Chapter Text
The fifth dimension was kind of boring at the moment: not a single time-storm or invasion of hyperspace wombats for days. In the absence of excitement, Mr. Mxyzptlk and Bat-Mite were hanging out and watching the happenings in the third dimension on their screenglobe. "I wanna watch Batman," Bat-Mite said, grabbing the remote and fiddling with it. "He's the awesomest."
Mxyzptlk turned the remote into a salamander, which glared at Bat-Mite balefully. "We're gonna watch Superman, buddy. The bozo's always good for some entertainment."
Bat-Mite pouted. "I wanna watch Batman!"
"We're gonna watch Superman!"
"Batman!"
"Superman!"
"Batman!"
They were up in each others' faces now, nose to nose, yelling. Mxyzptlk opened his mouth to retort when the screenglobe hiccuped and resolved into an image: Superman and Batman sitting in front of a bank of monitors on the Watchtower. Superman's arms were crossed and he was looking with some annoyance at Batman, who was adjusting a monitor. "Oh," Mxyzptlk said happily, "They're together! We can watch them both."
Bat-Mite still looked a little sulky. "But they're just doing boring ol' Monitor Duty. That's dull."
Mxyzptlk's mouth curled in a wicked smile. "Well, I think you and I can fix that. Let's watch them for a bit and see what's up with Big Blue and his gloomy sidekick."
"Sidekick!?" Bat-Mite swelled with outrage, but Batman's voice came from the globe before he could defend his idol, and he postponed his tirade to listen.
"--easy for you," Batman was saying, "If I had superspeed and flight the double identity trick would be no problem at all. You try changing from a three-piece suit into a costume in less than ten minutes without superpowers."
"Easy?" Superman scoffed. "You try pretending to be human when you have superpowers you can't shut off, see how easy you find it. And I've got a full-time job I have to hold down in addition to being a superhero; if you don't show up to work for a week, what are they going to do? Fire the CEO? No, it's all a lot harder when you have to balance two full lives."
"I might have more control over my hours, but running an entire business--not to mention a philanthropic foundation--is a lot more responsibility than being a reporter. You have no idea what that's like."
"It's true," Bat-Mite said thoughtfully as the two heroes continued to quarrel. "Batman's got it a lot harder than Superman. He's just amazing."
Mxy felt himself bristling at Mite's typical thoughtless fanboying of the Dark Knight. "Hey, Supes is a dope, but he could still handle being Batman with one hand tied behind his back."
"Yeah, well Batman's smart enough to figure anything out, and writing a stupid newspaper story wouldn't even take a tenth of his amazing brainpower. Superman would be completely lost if he was in Batman's place."
"Oh yeah?" Mxy balled up his fists.
"Yeah!" Mite retorted.
"Prove it!"
Bat-Mite stopped cold and a mischievous grin suddenly spread across his face. "I will--with your help."
: : :
"--and that's why we did it," explained a beaming Bat-Mite to the two superheroes, who were staring at their hands in bewilderment. "Won't it be fun?"
"Here's the rules," Mxy said before they could get sidetracked. Bat-Mite was his best buddy but he had a tendency to be scatter-brained. "You've changed bodies for forty-eight hours." He brandished a watch marked, improbably, up to "forty-eight o'clock." "You have to live each others' lives for that long. And if anyone guesses about the switch, the change will be...permanent." For a moment he let his voice deepen and malice glint in his eyes for maximum effect. Then he smiled again. "Have fun! And Supes--" He looked at the man in the Batman suit, "--don't screw up. I've got a jillion quatloos riding on this."
Bat-Mite puffed out of existence and popped back in on Superman's shoulder. "I have faith in you, Batman!" The glowering superhero made a grab at him. "Eek!" squeaked the imp, and disappeared.
Mxy waved a finger at the scowling Kryptonian face. "You'll have to do better than that to convince people, Dork Knight. Turn that frown upside down! Think positive! Let a smile be your umbrella! Look on the bright side of--yipes!" Dodging another grab, he too vanished.
Clark stared down at his black-gloved hands. "Why doesn't Green Arrow have a fifth-dimensional imp to bother him?"
Superman crossed his arms. "I'd pay good money to see Hal Jordan deal with a version of Bat-Mite."
Clark blinked at him--himself--Bruce. "This is a disaster! You can't possibly play me for two days, you're already glowering."
With a palpable effort, Superman put his arms to his sides and smiled. "Better?" he asked through his teeth.
"Not really, no." Superman rolled his eyes. "Don't do that!" said Clark. "See, I always suspected you were rolling your eyes at the rest of us behind that cowl, and now you can't hide it!"
"Trust me, I'm no happier about imagining you playing </i>me</i>."
"What, you think I can't be grim?"
Superman barked a laugh. "Being grim is the easy part."
"I'll do perfectly fine, thank you."
Superman looked at the clock and grimaced. "Well, you'll get your chance sooner than I'd like. There's a charity dinner Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson have to be at in an hour. You need to get home and change. Alfred will fill you in on any details if you pretend you've just forgotten it. He's...used to that."
Clark gathered up his dignity and Batman's black cape. "I'll just be heading back to the Batcave, then."
"Don't call it the 'Batcave.' It's just 'the Cave.'" As Clark tried to leave the room, he found the way suddenly barred by a blue-spandexed arm. "Clark." Superman's face was suddenly worried. "You don't have powers in that body. Please be careful."
"Worried about your body?"
Superman's jaw set. "No, I'm worried about you. Promise me you won't go out on patrol."
"Seriously? You know I can't do that. Dick and Alfred would know something was up for sure."
Superman gnawed on his lip for a moment. "Try to keep it to a minimum."
Clark took a deep breath. He could feel twinging aches in the muscles of this new body, stiffness in one arm, bruises along the torso. The defensive anger in him suddenly drained away in a sudden wash of sorrow that Bruce should have to live with such pain all the time, have to wake up every morning weary and sore. He didn't want to damage Bruce's body any further, he knew that. He rested a hand briefly on the blue-clad arm, trying to ignore the sense of dislocation at touching his own body. "I'll be careful," he murmured.
The bright blue eyes, so familiar and so strange, were shadowed with an emotion he couldn't read, wasn't used to seeing. "Good."
: : :
"Thank you, Alfred. That will be all."
Alfred Pennyworth raised an eyebrow at the formality, but didn't protest. Clark kicked himself as he realized he had absolutely no idea how Bruce Wayne behaved in the privacy of his own home, with his own family. He'd seen Batman in action many times, and Playboy Brucie Wayne at quite a few parties, but the real Bruce Wayne? Well, until now he wasn't sure it had even crossed his mind such a person existed. And yet here he was, getting dressed for a party...and Clark had no idea who he was or what he was like.
"You'll need the cufflinks, sir. I'll be right back." The butler receded out of the room soundlessly.
Clark tugged at his tie, grimacing at his reflection in the mirror. Seeing Bruce Wayne's handsome face twisted rueful and awkward almost made him laugh out loud. On impulse, he crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue at himself.
"Bruce?" The young voice was filled with giggles.
Clark whirled to find Dick Grayson in the bedroom doorway, his hands clapped over his mouth and eyes dancing. Clark had only seen the boy out of his Robin costume a few times, but the smile and eyes were distinctive. "I was...practicing," Clark said gruffly.
"For what?"
Bruce's voice was remarkably well-suited for saying things freighted with hidden meaning. "One never knows," Clark intoned quellingly.
Dick, however, was unquenchable. "I think you should try that look out on Louisa Gelman. That should get her off your case."
Alfred arrived with the cufflinks--simple silver squares with a "W" engraved on them. "Miss Gelman is proving quite dogged in her pursuit, indeed," he noted as he affixed them to the suit sleeves. "There you go, sir. You are once again a stunning specimen of the male species."
The dry sarcasm in the butler's voice made Clark smile despite himself. A lot of people might find Batman intimidating, but apparently Alfred Pennyworth was not one of them.
Dick did handsprings down the staircase despite Alfred's protests that he would ruin his suit.
: : :
"But Mr. White, I'm supposed to be in Smallville this weekend to cover Superman's appearance at the county fair!"
"You're not going anywhere until you finish that story, Kent. If you don't finish up I'll just send Lois in your place. Now get to work!"
Bruce sat down glumly in his chair, staring at the computer screen. There were only a few paragraphs remaining in the story, it should be easy to finish.
Two hours later, he was about ready to throw the computer across the room. This wasn't some glib press release he could bluff his way through, this was Clark's job on the line. And yet--the little black scheduler on the desk seemed to reproach him. He had to finish and get to Smallville! He typed a few words, deleted them, retyped them, and deleted them again. Having super-powers was not only not helpful right now, it was actively hindering his work. Bruce could hear ten cats stuck in trees in Metropolis alone...he buried his face in his hands and groaned. Why in the world had Clark picked a job where all his alien gifts weren't the least bit of help? He could have been an invulnerable fire-fighter or a surgeon with microscopic vision or a super-strong construction worker, but no, he had to work with words. You couldn't freeze words in place with your breath or burn them with heat vision or outrun them...
With an agonizing effort, Bruce forced himself to type something. White would fix it if there were serious problems, that's what editors were for, right? He tried to capture some of Clark's writing style, the effortless transparency of his words...but at the end of the day he was just feeling fortunate he had finished it at all.
"It's on its way, sir!" he yelped and hit "send" as Perry White bulled his way out of his office once more with doom in his eyes.
The editor gave him a narrow look. "Better not take so long with the Smallville story," he growled. "Get going."
Bruce grabbed his scheduler and coat. "Yes sir!"
He was so relieved to be out of the office that it didn't really register until he was on the road and hurrying toward Smallville--at exactly the speed limit and no more, Clark would never speed--that he was about to have to spend a weekend with Clark's parents.
: : :
Clark felt like rather like a wrung-out dishrag at the moment. Parties were supposed to be fun, but as Bruce Wayne it was an endless blur of schmoozing socialites and business contacts, people currying favor and people needing to be handled with just the right delicate touch. How did Bruce do it? Clark wasn't exactly a party animal, but he knew Bruce hated socializing even more than he did. And yet once or twice a week he was someplace like this, listening to inane chatter and trying to manage six people at once...
Clark smiled down at Louisa Gelman and was taken aback at how she practically seemed to melt at his look, her eyes going huge and shining. He certainly wasn't used to getting that kind of reaction from people, either. A different kind of person might have found the power intoxicating, but Clark felt sure Bruce didn't enjoy the adulation at all.
He took another cautious sip of his bourbon and watched Dick work the crowd with the consummate skill of a boy perfectly aware of his own charm. Clark couldn't help smiling as Dick complimented an elderly matron so gracefully she blushed.
"You're such a patron saint, taking in that dear little boy," Louisa cooed. "He's so lucky. Though I'm sure he needs a mother figure in his life as well." She fluttered unsubtle eyelashes at him and Clark hoped she and Bruce weren't...too close.
"I do believe that I'm the lucky one," he said with as suave a delivery as he could muster, and she sighed and fluttered some more. The riposte seemed to have distracted her from the issue of marriage; Clark felt rather proud of himself for coming up with that one. Maybe he was getting the hang of this after all. He could handle this party and--
As if sensing this upswing in Clark's confidence, that was when Penguin and his goons chose to crash the party.
In the confusion, Clark saw Dick slip out of the room with a meaningful glance in his direction. Clark made his way to a corridor and found a handy broom closet of his own. Now to switch to the suit under his tuxedo and--
Wow, this was a lot harder without super-speed. Clark struggled with the buttons and the cufflinks, then got his arms stuck in the shirt's sleeves. Damn! Bruce would be done by now and out there kicking Penguin and his thugs from here to Bludhaven. Wresting at his pants, he tripped and stumbled into a bucket of mops, flailing and crashing. When "Batman" finally emerged from the closet, he was already feeling rather the worse for wear. And when he arrived at the ballroom to find that Robin putting the last tidy knots on the Penguin's restraints, he felt foolish indeed. "Golly, Batman," said Robin cheerfully. "Did you get lost?"
Clark bit back a variety of cranky retorts. "I was testing you," he said instead. "Good job, Robin. I knew I could count on you."
Robin beamed until Louisa Gelman threw her arms around him and kissed him, pronouncing him "adorable," at which point he blushed furiously until Clark took pity on him and said, "Time to get going, Robin. There's still crime left to fight this evening."
And then, of course, he had to get back to the broom closet and change back into Bruce Wayne's stylish clothes.
: : :
"You're quiet tonight, Clark. Are you feeling okay?" Martha Kent put a brownie topped with a generous dollop of ice cream in front of Bruce.
Bruce made a non-committal noise and took a bite of the brownie. Then he took another. "This is fantastic," he said. That at least wasn't a lie. He really didn't want to lie to Clark Kent's mother. Not that he wasn't just by sitting here pretending to be her son.
"Did you have a hard week?"
"Well, I ran into Mr. Mxyzptlk today."
"I hope he wasn't too much of a hassle."
Bruce grinned wryly. "I've had better days."
Martha scooped a little bit of ice cream from the container and licked the spoon thoughtfully before putting the carton back in the freezer. "How did Monitor Duty with Batman go?"
Bruce blinked at the non-sequitur. Why had Clark even mentioned that he had Monitor Duty with Batman today? He realized Martha was looking at him, waiting for an answer.
"Oh, as usual," he finally said. "No major emergencies."
"And Batman was...?"
Bruce stared down at his last bite of brownie. What would Clark say about Batman? "As usual," he repeated. "Barely civil. The man wouldn't know polite conversation if it bit him on the nose."
He chuckled as he said it, but Martha looked alarmed. "Why, Clark, dear," she said, "Is something wrong?"
"No, Ma, I'm fine!" Bruce attempted to beam a smile of Clark-level wattage at her, but Martha pulled up a chair and sat down, still studying his face.
"Did you and Batman have a quarrel or something? You sound almost angry with him."
"Well, you have to admit the man can be annoying," Bruce said, floundering a bit.
Martha frowned. "Well, of course, but it never seemed to bother you before. 'It's all part of his charm,' right?" She sounded like she was quoting someone, but Bruce couldn't imagine Clark calling him charming no matter how hard he tried. She patted him on the shoulder. "Well, finish your brownie, dear," she said, and rose to wash the dishes.
Bruce finished eating Clark's brownie, listening to Clark's mother hum as she washed the dishes.
Charm...?
: : :
"--And then Bruce let me fight the Penguin and his gang all by myself!" Dick's face was shining; Alfred shot Clark a slightly reproachful look. Clark wondered if Alfred and Bruce had argued about Dick being exposed to danger in the past. Their relationship was clearly much more complicated than that of a man and his servant, Clark was beginning to realize.
Unsure quite how to respond, Clark said merely, "You did a good job," and tucked into another stack of pancakes. These were really good; Alfred could rival Martha Kent in cooking. In mid-bite, though, he froze suddenly, syrup dripping from a forkful of pancake. What would Bruce say if this body weighed three pounds more when he got it back? Regretfully, he lowered the fork.
He really missed being able to eat anything he liked and not gain weight.
Dick did a quick mid-air somersault, apparently unable to contain his high spirits, and beamed at Clark. "When you were on the Watchtower, did you check about...?" The question trailed off in anticipation. When Clark looked blank, Dick's face fell. "You promised to ask Superman if I could help out on your next Monitor Duty together!" He sighed. "I've never been in space--it'd be so cool! And to help out Superman as well--!"
Clark had a sudden and painful flashback to the broom closet, mops falling everywhere with a clatter. "Superman? He's just some alien who'd be useless if he didn't have powers by some fluke--" He broke off at the hurt look in Dick's eyes. "What?"
"You--you said he was a good role model. You said he was cool and awesome and the greatest ever!" A stamp of a small foot and Dick flung himself out of the room.
Clark blinked after him. "I said that?"
"To be more precise, sir," Alfred said, "I believe you said that the young sir 'Could do worse than have Superman as a role model' and that the Kryptonian chap was 'A good man.' Master Dick is perhaps exaggerating a bit."
Clark had to struggle to clamp down on a giggle at being described as "the Kryptonian chap." "Good to know," he managed a bit stiffly. "I wouldn't want anyone thinking I thought Superman was the greatest ever."
"Well," Alfred said as he left the room, "You certainly have never said so aloud, sir,"
And on that cryptic statement the door closed behind him and left Clark alone with the tempting pancakes.
Resolutely, he scraped them into the garbage disposal. Then he decided he'd better wash the dishes for good measure. Let Alfred think Master Bruce was acting oddly; Clark wasn't going to leave dirty dishes lying around.
Never said so aloud...?
: : :
Superman was face-to-face with a lamb. The eager child holding it up to Superman's face gave it an extra lift and Bruce found himself almost touching its snout with his nose.
"Baa," stated the lamb.
Bruce eyed the small woolly animal carefully. He'd done the research the night before and was ready to judge the 4H entrants for sturdy flanks, healthy coats and solid bone structure, but he still felt rather at a loss. The child was gazing at him raptly, waiting for something. He patted the lamb on its head. "This is a...very fine lamb," he said.
The child beamed and people around them cooed and applauded. Bruce blinked for a moment before he remembered that it was not only all right to smile while in this costume, it was practically demanded of him. He smiled down at the child, feeling rather like the Grinch dressed up as Santa Claus. Cindy Lou Who hugged her lamb close and toddled off to put it back in its pen.
"And over here are the goats," the leader of the 4H club said, tugging slightly on his arm. Bruce found himself confronted with a line of goats, their mad square-pupiled eyes glaring at him. Everyone waited breathlessly to see which goat Superman would consider the best in show.
Bruce moved toward the pens, hoping Clark wouldn't hold it against him that he was probably going to get manure on those nice red boots.
: : :
It was mid-day, but according to Alfred and the computer, Batman had been waiting for this particular robbery for some time. He didn't bring Robin with him--he couldn't bear the thought of Dick being in danger because of Clark's ineptitude with this body. So it was a relief when one of the thugs took off in a panic. The other one swung a haymaker at Batman. Clark dodged it easily and caught his arm, twisting it around behind him. "Who hired you for this?" he said conversationally into the thug's ear.
Too conversationally. The robber laughed, although it was a bit strained. "You gonna ask me pretty please?"
Clark was used to petty robbers caving at the mere sight of Superman--apparently the lack of heat vision gave some villains confidence against Batman. Stronger measures were called for. Unfortunately, Superman didn't often need to threaten people and Clark felt a little rusty at it.
He cleared his throat and continued to use the same mild, conversational tone. "Do you have a mother, Lefty? You love your mother?" The thug stammered something and Batman continued politely, "There's something so special, isn't there, about having your mother recognize your face when you walk in the door?" Lefty stared at him, his face going a bit pale. "And then there's that 'walking in the door.' It's so comforting to be able to walk down the streets one knows. To climb stairs. To turn the doorknob of your house with all five fingers on your hand..." The thug winced and stammered a name. "Just making conversation," Batman said, snapping restraints on his hands and biting back a smile as the police sirens started to approach. "Thanks so much for the information, Lefty."
It seemed that "threatening," like beauty, was largely in the eye of the beholder.
: : :
"Can you breathe in space?" Superman was hovering in the air, holding a man by his shirt collar. He put his face very close to the henchman's and bared his teeth. "Because I can breathe in space."
The man's eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out.
Bruce looked at the limp body, feeling somewhat chagrined. It looked like a more restrained approach was going to be necessary while trapped in Superman's body. How much longer were they going to have to put up with this? According to a bank tower clock, it was still another two hours. Bruce groaned to himself and looked for someplace to put the unconscious thug until he woke up.
His communicator crackled to life. "Superman," came Wonder Woman's voice in his ear. "We need you on the Watchtower right away. We've got a slight...insect infestation--" Her voice broke off with a grunt of pain. "Come with Batman, and hurry!"
Superman was at the Manor already, the snoozing thug deposited on the stairs of the police headquarters. Batman was there, and Bruce fought down the wave of disorientation on seeing himself again. "Thank Rao I'm already in costume," muttered Batman rather bitterly. "It sounds like everyone up there is busy. We're not sure what we're going to be teleporting into. Are you ready?"
Bruce looked at the human figure, with only some kevlar standing between flesh and bone and whatever might be lurking on the other side of the teleporter. Somehow Bruce Wayne's body seemed so much more fragile and precious when inhabited by Clark Kent's spirit... But he knew he could never insult Clark by trying to leave him behind, so he took a deep breath. "Ready when you are," he said, and stepped forward to work the teleport.
They materialized into a nightmare. The corridors of the Watchtower were encrusted with waxy hexagonal structures, cells with indistinct shapes stirring inside. In the distance there was a vast whirring hum, and the sounds of fighting--Bruce could hear Green Lantern's ring energy, echoing from far away. Beside him, Clark took a step forward, Batman's black boots slipping on thick green gel on the floor. "We've got to--"
The two cells nearest them burst open with an obscene slurping noise and what appeared to be giant wasps with stingers like rapiers emerged from them. They shook goop off their wings and launched themselves at the two heroes in a flurry of motion.
Bruce moved without thinking, super-speed kicking in without conscious thought as he placed himself between Clark and the wasps, raising his hands to block them out of the air. Only at the very last second did he notice that the wasp's stinger glittered green.
The long, slender sting passed right through his forearm, emerging on the other side slicked with red. Bruce heard Superman's voice--his own voice--cry out in shock as agony seemed to eat instantaneously through all his muscles, turning his arm ablaze. The pain was worse than he had imagined it could be. How does Clark keep fighting through this? It hardly seemed possible.
And yet somehow Clark did it, and so it could be done.
Through the haze of pain he smashed the wasp into a wall, grinding his teeth together to keep from wailing. The second wasp darted forward, stinger jabbing straight at his eyes; with his arm still impaled on the first, Bruce could do little but watch it come at him.
Then it sheered away, one wing buzzing furiously. The other seemed shattered; a batarang skittered across the oozy floor. The wasp flopped angrily on the floor until it became mired in slime and lay there, abdomen pulsing obscenely as it rent the air vainly with its stinger.
"Good shot," Bruce panted as Batman stepped forward to examine his arm.
"I got lucky," Clark muttered, his voice more than grim enough for the Dark Knight.
"Well, keep getting lucky then," Bruce said, wincing, and saw his own mouth flicker in the faintest of smiles. Then it set again.
"This is going to hurt," Clark said. "A lot."
Bruce bit down on a curse as Clark gently drew the stinger from his arm. "I know," murmured Clark, and surely Batman's voice was never made for such tenderness? And yet it seemed to ease the agony, somehow. "You'll be okay in a moment. Just let it heal." Black-clad hands held Bruce's arm in place firmly, not letting it move, cradling it against his chest in what was nearly an embrace. For a long moment the two of them stood there, not looking at each other--it was too disorienting--leaning on each other's strength.
"Better?" Clark's voice was slightly hoarse--not the harsh Batman rasp, either. Not at all.
Bruce flexed his arm gently. "I think so."
Clark stepped away from him. "You shouldn't have gotten in the way like that without assessing the situation."
Bruce couldn't help but chuckle. "Thank you, Dark Knight Detective. But I wasn't going to let some space wasp stab you to death."
Another burst of explosions in the distance, and their heads swiveled to follow the sound. In the hexagons around them, more shapes were stirring. "We'd better get moving," Bruce said.
"I might not be much help," Clark said, his voice bitter again.
"What are you talking about?" Bruce retorted. "We're Batman and Superman. They can switch us up, but they can't stop us. Besides," he said, reaching out to tap a container in the utility belt, "You've got insecticide."
The smile on Batman's face boded ill for the rest of the space wasps, Kryptonite stingers or no.
: : :
"Ugh, yuck, gah, gross," Flash announced, coughing and retching as Superman's heat vision cut him loose from the fluid-filled cell he'd been suspended in.
"Where are the others?" Batman asked as Superman released Wonder Woman as well.
"J'onn went insubstantial and is probably sneaking up on their queen. She seemed...interested in GL," Wally said. "Had him brought to her. Shayera gave them a good fight, but they eventually knocked her mace away."
Diana flipped her wet hair back, apparently totally uncaring that she was covered in green goo. "What are we waiting for?"
The four of them charged toward the center of the Watchtower where the Queen Bee was interrogating John and Shayera.
Once they were all in the same place, joined by J'onn, the outcome was never in question. In the chaos of the battle, no one noticed that Superman and Batman both seemed a little more uncertain than usual, or that they were slightly more solicitous of each other's safety than normal. And no one noticed that at one point, when the World's Finest were back to back, facing down the Queen and five of her soldiers, there was a slight ripple of energy that pulsed between the two of them.
Clark took a deep breath as he slipped into his own body like a comfortable pair of shoes. The pierce wound on his arm was a dull, throbbing pain, but the myriad of aches and strains that haunted Bruce's body were gone. He felt Batman's shoulder blades against his, heard Bruce's purring chuckle, and felt a smile stretch his own mouth. One hand curled into a fist, and then they were surging forward again to meet the wasps, both of them back in their element: Superman a juggernaut, Batman a dervish, everything falling away before them.
Just as it should be.
: : :
"It wasn't all bad," Batman said as he picked up another chunk of wax and tossed it to Superman. "I got to have one of your mother's brownies a la mode." The two of them were cleaning the Watchtower observatory. Usually Batman would have simply refused to do clean-up, but tonight he didn't protest. It was almost like he...wanted to chance to talk to Clark.
"You're welcome to come back and have another sometime," Clark said lightly.
"And I...may have gained some appreciation for the difficulties of your life," said Batman. "Just a little," he added hastily.
Clark laughed. "Difficulties? I'll be overjoyed to get back to my life after sampling yours. At least I don't have to deal with Louisa Gelman."
Batman shuddered elaborately. "I hope you didn't propose to her or anything."
Clark didn't answer, looking innocent until Bruce hurled a particularly large piece of wax at his head. "Don't worry, Bruce, you're still a free man."
"Good." Bruce scrubbed vigorously at a spot on the floor for a while, not looking up at Superman.
"Will you tell Dick I'm sorry? I'm afraid I gave him the impression you disapprove of his choice of heroes." Now Bruce did look up briefly, then back down. "You...don't?"
Bruce harrumphed. "He's very young," he noted.
It was, Clark thought, not exactly a denial.
"Well, he's welcome to come up and share Monitor Duty with us next time we have it together."
Bruce shook his head, smiling slightly. "It better be soon; I'll hear of nothing else until then."
Clark wiped his hands on a rag and called up a schedule at a nearby terminal. "Looks like next Friday," he said.
"It's a date, then," said Bruce.
At which point Wally came in, talking a mile a minute about how he was never going to eat anything with honey in it again, and Clark was saved from having to grin like a lunatic.
: : :
Back in the fifth dimension, Mxy was scowling. Not only was there no clear winner to his bet with Bat-Mite, but the two obnoxious superheroes had the nerve to be joking about what should have been a very stressful time! He felt his interdimensional ulcer beginning to act up, and pulled off his bowler hat in preparation for hurling it on the ground and stomping on it. He was interrupted in his plans by Bat-Mite's voice.
"Interesting," mused the Mite. He had the remote in his hand and was replaying the last forty-eight hours on a different screenglobe. "Very, very...interesting."
He was paused at the moment where Superman and Batman had stood together, Batman's arms almost around the wounded Superman.
"Look at their faces, Mxy," Bat-Mite said. His own was slowly lighting up with inspiration. "Look at them!"
Mxy crossed his arms. "I just see two stupid lummoxes," he growled.
"Mxy!" Bat-Mite's voice squeaked. "Can't you see it? They're in love with each other!" He whirled and popped around the room as if overcome with emotion. "Oh, wouldn't it be fun to get them to admit it to each other? Not that Superman is worthy of Batman, but I suppose he'll do--"
"Hey, whatta you mean, 'not worthy'?" Mxy felt his face reddening. "Big Blue is more than a match for your stupid Caped Crustacean!"
"That's Crusader!" Mite's nose was practically touching Mxy's again, his eyes squinched shut in fury. "And I bet I can get them to kiss in less than a week."
"Those two stubborn oafs? There's no way you can get them together--not some trick kiss, mind you, a real romantic one--in less than a month."
"I bet you a quadrillion quatloos I can!"
"You're on!"
Mxy chortled to himself as Mite zipped around their room, making plans.
This could be a hoot.