superbat but it's just clark learning about all the stupid shit bruce got up to when he was away training before becoming batman.
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.
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."
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—
"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."
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