the computer pings. bruce moves over to it with a frown, eyes widening with disbelief when the computer tells him it's found a match logged in the system. with mounting suspicion, bruce checks the database, pulling up the identical bloodwork and the name attached to it.

clark sees the photos, and something snaps inside him. he doesn't want to see a handful of women at bruce's side smiling and looking beautiful and capturing all of bruce's attention. he wants to be the one dressed up next to bruce, dressed in wedding tuxes and celebrating their life together with gorgeous scenery behind them. he wants to marry bruce.