Chapter Text
It starts with the way he’s looking at him during their meeting.
He sits at the end, farthest from the Three, full-costume (obviously), and a hand propping his chin up as he leans his elbow on the desk. It’s Clark’s turn to speak, but Nightwing does not look at him, and instead focuses his gaze eight inches to his right.
His eyes have not left Batman the entire time. Even though Clark cannot see behind that domino mask of his, the way his head is ever-so-slightly tilted signifies where his attention is at.
It’s subtle, Clark has to give him that. But he’s Superman, so.
When Clark concludes his speech, he opens the discussion up to everyone, encouraging input. They’re planning to attend a ‘Peace Ceremony’ a few sectors over. One that has been long in the making and has taken the efforts of almost all League members to happen. Playing diplomat was usually Lantern’s thing, but with the recent push from each planet for Earth to choose a side, pressure to intervene became difficult to ignore.
Especially when Nightwing caught wind of alien cargo being shipped out from Bludhaven that matches the exact technology used on one of the planets involved.
The Green Lantern offers up his information, and soon after Nightwing, the oh-so brilliant, brightest new member of the League, stands.
He’s confident in the way he speaks, stands, goddamn breathes. If Clark were to look up the word charisma in the dictionary, there would be a picture of Nightwing front and center.
“My source says the amount of Zaarhalan weaponry has decreased in shipments. Decreased. Not stopped altogether. Though they have, in treaty, agreed to be peaceful with Gregoriar and Faelyn, the actions in Bludhaven should bring awareness to the idea that they may not be as ready for a truce as they say they are.”
And, Clark wouldn’t have said anything, if it wasn’t for the way Nightwing turns his head to Batman immediately after speaking. He’s looking at the man beside Clark like he’s waiting for something. Praise? Approval?
And Clark wouldn’t have intervened if it wasn’t for the way Batman gave Nightwing the curtest of nods. It was nothing more than a movement, so minscule that it could have been mistaken for a simple exhale, but it had Nightwing beaming.
“It’s expected for a nation to continue trade. It’s not the Zaarhalan’s fault that they need weaponry. Asking them to discontinue all weapon trades wouldn’t be realistic. They have the right to defend themselves,” says Superman, now standing as well. His arms fold across the large S on his chest. “let’s not get paranoid now, Nightwing.”
Nightwing finally looks at him, and his lips are parted, like he has something to say but he’s contemplating on whether or not to say it.
Truthfully, Clark thinks it’s not unrealistic for the Zaarhalans to go back on their word, having been the most defiant of all three planets. It’s just—oh, Lord—it’s just Clark can’t stand the way Nightwing begs for the Batman’s attention, like a puppy at his owner’s heels. Superman is just teaching the new guy a lesson. It’s expected for his senior to give him a hard time.
“I’m not accusing them of planning an attack or anything,” Nightwing starts, a hand coming to gesture in the air. “I think we should be vigilant, is all. Be aware of what’s going on in and outside Earth.” His eyes do not divert to Batman, Clark notes. He meets Superman’s deep blue head on.
“It is a good observation, Nightwing,” comes the voice to Clark’s left. Diana’s voice carries loudly across the table, strong and assertive. Grounding. “Kal-El is also right in the fact that we do not have the authority to halt all arms trades between planets. We are going to Zaarhalan to see for ourselves whether this treaty will hold true, if these planets can be trusted.”
Her eyes rest on Nightwing, an assuring smile on her face. The man returns her smile with a grin.
Clark only nods, taking his seat. He no longer feels like talking, or looking in the black and blue hero’s direction.
The man of the hour, B, stands, and how he can get out his chair without a sound Clark will never understand. He places his hands on the table and looks out at the League, expression still and unreadable as always, until he speaks.
“In that case,” he says, “this meeting is adjourned. Those attending the ceremony will be sent a detailed schedule, dating our time of arrival and so on. Those not attending will receive details regarding communication and contingencies if—“
Oh, he’s looking at Nightwing. Clark’s stomach drops.
“—an issue were to arrive. That is all.”
And with three words, the meeting is over and members began to stand, congregate in little groups to discuss plans or—in the Green Lantern’s words—shoot the shit.
Before Clark knows it, he’s got a hand on Batman’s shoulder and is calling his name.
“B?”
The man turns, stiffly, a questioning look on his face—or—it’s more like a small downturn of his lips Clark notices, the minute tightening of his jaw.
Superman offers him a smile, a peace offering.
“Did you want to go over each community’s customs for the ceremony? Lantern sent me what information he’s recording, and I know you mentioned wanting assistance with a translator.”
It’s an excuse to spend more time with the Bat. Truthfully, Clark wasn’t too excited to get home. He had a story due tonight, which he hardly had the time to interview sources for, meaning the outline isn’t even done and it’s missing key information, and he knows Lois will have some words about that, and—
Clark wants to avoid his problems a little longer. And if it’s with B, that’s a bonus.
He’s recently found comfort with the physical formation of the word gloom. He’s intrigued by the contrast between them, in all aspects, from the city they each protect to the way they talk to other League members. Somewhere down the line, through their long discussions and difficult battles fought, Clark has found comfort in the way they speak to each other, in the way they exist beside one another. It’s a comfort like knowing someone is always there, as if you can always fall back on the fact that their presence will always be felt. If anything is constant in the Kryptonian’s life, then, Sweet Jesus, it’s the Batman.
“I’m sorry, Kal-El, I already have matters to attend. Send me your translated texts and I’ll give you my feedback at a later time.”
Oh.
Okay. Nevermind then.
Clark’s smile wavers, but he sticks with it. “Alright, no worries, B. I’ll keep in touch.” He stands there, awkwardly (though he has a feeling Batman doesn’t pick up on it at all), before making his departure first after Batman gives him a short nod.
He’s making his way down the hall, kicking himself over the paper he’s got waiting at home and not thinking about his mini-rejection, when he hears it.
”Do you still want to return with me to the Cave?”
Hey, slow down now. Clark almost doesn’t believe it when he hears those words muttered by the same gravelly voice he just spoke with. He almost lets it go, except there’s another voice—
”Yeah sure, B. Oracle was asking about Agent A’s—“
”Enough. We’ll talk at the Cave.”
Clark doesn’t know what to focus on first—the fact that Nightwing called Batman B or that Batman is offering for him to go to his Cave with him. Um? Hello? Not even Clark got that type of invite, and B was his thing!
He stands there in a daze, replaying all his past interactions with Batman, and wonders where he went wrong and where Nightwing went right, when he feels a tap on his shoulder.
“All good, Supes?”
Clark does his best to conceal his surprise at the Flash’s sudden presence. “Flash!” He says, maybe a bit too excited. “Yes, of course. I’m just—“ he trails off, looks off to the side for an answer.
“Going through what needs to be done before the trip. Gotta stay on top of it all, yeah?”
The Flash offers a smile, and is that worry in his eyes or confusion? He looks like he has more questions to ask, but Clark silently thanks him that he doesn’t voice them at all. “Right, yeah. Good luck with…that. See ya, Supes.”
And before the moment can become more awkward, the speedster is gone. Once again, Clark is alone.
Suddenly, that paper doesn’t seem so awful. It’ll take his mind off of things, regardless of how shitty it turns out. And as he types away at his computer, Clark’s mind does not wander to the image of Nightwing and Batman in the Batcave. He does not think of the way Nightwing puts all of his energy into looking at B, or the way Batman offers him his approval so easily.
It doesn’t cross his mind at all.