Bruce really was just so full of shit. It would be kind of cute if Clark didn't feel like he was trying to trap a maybe-rabid raccoon nesting in Ma's attic. "Whatever you're about to say? Don't, please."

When Clark had first learned to fly -- when he'd figured out that he could in fact fly very large distances without really getting tired or even needing a break -- he'd spent an awful lot of time flying over corn fields. He'd been scared to leave Kansas, having nightmares about military strikes and tabloid sightings, and he'd kind of gone in circles for awhile. It was August, so a storm had rolled through, the air going horribly still right before the lightning started. Clark, hovering just below the cumulonimbus clouds, had watched as the wind died and the corn stalks stopped rustling. Even the bees and the squirrels seemed to have been waiting for the first strike.

Bruce's face right now kind of reminded him of that. All that emotion, buried in the blink of an eye, replaced with Bruce Wayne's vapid blankness as he murmured: "I don't know what you mean."

"I think you do," Clark said. "You were going to blow me off. You are blowing me off."

A flash of irritation. "Clark, did it occur to you that I just want to drink my coffee in peace?"

If it were Lois out here, they'd already be fighting. Clark was very sure of that. Lois didn't like snippy blow-offs, didn't like when people pretended they weren't feeling something they were obviously feeling. Actually, if Clark was honest, she mostly didn't like feelings at all. But Clark could go with the flow if it meant Bruce wouldn't totally shut him out. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and said, "Sure, yeah. Okay. Do you mind if I make some?"

Bruce waved a hand at the counter. "The Mr. Coffee's all yours."

"It's kind of funny how you make that sound like an insult," Clark said, going through the motions of filling the percolator's reservoir. "This is the nicest coffee machine I've ever learned how to use."

The pot was only half full when Bruce said, "I thought of leaving and never coming back."

"...ah."

"I'm not going to." Bruce tapped two fingers on the countertop. "Obviously."

"I'm glad." As glad as he could be while feeling like his stomach might compress itself into a black hole, anyway.

Bruce rewarded his circumspection with a narrow smile. More of a grimace, really. "I've never done anything remotely like this before."

"Neither have I."

"Well, of course not."

"Lois hasn't either," Clark offered, because Lois was definitely more sexually adventurous than Clark, and maybe Bruce, too. But Bruce only shook his head.

"None of us have done this before, Clark, because what we're doing is insane. If we were three, I don't know, bank tellers at Gotham National Bank, that would be bad enough. But we're not. We're collectively two superheroes, one extremely well-known and talented reporter, and one perfectly serviceable national desk reporter."

"Hey," Clark said. He liked to think he was pretty good, at least.

"You'll note I didn't even mention my ostensible position at WE." Bruce shrugged. "When this goes badly, the fallout won't be pretty."

And, okay. Technically true. But: "Why does it have to go badly?"

Bruce made a face at him.

"No, I'm serious. Why? I know it might, but sometimes things go okay."

"We can't all be the Kents."

And we won't all be the Waynes. Clark bit his tongue. Literally. "I get that. But that's not what I meant."

"If Lois had been even slightly unlucky in her fall, she'd have died."

Clark couldn't quite bury his grimace. "Trust me, I know."

"It's not like I'd break it off with you if you became human tomorrow. But when I agreed to this arrangement, I understood the risks. That you'd realize you preferred monogamy, that I'm simply not what you're looking for in a second partner, that attempting a relationship with me is more frustration than it's worth no matter how much you might otherwise want it." He held up a hand when Clark opened his mouth to argue. "I know you don't feel that way. But it's a set of risks I analyzed, and I decided the reward was worth it."

"And the reward with Lois...isn't?"

Another sip of coffee, another frown down at the table. Bruce's voice was distant when he said, "That's what I'm trying to work out."

Clark had no right to feel like someone had stuck Kryptonite down his collar. He'd known the limits of their relationship from the start. Last night had been everything Clark had been wanting and then some, but it wasn't a promise or a guarantee from either of them.

But, God, it hurt. "All right. Thanks for telling me."

You'd think he'd said 'let's go Stars', with the face Bruce made. "You're welcome," he finally managed to grunt.

Clark took pity on him after that, going back into the bedroom and petting Lois's hair while she slept. He was still a bit of a coward, though: after Bruce had left but before Lois's alarm, he got dressed and headed out to work.

He and Lois texted throughout the day. Bruce was sitting in boring meetings every time Clark tuned in. By the time four rolled around, Clark felt antsy, like he was halfway to the Mars and realizing he'd forgotten something on his nightstand.

"Clark! You look glum. Did they close down our Portillo's?"

Clark pasted on a smile for Jimmy. Well, he tried. Jimmy didn't look too convinced. "Nah, just a little tired."

"I saw you with the city water records. That's enough to ruin anyone's day. I actually swung by to see if we were still on tonight, but if you'd rather skip, we can take a rain check."

Oh, no. That was way too tempting. "Well --"

"Clark, bailing on date night? Not a chance," Lois said. "You should go."

Clark looked over their desks at her. Lois raised her eyebrows and sipped her water at him.

"Wouldn't miss it," Clark told Jimmy. "We should go to that place with the grilled cheeses."

At the place with the grilled cheeses, way too early in the evening for faux-drunken confessions, Clark said, "Unfortunately I made some mistakes."

Jimmy patted Clark's forearm. "Here it comes."

"Dating mistakes."

"Lois'll fix it for you guys."

"Polyamorous dating mistakes."

Jimmy's mouth fell open.

Clark slurped his beer. He'd never wished it worked more. "Yeah."

"Well, well, well," Jimmy said. "I think we're going to need some more sandwiches."

They didn't actually talk about it more. The grilled cheese place had basketball on, and Jimmy was out of his seat for the last ten minutes of the fourth quarter -- on the game clock. For half an hour Clark's only job was to cheer the Generals on to, as it turned out, another humiliating loss.

"I'm thinking about asking my neighbor out," Jimmy said after the bar had emptied out a bit. "I think you met her at my New Years' party, her name is Nina."

"I remember." A very tall, pretty woman who'd spent half the night staring at Jimmy. Even Lois had been charmed. "She was nice."

"She is. And our whole shared wall is a tank for her turtle. She wanted to make sure he had enough space. I'm obsessed with her, but do you think it would be creepy to ask her out? Since we're neighbors? Like, I don't want to be the guy who gives off a 'you can't reject me because we share a wall' creepy vibe, you know?"

There was a lot to absorb there. Clark took a very long sip of beer to give himself a second, but unfortunately all he could come up with was, "If she has a big turtle tank maybe that's protection?"

"Clark," Jimmy said, putting his head down on the table.

"Sorry, sorry. Honestly, she seemed like she really liked you at New Year's. And it was a nice party, but most people don't go to someone's party if they think they're going to be creepy like that. Especially not at New Year's."

Jimmy sighed. "I wanted to put the moves on her so bad."

It was Clark's turn to pat Jimmy's arm. "No time like the present, bud."

Obviously it was hard not to take his own advice, especially not when Jimmy was off grabbing another round of drinks or having an existential crisis in the bathroom. Clark kept -- slipping, tuning in to them even when he didn't mean to. Bruce had heated up some food and they were eating it together, not really talking much at all. Every so often Lois would read something from her socials or Bruce would mutter about what he'd just read and they'd discuss it for a few minutes.

It was incredibly, painfully domestic. Clark yanked himself away from the scene for the sixth time that night as he handed Jimmy off to his light rail stop.

And then, seconds later, he was home.

Bruce was still at the kitchen island, doing something on his laptop involving typing and glaring. Lois was on the couch, feet propped up, papers strewn all around her. Clark could feel his fondness in his toes. "Don't tell me you're both working late."

Lois tilted her head up for a kiss; after he obliged, she said, "Okay. I'm not working late."

"The Metropolis United For A Better Future financial statements are recreational reading, then."

"Absolutely," she said, and pulled Clark down for a longer, hotter kiss.

He broke away a few moments later to see Bruce staring at them, lips wet like he'd just licked them. Clark's stomach did a horrible, sick little swoop. This is what they were here for, he remembered: sexual compatibility, mutual interest. Bruce and Lois loved Clark, and they wanted to fuck each other. That was what this was.

And he still wanted it. "Hey, come over here."

Bruce swallowed, closed the lid of his laptop. Obeyed.

They fucked that night and the next, and then, only three nights since Clark had seen Lois and Bruce kiss for the first time, Lois took a call halfway through dinner.

Clark tried not to listen, he really did. But he heard a bit anyway: "...understood. All right. And you can't delay him? -- no, I get it. Okay. Thanks."

"Nothing good?" Bruce said in an undertone.

Clark shook his head.

"So I'm being set up," Lois said, returning to stab at her gnocchi.

"Pushing you off the fire escape didn't take, so they want to finish the job," Bruce said.

"Something like that. Or, well, they're trying to bury the story, anyway, I don't think they actually want to kill me. I just cleared it with Perry to take the bait."

Again, like wind dying before the storm: Bruce went still, blank, absent. "Where?"

"London."

"Oh," Clark managed to say. "Oh, wow. Be careful."

She gave him a tight smile. "You know me. I'll be as cautious as I can."

They got the conversation back on track after that, but the knowledge sat like a brick in the back of Clark's mind. He almost wasn't surprised when the argument exploded, only an hour before Lois was supposed to leave for the airport, with Clark holding up a failing dam halfway around the world.

"-- with Clark not even here, you're just going to abandon everything?"

"No, I'm going to go do my job, Bruce! It's not abandonment! Do you think Clark doesn't realize our work involves risk?"

"I think he hates it, and you know that, and you make him go along with it anyway."

"Oh, wow, thanks so much, what an expert analysis. You'd know, huh?"

"What exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"Fucking -- it means he worries about you too, just like he'd worry about anyone else he loves, me very much included -- but it's worse with you, because you're a self-destructive moron!"

"If you think making this about me will be an effective distraction, you're about to be sorely disappointed."

"Guys," Clark said out loud, then winced when the two engineers with him gave him inquiring looks. "Sorry, never mind. Um, just thinking out loud."

He had to tune out of the conversation then, but paying attention to his immediate surroundings was almost worse: he could hear the water seeping through the dam and the worried conversation happening a few hundred yards away.

Tuning it out also didn't work very well. He couldn't keep from hearing Lois make an infuriated noise. "Why are you even here? Clark might not be back for days."

Oh, come on, Lois. Clark wasn't -- well, maybe Clark was delusional. Bruce probably wasn't still there because he was head over heels for Lois, no matter how badly Clark wanted him to be. But he was there for Lois all the same.

"I was just wondering that, myself," Bruce said coolly. Oh boy.

"So go, then. Take the Batjet --"

"-- it's a Batplane, actually --"

"-- and just go."

Silence. Clark adjusted his shoulder against the dam's concrete.

When Bruce spoke again, his voice was soft, almost gentle. Conciliatory the way only Bruce could be: a non-apology that would honestly mostly just annoy you. "When do you need to leave?"

"I've got a taxi coming in fifteen."

"What's the nature of the trap you intend to spring?"

"That would take longer than fifteen minutes to explain. I'm chasing down more of the same campaign finance stuff, some people involved think I don't know this tip-off is also bait."

"...in London."

"Money goes far when it's all scrubbed clean."

That was one of Clark's favorite tones: wry, a little mean. She was probably smiling a bit, even if she was mad. God, Clark hoped Bruce also loved her like this. That was the problem with all this; Clark couldn't imagine the sex working if he didn't like this part of her at least a little.

"Perry's sending security with you?"

"Nah. Whoa, hey, calm down. The trap's not attempted murder again, we don't think. They just want to steal my data so they can figure out how much dirt I've got on them. I'm staying at a hotel, all my meetings are in the lobby. It'll be fine."

"You don't know that for sure."

"I've worked in much more dangerous situations. They will definitely try to rob me. We're ready for that, and we have contingency plans if it gets worse. Okay?"

More silence. Clark dug his fingertips into the concrete, just a little. Not even hard enough to dent.

"If things get bad, call me. Please. I don't care where you are, what time it is, anything. Call me. I know you'll call Clark." Rushed, like Lois had been about to interrupt. "But...tell me you'll call me too."

Clark felt like someone had crushed all the air out of his lungs. He couldn't imagine how Bruce felt, waiting, maybe looking at her, maybe closing his eyes. He didn't hear them kissing, didn't hear so much as Bruce shifting his weight. All the way around the world, in their stupidly large penthouse, they must have been frozen staring at each other.

"I'll call," Lois said. "I'll definitely call. Shit, but I have to go."

Silence, after that, like Bruce suspected even a sigh would catch in Clark's ears.

Sixteen hours later, Clark was back in Metropolis but Bruce was back in Gotham. Clark didn't wait for an invite: he showed up at the Manor with a bottle of red, which Alfred took before informing him he'd already set an extra place.

When Bruce returned from patrol, he didn't even bother with his boots, just pulled his cowl off and shoved Clark against the bedroom wall, kissing him desperately. He'd bought a second heavy wood wardrobe, Clark had seen. Now he realized the bed was wider, too.

"Oh, wow," he said as Bruce nipped at his thighs, pushed his legs apart.

Bruce stopped. "What?"

"You, the room." Clark waved at the extra wardrobe, the bed, hoping the point was obvious enough that he wouldn't have to say you want Lois to do some overnights with us.

"Ah," Bruce said. Pink dusted his cheeks. "Yes. It seemed prudent."

"I heard your, um, discussion with Lois. Earlier."

Bruce looked at Clark, then at Clark's dick in his hand, then back up at Clark.

A fair point, but Clark didn't feel like backing down. "Yeah. Sorry."

Bruce sighed, releasing Clark's dick and crawling up the bed to flop on his chest. It was kind of funny, seeing the Batman's cape pooled over Clark's pajama-clad legs. "Jimmy Olsen is not adequate security."

"Perry has a team for that stuff. Lois really is good at risk management, you know."

"She nearly died. She's not careful enough."

Clark didn't bother pointing out the obvious: that a shove had been the best they could do because Lois was careful, and that Bruce got lucky in a similar way every other week. He only petted Bruce's shoulder a little while his heartbeat slowed, then said, "It'll always be like this, you know."

Bruce made an inquiring noise.

"When she leaves. When you leave, too, actually. It's always like this."

"There's no possible way you could understand. You can go to her in minutes."

And oh, oh, oh, Clark hoped that meant what he thought it might. "We can go to her in minutes."

Bruce grabbed Clark's hand and squeezed so hard Clark worried about his joints. "Barbara thinks I'm an idiot."

"She thinks most people are idiots."

"In this case, I can't claim to think she's wrong."

"What, for caring?"

"For being entangled. For worrying. Do you just ignore how helpless you feel all the time?"

Clark hid his smile against Bruce's hair. Only Bruce would feel hopeful at the prospect, like maybe Clark had some great repression-related life hacks to share. "Not really. I just kind of breathe through it, like Ma and Pa taught me to."

"Country wisdom," Bruce muttered darkly.

And it was so like Lois, ridiculously so, that Clark couldn't help but laugh -- turn Bruce over -- press him into the mattress. Kiss him for all he was worth, then get to work on the rest of the stupidly complicated Batsuit, hope fluttering in his chest the whole time.

This was the first open-ended trip Lois had taken since the three of them had started all this. Last time, Clark had only been dating Lois, and Bruce had been...he actually couldn't remember. He hadn't seen Bruce, he remembered that part, but he thought maybe Bruce had been in deep cover or something. He hadn't been around, anyway. Clark distinctly remembered that part, because he had other friends and hobbies and his superhero work, and he still remembered feeling kind of lonely.

This time around, Bruce dedicated himself to lurking. They were splitting their time between Gotham and the penthouse, kind of like normal -- or like their new normal, at least, but thinking about it too hard made Clark feel self-conscious. Anyway, the point was, it had been five days, nothing was normal, and Bruce was lurking in the shadows, dressed like Matches Malone, while Clark attempted to have a semi-civil conversation with a LexCorp bot he'd caught injecting fish with a glowing yellow serum.

"I just think," Clark said, "that maybe instead of injecting fish for some kind of unauthorized experiment, you could not do that. And go home. I honestly don't even care why you were doing it, I just want you to stop."

"Error 403. Unknown unpermitted request. Error 403. Unknown unpermitted request."

Clark gritted his teeth. That was the same error as the last suggestion Clark had made, and the one before that, and the one before that. "Okay. Um, how about, leave right now or I'll smash you."

"Error 403. Unknown unpermitted --"

Clark hated doing it. Luthor's robots weren't sentient, or at least, the ones he sent to do this kind of work weren't. But they were expensive and intricate achievements of technology, and even if everything LexCorp touched was moderately to extremely evil, it still felt horribly wasteful to ruin them.

"For what it's worth, I don't think even the big ol' Gotham Bat coulda fixed dat one."

"Thanks," Clark said flatly.

"Eyy, what's wrong with me givin' my opinion? You got somethin' against Italians?"

"Pretty sure you're not Italian, Matches."

"Close enough." Bruce chewed on his toothpick. At least one of them was enjoying themselves; he looked pretty satisfied with himself, all things considered. "Boss wanted me to run an errand."

"Boss?"

"Sure, you know her, nice tall dame, real mean if you look at her funny?"

Why on Earth had Lois called Bruce? "Okay? What'd she say?"

"Says she's gonna be headin' down into da country today. Wants you to keep an ear out. Says maybe a little sumpin' might be in the stars for her."

Clark wondered if Bruce realized the accent slipped a little when he was stressed. Not much, probably not at all to an ordinary ear. It made sense why it would be happening now, though. At least this explained why Lois hadn't spoken to him directly; she wouldn't have wanted to distract him, and knowing she was taking a 6AM-London-time drive out into the country was indeed distracting. "Got it. Thanks for letting me know."

"You're gonna keep an ear out, right? In case a little birdie gets to sqwuakin'?"

For heaven's sake. "Yes, Br -- Matches, I'm keeping an ear out."

"Good deal," Bruce said, and finally melted back into the shadows.

In the end, nothing happened except for Perry yelling at Clark a little that morning; Clark didn't physiologically need to sleep, but his brain could get a little tired, and he never slept that well when Lois was gone. And he hadn't slept at all when he'd gotten back to his apartment (his apartment, not the penthouse; if Bruce wondered why, he didn't mention it), so it was a three-alarm Perry kind of day.

He called Lois around three, on his afternoon walk. She was already half-asleep, propped up against a pillow in her hotel room's tiny twin bed. "Smaller space, easier to sweep," she'd explained. Clark bit his tongue against offering to sweep it, like, six times.

"Bruce is kind of stalking me," he admitted when Lois danced around asking how they were doing.

"Stalking?"

"He lurks as Matches, then comes out to tell me stuff. That's how I found out you wanted me to keep an ear out."

"Thanks for that, by the way." She tilted her head, her bright eyes amused. "Did he use the voice?"

Clark couldn't quite hide his grimace. "Of course he did."

"I hate when he does that."

"Has he done it to you more than once?"

"Honestly, once was enough."

Clark told himself firmly not to hope. Matches being memorable meant nothing; he was supposed to be memorable, that was the point of him. Lois being distracted, captivated, disgusted by Matches Malone, none of that mattered; she liked Bruce enough to sleep with him, and that was really a huge stroke of luck all on its own. "Yeah. I get that."

"Do you? I kind of got the feeling you were head over heels for Bruce no matter how awful his clothes are."

"And his accent. Don't forget the accent."

"Don't dodge my question, Kent."

Clark squinted up at a bird perched on top of the covered bus stop on the corner. "Ohhhh, well. You know. Kind of?"

"Aww, cute."

"Can you blame me?"

"Can I blame you for falling in love? As your girlfriend, I'm gonna have to say no."

Talking to her about falling in love with Bruce, oh geez. "Tell me about London," Clark said, mostly in a desperate gambit to keep from talking about his feelings more; he'd been to London, with Lois even, and didn't really need a description of Big Ben. "Or the case. How are things?"

Most of the people Lois worked with probably didn't get to see much of this side of her: the mercy inherent in the way her expression softened and she immediately launched into telling Clark about her interviews with low-level bankers and relocated Sicilian mobsters, dropping her line of questioning entirely even though he was very obviously squirming. She'd spent a whole day with a British accountant and she had a lot of things to say about them versus their American counterparts, and then she had a whole story about tracing accounts all the way to Switzerland, All of Metropolis money mixed in with campaign contributions from other sources, along with money that seemed to come from nowhere at all, associated with LLCs that spanned the globe and were owned by dead people. It was Luthor, of course, at least partially; Lois thought he was conspiring with others, the moguls and rogues who'd benefit from his national candidacy. Clark had notes by the end of the call, stuff to chase down to earn his own byline. Nothing with Lois came easily, but it was always worth it.

"So, I'm guessing you haven't booked a flight home yet."

Lois snorted. "You guessed right. There's still a lot to get through. If only dirty money stayed state-side."

"Hey, if Luthor has his way..."

"Oh, God." But it made her laugh, like Clark had intended, her cheeks turning bright red and her nose scrunching up. God, he loved her, today and every day. "Okay, I have to go. I've got one last meeting at a pub before bed. But we'll talk tomorrow?"

"Of course. I love you."

For just one moment he tuned in to her across the ocean, too, so that he got to hear it in stereo: "I love you too, Clark."

"You're distracted," Bruce said that night.

Clark had been eating his burger and listening to Lois snore. "Oh. Um."

A tiny smile, almost a smirk. "What's she doing?"

"Snoring."

"Good. She doesn't sleep enough."

Clark looked at the ceiling of Dino's, then at Bruce, then at the ceiling again. He reviewed Ma's prayer for patience ('oh, Lord, grant me patience right now please, I can't be patient about that part').

"Point taken," Bruce said, kicking Clark's shin a little. Clark let himself relax into it, hooking his own foot across Bruce's calf.

Bruce chewed on one of his potato wedges. He took a really long time, but the wait was worth it, because then he slurped his Coke and sort of mumbled, "I didn't know she snored."

Clark bit back his smile. Well, he tried to. He didn't think it worked very well. "Mostly when she's alone. She piles up pillows and jams her face in them."

"Cute."

Clark told himself it was only a little delusional to think Bruce sounded wistful. But Bruce let Clark fly him back to the penthouse for once, and after they drank tea together, Bruce making grumpy noises about how the cold definitely hadn't bothered him, it was Bruce who cornered Clark against the master bedroom's dresser and kissed him, long and deep and longing, like they hadn't done this in months instead of barely twenty-four hours.

"Is she still snoring?" Bruce murmured against his lips.

"Ummm," Clark said.

"Not as a kink." Bruce nipped at Clark's chin. "I just..." A sigh, hidden in the curve of Clark's neck, breath brushing against his collarbone. "I like to know."

Clark tried to answer. The words wouldn't come.

"Because I miss her," Bruce said, the words breathed out against Clark's ear, a confession and a defense all at once.

Clark wanted to say I know. He wanted to say she misses you too. But they hadn't had enough time before she'd left, not enough time and not enough space, almost too much talking even as it definitely hadn't been enough at all. Lois and Bruce had almost slept together when Clark was off-world, Clark knew that. But knowing hadn't clarified much of anything so far.

He let impulse carry him. "Tell me why you miss her."

Bruce paused, really noticeably: hands frozen around Clark's collar, breath still. Even his eyelashes no longer brushed against Clark's skin. Clark was pretty sure most people needed to blink, but Bruce held out for several long moments before relaxing again, kissing Clark's neck and saying, "You're happier when she's here."

Oh. "Oh."

Bruce groaned against Clark's neck. "Smallville," he said, and something -- it felt --

It wasn't like how Lois said it, but it felt like how she said it, and Clark's knees were buckling before the rest of him really had any time to provide input. He lay down and Bruce covered him, kissed him, said, "It's better when she's here with us. I feel less like I'm going to -- do something stupid, say something stupid, push you away. Clark, I thought you'd marry her and break it off with me," and before Clark had a chance to protest that of course he would never do that, Bruce added, "And now I know you wouldn't, so I miss her. I want her here, making rude insinuations and pushing me more than I ever thought I'd allow. She's wormed her way into everything -- Barbara likes her more than she likes me at this point, I'm pretty sure."

Which, okay, Barbara had a few reasons to be mad at Bruce in semi-perpetuity. But Clark still felt like he was melting. "Kiss me."

Bruce did. Over and over, and when Clark whispered, "Oh, her alarm's going off," Bruce groaned and bent him over and fucked him all the way to incoherence, exactly how he wanted.

It kept him awake afterwards, though. Because he'd tried to let Bruce down easy; he'd thought it was necessary. Remembering Lois's fond looks, he thought it still might be. Lois had a huge heart, bigger by half than she let most people realize, but she'd been so mad at Bruce. She always pushed him and pushed back against him. Missing him a little when they were on different continents might not mean much.

But Bruce...there couldn't be any faking there. Maybe he didn't realize how deep his feelings went, and maybe Clark would never be able to see him realize it, but he was now completely sure the feelings were there. Bruce wanted Lois, he liked Lois: at some point, if you cared about someone and admired them and missed them and wanted to fuck them and be around them all the time, that was love, right? It was love. Clark was ninety percent sure that was what was going on there.

And he definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent could not call Lois and say, 'hey, how's the super complicated moderately dangerous case going, by the way do you love Bruce, because he's head over heels for you and you did say you were a little into Matches Malone'. So he just kind of sat with it. And sat, and sat, and did his best not to hope the whole time.