Chapter Text
Bruce had never needed much sleep, but he was used to the household running on a later schedule than most.
Gotham rarely allowed for early nights. Patrols stretched past midnight more often than not, paperwork and debriefs bleeding into the early hours, the manor quiet only when the rest of the city finally wore itself out. Dick and Jason, despite their ages and the restrictions he insisted on because of schools and the such, had already adapted to the rhythm of it ; not quite nocturnal, but close. Alfred was the only exception, eternally dignified and inexplicably functional before sunrise.
Metropolis, however, had forced a temporary break.
No patrols. No rooftop chases. And, as Bruce had firmly reminded Dick the night before, absolutely no “casual reconnaissance” that might result in an unplanned encounter with a godlike alien.
So with their early night, it wasn’t surprising that Bruce found himself awake a little before nine, the hotel suite still wrapped in heavy quiet and drawn curtains.
He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling as pale autumn light filtered around the edges of the drapes, and tried to convince himself there was a practical reason why his mind refused to settle.
Metropolis murmured distantly beyond the glass, traffic already threading through the streets below. In the adjoining room, Bruce knew Jason and Dick were still asleep — he'd heard barely contained laughter coming from their room well into the night. No nightmare clung to him. No unfinished case tugged at the edge of his mind. No calls from Alfred. No emergencies waiting to ambush the day.
Everything was in order.
So why did his chest feel tight with something that wasn’t dread, wasn’t urgency, but something far more inconvenient ?
Anticipation.
Bruce exhaled through his nose, already irritated with himself.
He wasn't exited, far from it, but… Expectant.
The first thing Bruce remembered from the day before was the memory of rain.
Cold and relentless, plastering his hair to his forehead as he’d pushed through crowded Metropolis sidewalks, heart pounding with a fear he never gave words to — not even in his own head. But he had burst into that café and instead found his sons warm, dry, and laughing across a small table from a stranger with fogged glasses and an apologetic smile.
Clark.
Damp curls falling into blue eyes behind crooked lenses, broad shoulders that should have made him imposing but somehow didn’t, a smile so open it bordered on reckless.
Bruce shifted on the bed, still staring up at a ceiling far too green for his taste, and acknowledged the truth with the same reluctance he might reserve for an injury he couldn’t ignore.
He was meeting Clark again today, and somehow, that thought had woken him up more efficiently than the promise of Alfred's blueberry pancakes.
He scowled and reached for his phone.
One unread message.
Of course.
Clark : Good morning ! Still okay for today at 10 ? I was thinking maybe we could meet at Centennial Park ? There’s a science exhibit nearby the kids might like. But no pressure if you’d rather keep it low-key.
Bruce read it twice, thumb hovering over the screen.
No pressure.
Clark had said that yesterday, too, in different words. As if Bruce were someone who needed an easy exit. As if he hadn’t been the one to ambush him in front of his kids, following them out into the street, sunlight breaking through the clouds, asking for another chance to see them.
Bruce typed a response.
Deleted it.
Tried again.
Bruce : 10 works. Main fountain.
He hit send before he could soften it and set the phone face-down on the nightstand.
This was unnecessary.
Yesterday had been an accident. A moment of misplaced trust brought on by worry and exhaustion. A conversation that had gone on longer than it should have. Bruce had been tired. Off-balance. Grateful, maybe, that someone kind had been there when his kids needed help.
That didn’t mean he needed to spend his Saturday being shown around a city by a stranger. A stranger with kind eyes and a gentle voice and who smiled like he’d never had a bad day in his life.
Bruce swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood.
Kind didn’t mean safe. Pleasant didn’t mean permanent. And Bruce Wayne did not do spontaneous outings with men he’d met in cafés. Even ones with annoyingly pretty smiles.
Bruce's mind had already been racing through worst-case scenarios by the time he’d gotten to that café.
Clark had been sitting there, curls falling into his eyes. There had been something almost painfully open about his face, every emotion written there without defense. Relief when Bruce arrived. Nervousness. Something softer Bruce hadn’t wanted to name.
In truth, he'd barely noticed him until after he'd reached the boys, and had been prepared to "bite his head off" as Dick would describe, because his son's Some guy took us to get hot chocolate had done nothing to reassure him. Not that Dick and Jason couldn't handle themselves, but well… Critical thinking clearly wasn't at the forefront of his mind at the time.
Bruce hadn’t needed Dick’s meddling to know he’d had an effect on the man. His face was like an open book, and as soon as he'd managed to damper his lingering worry about his kids having disappeared from the hotel room when he'd come back from his meeting, he'd noticed Clark’s gaze had kept drifting back to him, unguarded.
It had been a long time since anyone looked at him like that.
And Bruce wasn’t going to pretend he hadn’t noticed the man as well.
He was annoyingly adorable with his accent and his hot chocolates and his ridiculously sincere smile for someone so gods-damned hot.
Bruce scrubbed a hand down his face.
Attraction was not the problem.
Attraction was simple. It was manageable.
Dick, unfortunately, wasn't.
Bruce had still been… less careful, back when Dick first came to live with him. Before he forced himself back into the public eye as Bruce Wayne instead of hiding behind the cowl and the myth. There had been dinners. Parties. The occasional partner, male or female, who hadn’t lasted long enough to become real but that a sharp-eyed kid noticed.
His bisexuality had come up early in their cohabitation, handled with a shrug and a simple explanation. Dick had accepted it instantly.
And then weaponized it.
Bruce still cringed thinking about how much his eldest thought he knew about his love life. Dick made it a point to be equally insufferable about his “male prospects” as his female ones, commentary and entirely unwanted "help" delivered with all the subtlety of a foghorn.
So of course, the second Clark had followed them out into the sunlight yesterday, hopeful and awkward and clearly gathering his courage, Dick had seen it.
Seen Bruce see it.
And decided to interfere.
Because he lived to make Bruce's life both better in every aspect and more complicated in incommensurable ways.
When Clark had stepped away to get their drinks — somehow returning with cheesecake for Bruce, as if he’d known he would have just left if he'd been presented with the monstrosity Dick and Jason had picked — Bruce had told Dick to cut it out, trying to stop the embarrassing wing-manning before it got too far. He had not.
Dick had just grinned at him, and that had finally clued-in Jason on the game his brother was playing. He'd rolled his eyes and fake-gagged, giving Bruce a look. Bruce didn't want to feel judged by a 13 year old who read Pride and Prejudice and gasped at dramatic courting plots.
Jason hadn’t said much after that, but he’d watched Clark differently when the man returned to the table, hands full of sugar and whipped cream and far too much enthusiasm for a group of strangers.
His little cynical distrustful kid was assessing.
Jason hadn't been with them long all things considered, but Bruce still recognized the signs : the suspicious glances, the subtle shifts, the silent threat assessment that no child should have learned so young. Crime Alley had carved that vigilance deep, and while the time spent with them had softened its edges, it had never disappeared entirely. Never would.
But Jason had spoken to him. Voluntarily.
About books and superheroes and what kind of hot chocolate was superior. Like a normal kid, having a normal day. His guard was dropped, completely reluctantly if his frowns and the way he retreated in his shell after blurting out something without thinking was anything to go by. He was still rude and dubious and the Jason Bruce knew and loved of course, but his eyes had a glint to them that made Bruce's chest go just a little tight.
That alone was enough to justify this.
This was about the boys. They deserved a day that didn’t revolve around schedules or security briefings or Gotham’s particular brand of gravity. Clark had been good with them yesterday, this would just be a parenthesis in their life.
The truth was, Bruce had felt it too : that quiet, disarming ease Clark carried with him. That… Presence that just was comforting. The way he spoke to the boys like they were people first, kids second. The way he’d looked at Bruce like he wasn’t a headline, just a man.
He sighed again, and stretched a back stiff from the blue bruises still fading that he'd gotten on patrol three days ago.
Bruce took a hot shower that relaxed his muscles a bit, and he took the time to use the hair dryer, despite the irritating noise the machine made that generally had him just toweling his hair into a damp mess.
About to get dressed, Bruce went to the closet and he reached automatically for a dark button-down, a tailored jacket, gray pressed trousers… And stopped.
Dick had been very clear yesterday.
No suits. Too formal, he'd said. Wrong vibe, and apparently wasn't "giving casual". Also, Clark hadn't recognized him as he'd been reminded, and a thousand dollar suit screamed billionaire in hiding.
It had been… Unexpected.
Bruce Wayne’s face was on enough magazine covers and business articles that even disinterest usually turned into vague recognition. It was almost ironic that a journalist didn’t know who he was. Bruce had been suspicious for all of thirty seconds after learning Clark worked at the Daily Planet. Long enough to look for the tells. The angle. The hidden recorder.
There had been none.
So, casual.
Bruce got dressed, mentally reviewing what needed to be done before tomorrow, and hoped this whole thing wouldn't take too long. There was a reason he was in Metropolis after all.
There was a knock at the door.
“Come in.”
Dick pushed open the door, already dressed, hair still damp from a rushed shower, sleeves shoved up, his expression immediately sharpening into judgment. His eyes traveled from Bruce’s boots to his collar with exaggerated scrutiny, like he was assessing a lost cause.
“…Wow.”
Apparently, he'd over corrected.
Bruce met his sons eyes in the mirror. “Good morning to you too.”
“What are you wearing ?”
Bruce glanced at his reflection in the mirror. “Clothes.”
“Okay, but like… are you wearing those clothes ?”
Black, loose dress pants held up by a leather belt, charcoal Henley, boots. Neutral. Approachable.
Bruce turned slowly toward his son, feeling annoyance climbing in and the day hadn't even started. “They’re appropriate.”
Dick winced. “The pants are good… But you look like you’re going to a brooding competition.”
From the other room, Jason’s voice drifted in, dry as dust. “He’d win.”
“I’m not changing,” Bruce said.
“You should if you don’t want Farm Boy to think you hate him,” Dick said, arms crossed.
“I don’t—” Bruce stopped himself. “This isn't a date, Dick.”
“Uh-huh.”
"I know what game you're playing."
"Sure."
“This is a city tour. I'm not dressing up for that."
"Right,” Dick continued with his deadpan replies. “Because men always spend their Saturdays showing other men and their kids around town platonically.”
“Your insistence is the reason we're going in the first place. It is not a date.”
Dick’s grin was blinding. “I didn’t say it was.”
Bruce raised an unimpressed eyebrow at his son, "You keep heavily implying—"
"Clark sure wants it to be a date," Jason interrupted them, strutting in the room and mirroring his brother as he leaned next to him on the table, arms crossed. "Also, aren't you supposed to be smooth now ? Tabloids said you went from recluse to most eligible bachelor or something, and that maybe you were secretly a playboy."
Bruce sighed. "Two purposefully public date does not a playboy make. I thought having such a reputation would be an easy cover and a good way to further separate my public persona from our nightly activities." How could Bruce Wayne be the cape crusader if he was known to be otherwise busy at night ? Alfred had thought it a good idea, if only so Bruce would socialize more. However… "It's more bothersome than I thought, so I doubt I'll fully lean into it."
Not that he wanted or had time to really build himself a convincing image of a promiscuous playboy. He had kids he'd much rather spend his limited free time with. He could indulge in a few scandalous stunts to get people to talk, and to assuage his libido, but just thinking about the part he had to play and all the trouble that came with it… It made his skin crawl. He was a good actor, but it always made him feel awkward and so very tired when he had to "put on the charm". Hopefully he wouldn't have to reconsider this "Brucie" persona he'd built years back more seriously.
Dick chuckled, "Right. Well, it wouldn't hurt to tone down on the intimidation though. Little Wing's right : he's so not subtle about liking you." Now Bruce had to roll his eyes at that. It was obvious, but didn't change the facts. Dick caught his exasperation in his reflection and insisted : "C'mon, it's sweet."
It was. But that just made it worse.
Bruce exhaled through his nose. “We’re leaving in ten minutes. If you’re not ready, you’re not going.”
Dick pulled out his tongue as he pushed Jason out the door. They retreated down the hall, and Dick stage-whispered : "He totally thinks he's sweet."
"I know. It's disgusting."
He didn't dignify that with a response.
This was going to be a long day. And a glance outside hinted that it might be cold too. Bruce clenched his teeth and pulled on a tick, cream colored turtle neck that would be sure to get him a smug, satisfied smirk from his oldest. Bruce didn't care what kind of assumption Dick made ; he didn't want to find himself shivering halfway through this hellish day. That was all.
Bruce Wayne knew how to dress for galas and to the highest standards of socialites, for boardrooms, funerals, stakeouts, and undercover work in the Narrows. For dates with accursed Talia Al-Ghul, for dates with a supermodel he'd never see again, for "dates" in back-alleys that would never see him again, who didn't even know his name.
He did not know the dress code for something that wasn’t a date, wasn’t business, wasn’t a mission.
It would be easier to wear the suit and cowl.
Instead, he grabbed the less intimidating jacket and headed for the door, feeling like he was consciously heading straight for an ambush.
.*
*.
.*
"I know, I know, and I was going to call earlier, but something kind of exploded and then there was a bridge and—”
“Clark.”
He winced, hopping over a low hedge instead of walking the long way around the path. “I’m just saying my morning got away from me.”
“You canceled lunch,” she said. “With me, Jimmy and Cat. Do you understand how rare it is to get all four of us in the same place without it being because of a newsroom disaster ?”
“I do. I feel terrible.”
“Do you ?”
“Yes I do, I know I’m the worst,” Clark said, dodging a woman walking three very determined poodles. He checked the time on the corner of his screen and picked up his pace.
There was a beat of silence, “Okay, good,” she said. “Because I don’t actually care.”
Clark blinked. “You don’t ?”
“Clark. Are you kidding ? You. Have. A. Date.”
He almost tripped over absolutely nothing. Sometimes he wondered if his act as a blundering klutz hadn't actually turned him clumsy over the years…
“It’s not a—”
“It’s a date.”
“It’s just… showing someone around the city.”
“A date with cardio.”
He huffed a laugh despite himself. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re deflecting. Details. Now. Who is he, where did you meet him, and how did you manage this in the twelve hours since we left work ?”
Clark adjusted his glasses, heart already doing unhelpful gymnastics. “Trust me when I say I didn’t manage anything. It just sort of happened.”
Lois gasped theatrically. “Organic romance ? In this economy ?”
“We met yesterday,” Clark stepped off the curb, then paused to let a taxi whip past before answering, because even mild emotional distress did not excuse jaywalking. “By accident.”
“Cute accident or bad accident ?”
“…Rain was involved.”
“Oh, that’s promising. Very cinematic. Was he heroic ? Brooding ? Did you share a meaningful look under an umbrella ?”
Clark smiled helplessly. “No umbrella.”
“Soaked meet-cute then. Even better.”
“Not exactly,” Clark admitted. “I actually met his kids first.”
There was a pause.
“…His what ?”
“They got a little turned around in the rain,” he said quickly. “Phones dead, couldn’t find the place they were looking for. I let them use mine to call their dad and got them hot chocolate while we waited.”
“You acquired children in the wild,” Lois deadpanned. “Only you, Clark.”
“I supervised them briefly,” he laughed, shaking his head.
“Uh-huh. Continue.”
“So their dad shows up,” Clark said, trying very hard to sound normal as he crossed at the light. “Drenched and worried. Very intense.”
Lois made a small noise. It sounded suspiciously like a squeal to Clark's super-hearing. “Go on.”
“It wasn’t like that,” he protested, even as his ears burned. “He wanted to pay me back for the drinks and leave immediately, but the kids convinced him to get something to eat and… Strongly encouraged further social interaction,” Clark finished.
Lois made a delighted noise. “Oh my god. The children set you up.”
“They might have helped,” Clark admitted. “A little. We just talked for a bit ? They're both really smart, Lois. And funny."
“How old are they ?”
He thought a little bit about that. "I guess around twelve and fifteen ? I thought they were younger at first, but turns out they were both, uh, mature ? I think."
Dick in particular didn't act like the fourteen year olds Clark knew, and that's the age he'd assumed the kid was at first. Jason too, he looked small under the rain, but then started talking, and Clark could see something bigger than his frame suggested.
“So you’re on a field trip,” Lois pulled him out of his thoughts.
“I am not on a field trip.” It wasn't a date-date, but still…
“You planned museum stops, didn’t you ?”
“…Maybe one or two educationally stimulating locations.”
Maybe he should forget the science exhibit after all. Gosh, kids probably didn't even want to think about a school subject on a week-end.
She cackled. “Clark Kent, single dad whisperer.”
“I don't want them to get bored ! I'm just trying to be welcoming. ”
“And impress him,” she sing-songed. "Now, what about The Guy," Lois continued, brightness creeping back in, “is he cute ?”
“Lois !”
“What ? This is critical information.”
“I— he’s—” Clark scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah. He’s… yeah.”
She whooped so loudly he had to hold the phone away from his ear. "Oh my god he's hot, isn't he !?”
“Keep your voice down !”
“I'm in my apartment, Clark, not announcing it at a press conference. Describe him.”
Clark’s brain, extremely unhelpfully, offered an image of yesterday : the dripping dark hair, the sharp jaw and unfairly good cheekbones, his long lashes and his so very pink lips—
“He’s just…" Clark laughed, nerves easing under his skin as Centennial Park came into view ahead. The fountain sparkled in the sunlight, people already gathered along the paths. "Pretty. Lois, he's so pretty. I have no idea how this all happened, but darn it I just knew I couldn't let him walk away without at least asking, you know ?"
"Stop, that's adorable. I'm glad you went for it. And, pretty huh ?"
"Yeah," he chuckled. "Very. And he tries to pretend he’s all stern and put-together, but he’s just— he cares. About his kids. You can tell when he looks at them."
“And you saw that and said, 'Yes, I would like to emotionally invest in that situation immediately.'"
“I did not— not immediately,” Clark muttered. “It was at least… Like, twenty minutes.”
Lois laughed and he joined her.
“I really did mean to tell you sooner,” he said. “I just didn’t want to jinx it.”
“And something exploded in Italy. You’re allowed to have good things, Smallville,” she said gently. Then, instantly back to teasing : “Unless you leave me to deal with Jimmy and Cat alone again. Then we fight.”
“Noted.”
“And for the record,” she added, “if Jimmy had ditched us for a date, again, it would have been a very different speech."
“Fair.” Jimmy Olsen had a track record of canceling on them for dates, some he didn't even remember agreeing to go on. How he even got into these situation was a mystery, but he was a friend of the best sort too.
“But you ?” She said. “You haven’t been on a date in… what, months ? Go. Be charming. Try not to adopt anyone.”
“No promises. And it's just a day out,” he insisted, though he knew it was futile.
“With a pretty single dad you met in the rain. Clark Kent, you are inside a rom-com and you don’t even know it.”
He rolled his eyes, not commenting on that. "I just want it to go well."
"It will," Lois said, softly now. "Breathe, you’re good with people. Especially kids. And if this guy agreed to see you again after one meeting in a rainstorm, odds are he doesn’t hate the idea.”
Clark smiled to himself as he reached the fountain, mist catching the sunlight.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I hope so.”
“I expect a full report. Outfit, vibes, hand proximity, all of it.”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Coward. Go get your man.”
He ended the call, and checked the time.
Two minutes to ten.
Clark straightened his jacket, pushed a hand through his hair, and tried to look like a man casually enjoying a morning in the park ; not someone about to spend the day with the most compelling stranger he’d met in years and the two kids who had partially orchestrated the whole thing.
This was not a date.
But if it went well and Clark played his cards right, maybe he could get one. This was his one shot at it too, which made him even more nervous than if it was a date… He wasn't even on the starting line here. He didn't want to completely trust Dick's insinuation on his dad's inclinations, but a man could hope, and gosh did Clark hope.
He could do this.
It was just a friendly day in the city.
With a very handsome man.
No pressure at all.
He shoved his hands in his pockets, and forced himself to focus on the here and now. The park was awake but not crowded, a loose scatter of joggers and weekend wanderers. An improvised yoga class stretched in the shade of a wide tree. Somewhere closer to the fountain, a little kid shrieked with delight as he jumped into one of the remaining puddles from yesterday’s rain, scattering pigeons in a dramatic burst of wings.
The air was crisp, but not as much as it could be in early fall. Halloween hadn’t arrived, no decorations yet, but a few trees were beginning to hint at it : green tipping into gold, a few bold leaves already orange or rust-red, like the season was trying on costumes before committing.
Clark was going over the itinerary he'd planned in his head when his hearing picked up a voice he recognized. It was a habit to tune in, and it took barely an effort.
"…I'm just saying, if he's late we're docking points," Jason was saying somewhere down the path.
Clark’s brain short-circuited.
Docking points ?
“He’s not going to be late,” Dick replied.
“You don’t know that.”
“Come on now, he’s not a flake.”
“I already told you, we are not profiling the reporter,” Bruce cut in.
Clark froze very, very still.
Profiling ? Oh gosh, Clark was under review.
“I mean, more than profiling, we're interviewing him."
“For what job?” Bruce asked, sardonic.
Clark’s mouth twitched despite himself.
He strained just slightly closer with his hearing.
“We’re not doing this,” Bruce added, cutting off whatever Dick had been about to say.
“We’re absolutely doing this,” Dick said cheerfully. “You’re just pretending you’re not involved.”
“I am not involved.”
Jason snorted. “You’re the most involved.”
Clark’s heart did something stupid and hopeful in his chest. He faked interest in a passing dog.
“All I’m saying is, punctuality’s important, and you have like, no patience.”
“That’s objectively false.”
“Correction, you have no patience with people.”
“Correction, I have no patience with you, because you test the limits of my—”
“Wait, he’s here !” Jason interrupted them.
Clark startled so suddenly he nearly looked straight at them.
“Ha, told you,” Dick said, smug.
Jason hummed, “That’s a point.”
“It’s ten, it’s hardly remarkable to arrive on time.”
“Like I said, punctuality is a quality. It goes on the list.”
“What— There is no list.”
“It’s a mental list. For now. I told Jay we’re treating this like a mission, we’ll write a report with all our observations and the results of our ‘profiling.’ It’s good practice.” Dick shrugged.
“I am not signing off on a report,” the father sounded exhausted, and Clark thought he might have been pinching the bridge of his nose.
Clark had to physically press his lips together to stop from laughing.
A mission. Clark felt warmth rise in his chest. They had a list. He was being evaluated. And he could hear it. His heartbeat quickened with nerves and a little thrill. He had to pass.
Clark tilted his head, amused and strategic. Okay, noted. Keep smiling, keep casual.
There was a beat, and then a whistle.
“Damn. He’s tall-tall.”
Clark felt his lips pull up in a wider smile.
“Point,” Jason said.
“What is even your criteria for this ? Height isn’t a character trait.”
That… That was fair. Clark, who'd been preening, forced himself not to pout at Bruce's input.
“Still counts,” Jason insisted.
“Wait actually," Dick backtracked suddenly, "does it ?”
Jason scoffed.
“Duh ?”
“I meant for dad. Is being tall a point for you ?”
Clark’s shoulders straightened on instinct before he could stop himself.
“What ?” Bruce.
His pulse spiked.
“Is him being taller than you a plus or not? Cause that's what matters here,” Dick corrected himself.
“Ah, it’s an ego thing,” Jason exhaled in understanding.
“It’s not about ego… He’s not much taller than me.”
Jason snorted. “That’s 'objectively' bullshit.”
Clark had to bite the inside of his cheek.
“Language, Jason. We’re not doing this.”
“So it’s bad?” Dick persisted.
“I didn’t say that.”
“So taller is a bonus?”
“I am not participating in this.”
“That’s basically a yes,” Dick snickered.
“…It’s not a disadvantage.”
Clark felt heat creep up the back of his neck, slow and undeniable.
He became acutely aware of exactly how tall he was standing. Of the way his shoulders filled his jacket. Of where his hands were.
He tried — desperately — to relax his posture.
"He’s smiling,” Dick added, voice amused.
Clark’s stomach dropped.
Was he ?
Oh no.
“He’s literally smiling at nothing,” Jason said.
Clark’s face went hot.
“It shows enthusiasm. He’s smiling waiting for us. Or you know, someone specific,” Dick amended pointedly.
Clark abruptly became very interested in a pigeon several feet to his left.
A fascinating pigeon.
Possibly the most fascinating pigeon in Metropolis.
He tilted his head toward it, narrowing his eyes slightly as if studying the mechanics of crumb acquisition with a scholarly interest would help as Clark —again, desperately — tried to to look less happy.
"Once more : Farm Boy's sweet."
"Richard."
Fighting the urge to grin even wider, Clark turned further toward the fountain, as if looking through the passersby for them. Gods, it was getting harder to pretend he didn't know exactly where they were, even if he hadn't even looked their way yet.
“So,” Jason said quietly, “what’s the plan?”
“The plan,” Bruce said firmly, “is that we spend the day. Normally.”
“We are being normal,” Dick protested.
“You are conducting an audit.”
Clark very nearly laughed out loud at that. He forced his expression into something neutral and chose that moment to turn, as if he’d just noticed them approaching, and lifted a hand in an easy wave.
His greeting died a quick death in his troat though.
Bruce was wearing cream.
Not something severe and shadowed. Not the all black he'd expected. Well, there was still the black pants and the loose, knee-length black coat. But the thick turtleneck the color of fresh coffee foam, somehow made his hair darker, and his eyes lighter.
Tall, dark, and intimidating had been manageable.
Tall, soft, and bathed in sunlight was not.
Clark swallowed.
He changed his focus on the kids. Jason had a red hoodie under a jean jacket, and Dick had a similar jean jacket, only it had patches sewn into it and a few pins on the lapels. He also wore a Gotham Knights shirt. The hockey team.
He waved at him with a genuine grin as he jogged the last few steps.
"Hey Clark."
"Hey, I hope you found the place okay."
The other two got to them as Dick chuckled, "Hard to miss the giant fountain."
"Or the giant man next to it," Jason added, raising an eyebrow.
Clark laughed and shook his head slightly. "Good morning Jason, Bruce."
He forced himself to look at the man as he nodded back to him, "Morning."
"I hope I didn't pull you guys out of bed too early, it's your week-end after all."
"Ah, no it's alright. I was here on business anyway."
He smiled, and even if it was admittedly stealthy, Clark noticed Dick mouthing "morning person ?" to Jason with a small thumbs up. The youngest made a grimace and shook his head slightly. It almost made Clark chuckle and he made his own note ; Jason was not of the morning.
Speaking of, he crossed his arms with an expectant expression. “So ?"
“So ?” Clark echoed, a bit taken by surprise.
“The itinerary,” Dick clarified. “Are we power-walking through twelve cultural landmarks or are we allowed to have some fun?”
Relieved, Clark placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. “I am deeply offended by the implication that cultural landmarks can’t be fun.”
“That’s a yes,” Jason said to Dick, groaning.
Clark grinned despite himself. "I promise not to quiz you on historical plaques. There's a science expo I thought you guys might like, but we can do something else. I didn't plan to take you on the typical tourist tour of Metropolis anyway, I'm not an actual guide. I figured I'd show you all the cool places they don't talk about in the brochures this afternoon."
Dick chuckled, "Awesome. And nah, a science expo sounds nice to me."
"It's not at Lex-Corp is it ?" Jason asked.
A grimace formed on his face before he could stop it, prompting another laugh from Dick and a raised eyebrow from Bruce. Though even the latter seemed amused.
"Uh no, not at all. I don't even think I'd be allowed in, there may be a few articles out there with my name on it that the Luthors didn't really like." He rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, sheepish at first. But it seemed they all approved and agreed to go see the exhibit at the Museum of Tomorrow. "First things first however. Have you already gotten breakfast ?"
.
.
.
On their way, they'd taken crepes to go, as well as coffee for the two adults. Clark took his coffee black, but he shouldn't have been surprise when Bruce hadn't done the same ; Dick had tod him the man had a sweet tooth. He just gave off the impression of someone who wouldn't care much for cream, sugar, or even milk.
He hadn't taken anything to eat though, while Dick and Jason had picked a classic chocolate and Strawberry respectively. They'd made small talk as they ate on their way to the expo, and Clark managed to calm his nerves and get into the rhythm of the day.
The museum was brighter than Clark remembered.
All light and sharp angles, glass planes and brushed steel, sunlight pouring through angled panes overhead and flowing between suspended models of satellites and turbines. They arrived on polished floors and the air smelled faintly like something new, barely unpacked, of metal and fresh paint, like innovation had a scent and Metropolis had bottled it. It hummed with that low mechanical life of screens running and motors turning and children pressing buttons they’d probably been told not to press.
Dick looked up and marveled at the sheer heights of the ceiling. "Wow, that's cool."
Jason seemed like he thought so too, but he also seemed concerned about all the suspended things above them, as if they were just waiting for him to step forward before crashing down.
“So,” he said, hands sliding into his jacket pockets, “Metropolis Museum of Tomorrow. Try not to dismantle anything.”
Dick beamed. “No promises.”
Bruce said nothing, but there was the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth. Clark was going to call it a smile.
They started at the city model.
The scale model dominated the central hall : It took up an entire raised platform, a version of Metropolis labeled 2040, an entire future city, all gleaming towers and solar-paneled skyscrapers. There were elevated green-ways and tiny trees lining pedestrian bridges, as well as roof gardens. Miniature wind turbines spun lazily. A tram glided silently along a magnetic rail loop, stopping at glowing stations.
Dick immediately pressed the “Transit Demo” button, and the little train started up his circuit.
Jason leaned in closer to read the placard, arms folded loosely. He actually read the whole thing, lips moving slightly at the more technical parts.
Clark stepped up beside him. “They’ve been working on tidal generators for Hob’s Bay,” he said, gesturing toward the tiny blue strip at the edge of the model. “Using the current shifts to supplement the grid. It’s not enough to power the whole city, but it reduces strain during peak hours.”
Bruce’s gaze sharpened slightly. “Scalable ?”
Clark blinked, pleasantly surprised. “The tidal part ? Not massively. But paired with rooftop solar and localized storage systems, it evens out consumption. Less dependence on centralized plants.”
Jason glanced up at him. “You sound like you wrote the brochure.”
Clark laughed. “I did a piece on it last year. The engineers wouldn’t stop talking once I asked the right question.”
“What was the right question?” Bruce asked.
Clark shrugged, sheepish. “I asked what they were afraid would fail.”
Dick, meanwhile, had discovered the tram could be made to go faster if you held the button down long enough.
“Dick,” Bruce said, warning in his tone.
“I’m stress-testing it.”
Clark grinned before he could stop himself. It called for a distraction.
He leaned in, bracing his hands lightly on the edge.
“Okay,” he said, pointing. “So one of the easiest place to find is Lex-Corp Tower, since it's so high, right there.”
Both the kids leaned over, and even Bruce paid attention.
"They still want that thing to be there in 2040 ?" Jason snickered.
Clark let out a surprised chuckle, and then shook his head. "I guess we'll see, but it's actually the city as it is today, with all the buildings and street we have now, just with the advancement and technologies of tomorrow. And this,” Clark continued smoothly, shifting his finger, “is the Daily Planet. See the globe ?”
Dick let out an 'ahh'. “Does it really look as big in real life ?”
"Yeah, I was shocked when I saw it for the first time. But now that I'm used to it, I barely notice it. And look, it rotates !"
Dick squinted, and then raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him.
“It does,” Clark insisted, almost defensively. “Just… Very slowly. What I was getting at was that yesterday we were… Here.” He tapped a cluster near a small plaza. “That café I took you ? That’s two blocks from the Planet.”
The boys ended up trying to find their hotel, and the bookstore Dick had been trying to take them to. He showed them a few other landmarks and cool little interactive mechanisms, such as the elevator on the side of a skyscraper and the irrigation system in the east side.
Clark moved around the platform to show them a strip of blue along the edge.
“And here's Hob’s Bay. There’s a viewing point right about,” he tapped a raised platform near the water “there. It's a beautiful view of the skyline.”
Bruce, who had silently moved to stand next to him, studied the tiny city for a moment, then said, perfectly deadpan :
“I see. So when you said you’d show us Metropolis, this is what you meant.”
Clark whipped his head to him, gaping. Was that a…
Dick threw his head back and laughed, eyes crinkled in delight.
Jason narrowed his eyes, but he couldn't hide his grin as he sighed, “Wow. You played us Clark."
Clark threw his hands up, a huge smile splitting his face, “Okay now, that is not—"
"You're such a lazy tour guide, I didn't think you had it in you," Dick grinned.
“Come on guys, y'all are just being mean now !" Clark laughed before facing Bruce. "You've turned them against me, look at what they think of me."
There was the barest hint of a smirk there, if you looked close enough, and Bruce just raised a cheeky eyebrow, as if to say 'And, what are you gonna do about it ?'. Clark had many ideas that he immediately shrugged off, rolling his eyes instead at the blatant teasing.
"I am taking you there, this afternoon,” Clark insisted, still smiling. “But if that's how it is, let's just move on."
There was something molted in his stomach, something that warmed his whole chest.
Their next stop was the robotics exhibits. Glass enclosures, soft mechanical whirs. There was a presentation for a surgical-assistance robot hand, that worked delicately under a clear dome, guided by a projected interface explaining its functions and precision.
A woman in a hoodie with the company's logo and a badge hanging around her neck spoke to a small group about micro-sutures and removed tremor variables.
They hung back and listened.
Dick tilted his head. “So it’s basically a super steady hand.”
“Basically,” Clark murmured.
Bruce nodded slightly. “It can help reduce human error.”
The presenter finished explaining how the robot could adjust for minor movement during procedures.
There was a brief pause, people observing the machine work.
Dick raised a hand. “Can it punch ?”
The presenter blinked.
Bruce exhaled through his nose ; not a sound of surprise, but of long standing exasperation.
“It’s not designed for that,” she said carefully, with a half-amused, half-indulgent smile.
“Missed opportunity,” Dick muttered and bumped his shoulder against Jason's, grinning at his brother.
As they walked to the next demonstration, Clark heard Jason snort and ask Dick if he thought it could raise up one particular finger.
Clark walked half a step behind with Bruce for a moment.
“So ?” Clark asked lightly.
Bruce glanced at him. “We haven’t dismantled anything yet.”
Clark smiled as the look they shared lasted a few more moments. He felt high and light and for a second, he had to remind himself not to start floating. Bruce looked away again, scanning the area with a relaxed expression on his face. Clark didn't know if it was the lack of rain, the cream turtleneck, or Dick and Jason's animated voices ahead of them, but he looked almost a different man than yesterday. He had the same intensity, the same beauty of course, but he looked to be letting go a bit, just going along with the day Clark had planned. He thought it was a good thing.
He didn't know why he took note of it, really, because Clark didn't know Bruce, and the impression he had gotten of the man yesterday may very well have been from the situation, or a stressful day, and he was now seeing the usual Bruce. But Clark liked to think he was good at figuring out people, and he didn't think he'd been wrong with Bruce. He liked to think he had something to do with the serene expression painted on the man's face, as collected and composed as it still was.
Clark decided then and there that he would try to get a smile — a genuine, actual real smile — out of the stoic single dad before the end of the day. Him, not by bias of Jason and Dick, he figured that would be cheating.
A new vigor spreading in his chest, Clark followed as they checked out the next presentation.
After a while, they fanned out in the room. Clark had already been here, and knew most of it already, but he didn't tire of visiting, especially with new people. And the awed and ecstatic expressions of Jason and Dick made it even better.
He saw Bruce and his oldest discuss something with their heads bent together, looking over some kind of new technology drone that could map out disaster sites, like fallen building or natural disaster zones, and assess both the damage and the structure, like what was at risk of collapsing, where was a safer place or route. They seemed enraptured and Clark's mouth twitched up before he turned away, leaving them to it.
Jason stood by himself, looking over a few display showing the evolution between the first design and the latest versions of certain inventions, like computers, submarines, elevators… Hands in his pockets, he didn't look overly interested.
Clark headed over and mimicked him, shoving his fists in the pockets of his jacket. He leaned forward a little, humming, before he started talking.
"You know, sci-fi predicted that."
Jason didn’t look at him yet. “Predicted what ?”
Clark nodded toward a display image of an early submarine schematic.
“Submarines. Jules Verne wrote about the Nautilus in Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Seas decades before functional electric submarines were viable."
Jason’s gaze flicked to him now.
“Seriously ?”
“Seriously. He also wrote about space travel before it happened. Described a moon launch from Florida,” Clark continued, “cannon-propelled in the book — which we thankfully didn’t replicate — but the location, crew size, even splashdown recovery ? Weirdly close to Apollo."
"The hell ? That's cool, but kinda creepy. Him predicting it, and like… People read his book and just thought, 'you know what ? Sounds legit, let's do that shit.' That's crazy."
Clark laughed, covering his mouth with his hand. "It does sound crazy when you say it like that ! I'm sure that's not how it happened, but maybe NASA did have that book opened when they tried to figure out how and where it should happen, who knows ? Imagination often came first, science just caught up. It's more common than you'd think. Asimov, a big name in the sci-fi genre, coined the term ‘robotics,’” Clark added. “And the Three Laws of Asimov may be fiction, but they shaped real ethical discussions when AI research picked up. Scientists were literally referencing novels while building prototypes. Fiction predicted touchscreens and satellites. And video calls. And defibrillators, technically. Mary Shelley was out here inventing ethics debates before electricity was reliable.”
Jason’s attention sharpened at that. “Frankenstein.”
Clark, not really surprised that the boy would know it by this point, nodded. “Yep. Everyone remembers the creature. Fewer people remember it’s basically a cautionary tale about unchecked ambition and really crazy medical science.”
Jason rolled his eyes. "People just read it as a horror story about a scary monster, which is bullshit. The real nut-job was the doctor anyway."
Clark was delighted. "You read it then ? You liked it ?"
"Yeah, it was cool. I uh. Don't read a lot of science fiction, but some are good, I guess."
"It's definitely not my favorite genre, but there's some gems I really enjoyed. You should still try some of Jules Verne's work, like Journey to the Center of the Earth," Clark added thoughtfully. “If space and sci-fi aren’t your thing, that one’s more adventure than hard science fiction. Or The Mysterious Island.”
Jason nodded, and there was a smile to his lips that made Clark believe he wasn't just saying that.
He gestured toward a doorway framed in dimmer light at the end of the hall.
“You want to see something ?”
"Sure."
They passed under the archway, and the lighting shifted as they entered.
The ceiling curved high into a dome with constellations scattered across it, shimmering slightly. Suspended from the center of the ceiling, a massive suspended solar system rotated slowly, orbit paths traced in thin silver arcs, each planet lit from within ; Mars a muted red, Earth a soft blue-green, contrasting the deep royal blue of Neptune or the icy, almost white one of Uranus. Jupiter was banded and immense, Saturn’s rings casting thin shadows over the floor below, and Pluto was a warm brown. Mercury and Venus had their own light, but they were so basked in the golden-orange of the Sun that their colors were barely visible.
A projection wall showed deep-field images, galaxies blooming in impossible spirals of color, the sharp crescent of Earth rising over the Moon’s horizon, nebulae blooming like watercolor on a black, endless canvas. There were interactive displays explaining stellar evolution, and a full-scale replica of a next-gen space telescope.
To the right, Clark spotted the asteroid impact simulator, but he didn’t steer them that way yet.
Instead, he guided Jason toward the far end of the room.
Dominating the space near the back stood the telescope, its segmented mirror panels arranged like a fractured crown, each hexagonal surface angled precisely. The structure looked delicate and monumental at once.
Clark slowed in front of it.
“This,” he said quietly, tipping his chin up toward the mirrors, “can look back further than ever before.”
Jason looked at it intently, and his voice was hushed when he spoke, like he felt the need to respect the quiet of the place.
“Look back ?"
Clark smiled faintly. “Yeah. Every time we looked up, we were looking back."
Jason’s eyebrows knit together.
Clark gestured upward, toward the dome.
“A lot of the stars we see at night are already long gone. Light doesn’t travel instantly, and they’re so unfathomably far away that the light that reaches us, the light we see, had probably died out by the time it got to us. Space is ridiculously big and it takes time for light to cross it. So we were seeing echoes of the past.”
Jason glanced at the stars overhead.
“So when we look at a star…”
“We were seeing it as it was when the light left it,” Clark finished. “The Sun we see is eight minutes old. The light from it takes eight minutes to reach us. If the Sun disappeared —” he paused, offering a reassuring half-smile, “hypothetically of course, we wouldn’t know for eight minutes.”
Jason considered that.
“And stars ?”
“Years. Hundreds. Thousands. Some of the stars you see at night are so far away that their light had been traveling for millions of years to get here.” He looked back up at the dome. “Some of them might not even exist anymore. We were just seeing the last thing they sent out.”
Jason went quiet.
“That’s…” He tilted his head, scrunching up his nose a little. It was cute, Clark thought. “That’s super sad.”
Clark huffed softly. “Some people described the night sky as a graveyard of lights. But I didn't see it that way. I thought it was comforting. It depended how you looked at it.”
“How’s that comforting ? The stars are dead.”
Clark watched the slow drift of projected constellations.
“It means something that had already disappeared,” he said carefully, “could still be seen. Something could be dead and gone, and still matter. It wasn't forgotten, it was still beautiful. The light kept traveling, and we kept smiling up at it.”
Jason didn’t answer immediately.
They fell quiet.
And like so many times before, under a fake sky or a real one, Clark thought of Krypton.
If Krypton’s light had ever reached Earth. If it still was, somewhere in the dark : a star he didn't even recognize.
He didn’t know how far Rao’s light would have traveled before the explosion swallowed it whole. Didn’t know if somewhere out there, there was a fading beam still carrying the image of a world that no longer existed.
Maybe the light was still traveling.
It was a comfort to him, no matter how weird that might have seemed. When he blinked out of his thoughts, there was a small smile on his lips.
He looked down again, at Jason. He was staring up at the dome, thoughtful and eyes shining. Then, the boy felt his eyes on him, and turned to meet his look, and smiled back. He jerked his chin toward the telescope.
"So in a way, this thing's basically a time machine ?"
Clark blinked, and felt his smile stretch further. "Exactly. I'd never thought of that, but yeah, you're right. It was an observational time machine."
Jason chuckled. "The DeLorean's cooler, but I guess this one's not too bad either." They both laughed at that, and Clark couldn't help but think that this was the coolest kid he'd met. "So, what's the oldest thing we can see, nerd ?"
Clark jokingly bumped his shoulder against Jason in retaliation, amusing the kid more than anything. "Well, nerd, the cosmic microwave background is like… The afterglow of the Big Bang. The oldest light in the universe."
Jason whistled under his breath.
"Space is dramatic. What's it even look like ?"
"I don't know if there's an image of it here, but it's sort of like..."
The conversation drifted for a while, about black holes and comets, about how astronauts slept in zero gravity, about whether Mars colonies would need dogs.
The words blurred into easy rhythm, and time slipped.
Dick found his way to them at some point, and dragged Jason off to the asteroid impact simulator, and even as he stepped away, Clark could hear them next to it.
Past the hanging planets and the glowing screens, there was a smaller adjoining room at the back — darker than the rest.
The “night sky” chamber.
Inside, the lights were nearly off. The ceiling was a perfect blue-black, pierced with thousands of tiny, sharp stars. No projected movement there. Just stillness and constellations. A bench ran along the wall.
It was Clark's favorite place there. He could just tilt his head back and get lost for a while.
For a moment, the museum disappeared.
He didn't know how long he stood there, enjoying the calm and letting his thoughts wander. He was really enjoying that day, and he thought the others were too.
“Where’d you go ?”
Clark lowered his gaze. Bruce stood beside him, looking up. Clark hadn’t heard him approach.
“Home.” He smiled faintly.
He didn't think of Krypton, but of Kansas, lying in cool grass with a blanket over his shoulders, his father adjusting the tripod legs of a cheap telescope. His mother’s voice calling from the porch. Fireflies blinking in the distance. He thought of sitting alone on the roof of their house, just staring up.
"My parents gave me a telescope when I was a kid,” he added. “Used to drag it out into the yard and try to find the constellations. I wanted to map out the whole sky."
Bruce looked up at the artificial stars.
“I used to sit on the roof,” he said after a moment. “We lived far enough from the city that you could still see the stars decently.”
Clark glanced at him, surprised. He hesitated to say he did that too. He chose against it.
“I didn’t picture you as the stargazing type. You like space ?"
Bruce’s mouth shifted almost imperceptibly. “I like the night sky,” he clarified. “I don’t know about space. But the sky… from down here, it's beautiful. Untouched.”
Clark nodded slowly.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “It is.”
They stood there — not touching, not too close. Clark risked a glance at him.
The dim light softened Bruce’s features, stripped away the sharpness. He didn't know where it came from but Clark had the inane thought that somehow, starlight fit him even more than sunlight.
“I’m glad you came,” Clark said quietly, before he could overthink it.
Bruce looked at him then. He hummed, his eyes flickering between Clark's own. It wasn't really a response, but it filled Clark's stomach with butterflies anyway.
Outside, he heard Jason and Dick plot the destruction of earth in the most spectacular fashion. The simulator was a a large touch-screen table where you could select rock size, velocity, angle, and watched digital planets suffered the consequences.
“Maximum velocity,” Dick announced, dragging a slider.
Jason peered over his shoulder. “Aim for the Atlantic. I wanna see if it causes a tsunami this time.”
Clark huffed softly.
Bruce exhaled through his nose — something that might almost have been fondness. Maybe he heard the ruckus too, if not the conversation. They weren't being quiet.
“Shall we prevent planetary annihilation ?” Clark asked.
Bruce’s eyebrow lifted. “Lead the way.”