Chapter Text
The Set-Up: This Is A Job for Superman!
Hooker: Sometimes called a hookerino. It is a common misconception that a hooker is a prostitute or a woman who sells her body. In fact, a hooker is simply a garden gnome that resides in Kansas, and then in winter moves to Lake Tahoe.
—The Urban Dictionary
1—
Scathingly, Batman explained to his teammates the exact deficiencies in their performance on their last mission in painstaking detail, using clips, charts, diagrams, freeze shots and quotes. He was careful to speak slowly and to keep his sentences short so even the most mentally challenged hero sitting around the conference room table could understand.
"Flash."
"W-what?!"
"Are. You. Paying. Attention?"
"Of course! Bats…come on…would I ignore you? I hang on your every word. I throw flowers at your feet. I—"
"Shut. Up."
"Shutting up."
"You rely on your powers to the detriment of your brain," Batman continued from his position standing at the head of the table, pointing to Flash in particular. "Then, when someone manages to counteract your powers, you're all left scrambling, engaging in damage control. If I conducted myself the way you do, I'd be dead a hundred times over!"
"Batman," J'onn interjected in an even tone of voice, one meant to placate, "I do not think you are being fair—"
"Fair?" Batman's voice dropped an octave, and a hand clenched at his side. "Fair? You expect our opponents to treat us fairly? If we're not perfectly coordinated, if we're not all at the top of our game, innocent people will die." It seemed the Bat was glaring at them all, though who could really tell through the eerie whites of his mask's eye sockets? "I don't see what fairness has to do with our current tactical problems."
Green Lantern lifted his head from his intense contemplation of a mutilated paperclip. "Batman's right," he stated. "I've said it time and time again, we need to practice more often. Work on functioning as a team. Figure out the best ways our powers can work together, instead of running over each other roughshod—"
"Lantern."
The low growl in the back of Batman's throat as he spoke the word 'Lantern' caused John to come to an abrupt halt.
"You should be the last person talking about teamwork. Your bumbling attempts to save your old military buddy almost got The Flash killed."
"But—"
"You have a ring on your finger that can split atoms. What did you think you were doing?"
"I—"
John hung his head, dejected and embarrassed. "It all worked out in the end," he said in a small voice. "We won...."
"If all you're concerned about is winning," Batman said icily, "you can do so without me." The Dark Knight deposited his clipboard and communicator on the table with rather more force than was necessary and stalked out of the room.
For many minutes, silence reigned.
"Batman seems to be wound a bit tight these days...." Shayera offered hesitantly.
"Someone needs to talk to him," J'onn added quietly. "I have already tried."
Shayera looked around the conference room table speculatively. Her eyes came to rest on Green Lantern.
"John?"
"Uh-uh. Not me."
"Wally?"
"Not me!"
"Diana?"
"I might have to kill him," the princess said, with an elegant arch to an eyebrow and a tone of voice that said she wasn't exactly adverse to the idea, "just to get him to listen."
They were all quiet for a moment, until The Flash jumped up, slapped a hand on the table and announced:
"This is a job for Superman!"
Of course. If anyone could tame an unruly Bat, it was Superman. The entire room let out a collective sigh of relief. J'onn rose to his feet and headed for the nearest computer console.
"I will make the call."
2—
J'onn sashayed into the Thai restaurant on Sixth Avenue that was Clark Kent's favorite lunchtime haunt, ignoring the appreciative stares from the men in suits lining the bar. He found it incredibly ironic that a mere adjustment in his outward appearance could engender such a drastic difference in the way he was received by humans. He had always believed that the inner spirit transcended appearances and should be the true measure of a person's worth. Perhaps his perspective was unusual given human mental and physical limitations, but J'onn couldn't help but wonder what his existence would have been like amongst his peers if he had based his initial appearance on what would have made Superman more comfortable rather than Batman because the Dark Knight was the one who was more openly hostile. It was likely that his entire experience on this planet known as Earth would have been drastically different.
He noticed Clark sitting at his usual table and headed in his direction.
"Clark, it's wonderful to see you again," he said as his fellow Justice Leaguer got to his feet and leaned down to give him a quick peck on the cheek. Mischievously, J'onn turned his head at the last moment to ensure that Clark's obligatory kiss of greeting was rather more than the Man of Steel had intended. J'onn chuckled as Clark's face flushed a vivid red. After all, what good was it being an incredibly attractive female if a girl was too shy to steal a kiss from Superman?
They sat down. Clark settled his napkin on his lap. "To what do I own the pleasure of your company?" he asked. "Anything wrong?"
J'onn took a moment to place his order with the waiter who was hovering nearby before responding. "We're having problems with a certain mutual acquaintance."
Clark raised an eyebrow.
"A certain resident of Gotham—"
"I see," Clark said with a sigh. "What's he done now?"
"It's not something he's done exactly," J'onn explained. "It's something he's doing. He seems to be rather more…short-tempered than usual."
Clark grinned ruefully. "Unusually short-tempered. Imagine that."
"I wouldn't have bothered you with this, but it is my estimation that his disposition is affecting the morale of our mutual friends."
"That bad?"
"Worse."
Clark was silent for a moment, as if hesitating to commit himself to any particular course of action. "I guess it must be pretty bad for you to come to me, but I'm not sure what I can do about it. He doesn't exactly appreciate my interference in his life."
"Despite any appearance to the contrary," J'onn assured him, "you remain the only one whom he considers a friend."
"He said that?"
"Not in so many words."
"Right." He sighed. "Can't Diana—?"
"No. She says when she looks at him she sees dead people." J'onn smiled.
"Oh. And you—?"
"I tried. He wouldn't listen."
"He doesn't exactly listen to me either," Clark grumbled. "I don't know why I'm always the one people come to when they're having problems with him. He's a big boy, and although we are friends, of a sort, I'm actually the last person he wants telling him what to do. If I try to bring this up it's likely to get…messy, and I don't really have time right now to fight with him."
J'onn shrugged. "So don't talk. Don't fight. Find some other way to fix him."
"He needs…fixing?"
J'onn nodded. "Exactly."
"Oh. Well." Clark sighed. "I'll see what I can do."
"I'm sorry about this, Clark," J'onn said regretfully. "I know you wanted some time away from active duty to concentrate on your job."
"It's okay, but I have a conference in Tahoe in a couple of days that I can't miss. I'll see what I can do before I leave."
"That's all we can ask."
3—
Superman hovered over the Gotham Botanical Gardens and searched the crowd for Bruce Wayne. Finding his friend took only seconds. He stood head and shoulders above the rest of the men in the gathering, figuratively and literally, even when shrouded in his insipid Brucie persona. Of course, he had a lovely brunette on his arm and was blithely steering her towards a gazebo that was out of the way of the main gathering. Clark shook his head. Typical Bruce, seeking to position himself so he would be out of the limelight while everyone assumed he wanted some private time with his date. Clark floated closer.
As Bruce charmed and flattered and laughed at everything funny his date had to say, Clark studied the man. He noticed that although Bruce was putting on a good show, tension had caused little lines to appear at the corners of his eyes. His heartbeat was elevated, and his blood pressure was high. A person would have to know him very well indeed to ascertain the way his Brucie facade seemed to be straining the edges of his skin, tingeing his responses with just the slightest bit of annoyance. Clark knew him very well, well enough to be concerned.
He noticed other things, too, things that were obviously not as important but equally interesting. It wasn't often Clark got to study Batman out of costume. There wasn't another man at the event who could rival the way Bruce looked in his tuxedo, the grace of his every movement, the way his sharp blue eyes reflected the starlight. Clark certainly could understand the young lady's attraction, and when Bruce took her in his arms and kissed her and her heartbeat thundered in a fierce, staccato rhythm, Clark could appreciate the rush, the rapid rise and fall. He could almost feel it himself.
Clark watched as Bruce de-tangled himself from his date, seemingly disinclined to continue their amorous embrace. It was no wonder. Clark could tell Bruce was hardly excited, at least not in the way that any other man who had such a beautiful woman in his arms would be. He tucked an ebony lock of hair behind her ear affectionately, but it was only an act. He shepherded her in front of him down the gazebo stairs and back towards the main gathering.
Satisfied with his investigation and resolved to approach Bruce later in the evening to attempt to talk to him about his troubles, Superman started a gentle withdrawal on the currents that would eventually float him up into the atmosphere where he would take a direct route to the Batcave to wait. With a last glance at his teammate, he noticed Bruce had fallen a little behind his date on the path through the garden. It was the wind that brought Bruce's sub-vocalization to his ears, loud as a bell and pitched for him alone.
"Clark, I'm going to kick your ass all the way back to Metropolis if you don't stop watching me, goddammit."
Okay, Clark sighed as he set a trajectory that would take him back to his city. Talking. Bad idea. He would have to do this the hard way.
4—
The tomato plants required fertilizing, Alfred decided, as he rose from a kneeling position in his vegetable garden outside the kitchen window of Wayne Manor. Many people failed to realize you needed to feed the earth properly in order for the earth to reciprocate. Nature was very logical, and the constant gardener was well aware you reap what you sow in every way. Alfred Pennyworth was the most constant of gardeners.
"Alfred, you have a Clark Kent at the front door. He's asking for you."
Alfred showed no surprise at Meredith's announcement. She was still young, and Alfred felt his responsibility to impart proper decorum at all times for her benefit most keenly. Equanimity must be maintained. Nothing should surprise the service staff at Wayne Manor, not even an unexpected visit by Superman.
"Please, bring him around," Alfred said, "and then prepare a tray of milk and apple pie slices with cream. Note they are Mister Kent's favorites."
Meredith nodded, and then scurried away to follow instructions. Alfred smiled at the girl's taciturnity. She would make a fine addition to the permanent household staff. Master Bruce would undoubtedly approve of her propensity to act rather than talk. He brushed the dirt from his pant legs and stowed his gloves and equipment, waiting patiently for Clark to appear.
"Hi, Alfred," Clark said as he maneuvered his large frame through the relatively small kitchen doorway at the rear of the manor. He held out a hand in greeting and smiled down at him warmly.
Not for the first time, Alfred merely raised an eyebrow at the strange contradiction presented by Bruce's oldest and best friend of the superhero persuasion. Once it became known to the rational mind that Superman and Clark Kent were the same person, the first reaction was to ask yourself how you were ever fooled into believing otherwise. Sunlight seemed to surround Clark Kent like a nimbus, and no prop, no amount of hunching over, or any pretense to a bumbling nature could ever really mask that glow. Having spent time in the theater, Alfred could appreciate the work of a master performer who, by strength of willpower alone, could distort the edges of reality. Certainly, Master Clark was the perfect complement to Bruce, matched his charge in every way. Alfred only wished Bruce would do more to ensure Clark was a regular fixture in his life.
"Mister Kent. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? Are you looking for Master Bruce?"
"Uh, no, Alfred. Actually, I'm here to see you, if you're not too busy."
"It would be my pleasure, sir. Today is actually my day off, so time I have aplenty."
"And Bruce, he's not—?"
"Master Bruce has a business meeting this afternoon. We don't expect him back until this evening."
Alfred noted with amusement the small exhalation that seemed to relieve Clark's tension at that bit of information.
"Great…not that I don't want to see Bruce but—"
"I understand perfectly, sir. If you would follow me."
Alfred led his unexpected visitor to the poolside patio, and they both took their seats at one of the elegant little stone tables that dotted the perimeter. They didn't bother to put up the umbrella since the sun was bright but not hot. Meredith materialized with the refreshments that Alfred had ordered prepared, and the delighted smile on Clark's face was enough to make the girl stumble shyly, almost spilling the milk. Alfred made a note to speak to her about that later.
"What can I do for you?"
"It's Bruce." Clark paused, seemingly trying to decide how best to explain his dilemma. "I…we…" he stopped again. "Well, what's wrong with him?"
"Do you mean generally or specifically, sir?"
"Specifically, I guess. He seems to be out of sorts lately. His temper is extremely short. He's edgy-- edgier--and nothing anyone does is good enough anymore. He's driving everyone crazy…more than usual, I mean." Clark started tapping his fingers on the table, drumming a complicated rhythm into the stone that was almost mesmerizing. Apparently, it was a nervous reaction, Alfred noted. He would have to add it to the file later.
"Have you tried talking to him?" he asked. He had made it a policy long ago that before he ever interfered in Bruce's personal or professional life, he would allow his charge the opportunity to fix his own messes. Only when it seemed he was unwilling or unable to do so did Alfred feel warranted in taking appropriate countermeasures.
"No," Clark answered slowly, "that's always what I try to do first. It rarely works. For some reason, Bruce treats my every overture as a personal challenge. He hears me, but he rarely listens. Even if I can get him to understand my position, it takes weeks, even months for him to make any adjustments in his behavior at all. Even then, it's only begrudgingly, and he never admits that he might be wrong."
"It's because he loves you."
The drumming on the table stopped abruptly. "What?"
"You wanted to know the reason he keeps you at a distance, rarely listens, treats your every attempt at familiarity as a personal challenge. It's because he loves you. He worries that caring for you too overtly will endanger you, or himself, or the effective progression of his mission. Hence, he challenges himself to keep his most important relationships in perspective. It's a great failing on his part, but it stems from love. He treats Master Dick the same way."
"Oh."
Clark was staring at him as if he had suddenly sprouted two heads. If Alfred hadn't been aware that the young man was actually quite bright, he would have been very worried for the future of the world.
"I didn't answer your original question," he continued, since it seemed Clark was still at a loss for words. "If I were to guess at what has been bothering Master Bruce lately," Alfred said, speculatively, "I would say it was the impending approach of his birthday."
"His birthday?"
"Quite so. On Thursday, Master Bruce will turn thirty."
"Could it be that simple?" Clark wondered out loud, and the drumming started again, fingers to stone, however it was a new rhythm, Alfred noted. Perhaps he had better research the melodies and append the information to the files also. Master Bruce was nothing if not thorough.
"It happens to the best of us," Alfred agreed, "though in Master Bruce's case I suspect it's less the vanity of the situation and more a function of how his own mortality will affect the ultimate success or failure of his mission, whether he will live to see the end of it, whether what he's doing ever has or ever will make a real difference in Gotham. Whether or not the sacrifices he's made—and he's made plenty—will seem worth it when he can no longer put on cape and cowl." Alfred quieted, a tacit moment of respect for the inexorable and the bitter knowledge that there would undoubtedly come a day when Batman could no longer protect his city.
"I never thought—"
"Undoubtedly, sir," Alfred agreed, very familiar with the file on Superman and the fact that he'd likely live, if not forever, then for such a long time as to make a comparison meaningless. Hadn't he already risen from the dead once? "Such things would likely never occur to you. But Master Bruce is only human."
Alfred paused at the deep frown on Clark's face that was like a solar eclipse. He didn't want to hurt the man whom Alfred privately thought was Bruce's best chance for any happiness in this life, but he wanted the man to understand. So few people took the time to really understand Bruce Wayne. Very few people had the benefit of full disclosure.
"It's very hard for him to know that his best friends—you, Diana—will go on while he must suffer a mortal fate. He has too few years at the peak of his physical prowess. He can see the day that he'd no longer feel worthy to stand at your side. It weighs on him heavily."
Clark took a sip of his milk as if he needed something solid to reestablish his equilibrium after being forced to face a bitter truth. His plate of pie sat untouched. Alfred regretted that state of affairs keenly, but there was no help for it. Some things needed to be said.
"I want to do something," Clark said, as he set the glass down and determination settled over his features. "I want to spend some time with him. I want him to understand that he could never be unworthy. I've never met anyone more worthy in my entire life, and I know I never will." He leaned in closer. "I originally thought he needed a vacation and wanted your help in arranging it. I still think it would be a good idea."
"I agree," Alfred said.
"The only problem is he'd never agree to go."
"Very true."
"And even if I forced him to go, kicking and screaming, I could never convince him to stay."
"I…wouldn't be too sure of that, sir."
"You could see Bruce wanting to spend two weeks at Lake Tahoe?" Clark was clearly dubious. "I have to go there for a conference."
"Not exactly, but the right incentive would go a long way in bearding the bat on his own terms, so to speak."
Privately, Alfred knew it wouldn't take as much as Clark might think to get Bruce to agree to spend some quality time alone with the Man of Steel, away from their costumed identities. Of course, Bruce would never make it easy, but the right pretense would assuage his pride. Once over the initial hurdle, Clark would likely be surprised at exactly where Bruce might want to take their relationship. At least, Alfred hoped his employer would be smart enough to seize the opportunity appropriately. He wasn't worried about Clark's reaction to any romantic overture by his charge; any modestly perceptive person could see that Clark worshiped the ground Bruce walked on, that the distance he maintained from Bruce was a protective mechanism put in place to combat Bruce's abrasiveness. It would only take the slightest of encouragements for Clark to realize from whence such deep feelings originated.
The drumming had started again. "Incentive," Clark repeated. "I think I can provide that. I know the perfect thing to offer him. It's so unique his curiosity would force him to stay, if I know Bruce at all. I'll insist on two weeks in payment." Clark nodded his head decisively. "The only thing left is to ensure there are no problems with his company or with Gotham while he's gone."
"I can make the appropriate arrangements, sir."
Clark picked up his fork and dove into the pie with a happy vengeance. "Now, all I have to do is get him to Tahoe without him making a big scene," he said around mouthfuls.
"You can leave that to me. I have the perfect solution."