It just didn't make any sense.

Granted, he had better things to worry about at the moment... Crashing plane and all he was guiding down to a safe landing just after extinguishing a potentially devastating forest fire. No doubt if he chose to focus now there would be the sounds of people screaming all over the globe waiting for him to help. It was a never-ending battle. One that used to have him running ragged. How could even Superman be everywhere at once saving everybody who cried out? The guilt had reduced him to lonely tears once upon a time. When he was young, and all his powers were still raw and new to him. When he didn't have the maturity to grasp that even Superman had to sleep. Had to eat. Had to bathe. Had to work. Even if people were dying while he did these things. The point was, there were plenty of things to occupy him. He didn't need to be so wholly consumed by the puzzle that was Gotham's Batman.

It just didn't make any sense, though!

Month's ago The Watchtower had shut down while the League was all present. Stranded until the problem was fixed the Justice League had had, of all things, a movie night. Strange use of time for people who rarely had time to spare, but the experience of sharing meals and company together had cast away many of the unspoken rifts between them. Smiles came easily in each other's company and disagreements rarely turned into arguments. As a whole, they were more effective. Clark regarded them all as friends now, and was not the only one to think so.

Perhaps the most intriguing part of the night, for Clark, had been the opportunity to study Bruce without vapid Brucie or stone-wall Batman masks to hide behind. It had been an awkward process. Bruce had taken a long time to relax, and had said next to nothing, but by the end of the night ha had smiled, laughed, made light conversation... and tolerated Clark placing an affectionate hand on his shoulder. Reciprocated. Bruce had called him by his real name and wished him a good night. Come the morning however...

Sure, breakfast was good, his friends were welcomed faces, and the Watchtower was back online, but the Batman was long gone. Whatever tests had been needed had been done, a full report had been posted, the main console had been put back together, and Batman's private ship was gone. His communicator was either off or he was ignoring it. Clark had called his private penthouse line, you know, considering that he had worked with Bruce on and off before the Justice League and he considered the man a good friend, only to have his good friend curtly remind him in the gruff growl of the Bat that he was 'part-time' and promptly hang up. The Batcave was also a 'business line' and not to be called unless the world was ending. After that, nothing. No communication in or out from Gotham.

A brief light of humanity had managed to shine through the murk of Batman's shroud for a handful of hours months ago at the cost of a blackout that was still in effect. And it didn't make any sense to Clark. Bruce had seemed almost scandalized at his show of concern, which strangely had hurt him more then he would have thought.

In a manner quite unusual for Metropolis' Superman, Clark set the smoking air-liner down and took off without so much as a Superman Pose, or even a smile for the camera. He needed to fly. It was the one gift the yellow sun of earth had bestowed upon him that he never took for granted. In his Man of Steel uniform his feet near forgot the feel of the earth. Hovering was something he had to focus on not doing as Clark Kent. It was like a drug. The feel of wind, the freedom... Soothing. He circled the globe aimlessly in random patterns by chance slowing to a halt over, believe it or not, Gotham City. Clark held his place in the polluted haze that was Gotham's airspace and trained his eye down on a source of much hubris. A benefit banquet of some sort.

"Wayne's benefit banquet." He mentally slapped himself. Jimmy had grabbed a plane over to Gotham to take some photos of the event. The proceeds were being donated to one of Bruce Wayne's children's aid charities. Mr. Wayne had become well known for following his father's philanthropist example.

Clark looped lazily towards the outdoor event searching out the faces of hundreds of dark-haired men before he found the one he was looking for. Of course Bruce would have been easier to find if he had just looked to the largest gathering of women. Gotham's Prince was always surrounded by models, actresses, and reporters. All in the tall, slender and beautiful variety. Gushing women hung on to every word out of his mouth, and his physical being if they were close enough to get a hand on him. Clark descended slowly, noticing how the corners of Bruce's lips and eyes twitched with the strain of holding his well-meaning but empty-headed Brucie persona.

"Look! Up in the sky!" A voice cried out. Something Clark had long gotten use to hearing. "It's Superman!"

All eyes turned upwards instantly, including Bruce's. There was a flash of something dark and ominous in those dark blue eyes before the phony Brucie grin fell into place. Clark waved to the crowd and hovered a foot off the ground before Bruce Wayne. Women squealed around them, two tall, handsome, well built men within a foot of each other, each wearing million dollar smiles. He felt hands ghosting over his fluttering cape, the girls almost afraid to touch him, but it was the only other man in this particular cluster that he was smiling for.

"Well this is a surprise." Brucie admonished. Below the mask, Batman was seething and was aware Clark knew that. "I don't remember any men of steel being on the guest list, but then again I can keep track of anything until I replace my PDA."

"I'm afraid I've just crashed your party, Mr. Wayne." Superman posed with hands on his hips, chest inflated. His copyright stance.

"I can see that."

At that moment Clark realized that he didn't know where he was going from this point by being here. It's not like Superman could just claim he had stopped by to see Bruce Wayne, his friend. Public knowledge was that these two men had never met before this day, after all. None of his sudden panic showed on his face thankfully, but he knew he was neck-deep in Kryptonite if he didn't come up with some excuse to be hovering here. There were camera flashes and video cameras capturing every second that passed between them now.

"Actually Mr. Wayne," He began, setting down just before Bruce and offering a hand up the billionaire had no choice but to shake in this public display. "I've heard so many great tales of your ceaseless generosity, it touches my heart. I wanted the opportunity to tell you how much I admire your selflessness in your many causes."

"That's an honor to hear from a heroic man like you. I'm not saving lives like you, but my organizations can minimize the suffering of many people. I take the compliment on behalf of all the aid organizations under the Wayne Enterprise umbrella."

"You don't just pull a man from a fire and be done with it, Mr. Wayne. You have to treat his burns and nurse him back into health. There's more then one way to save a life." All things that Bruce knew inherently. Batman pulled people from the fires, but Bruce Wayne was the one who paid for many treatments and rehabilitations, hired men who would otherwise be goons, and offered homes to thousands who didn't have one.

Brucie made an enlightened noise. "I never thought of that." He tittered. "My guests are paying to rub elbows with Gotham's finest." He explained. "If I so chose to match the amount donated tonight from my own personal account, could I perhaps persuade you to stay for a bit, Superman? I'm sure there are many people who would pay for a chance to see Superman in the flesh. Help out a good cause?"

And how was Superman suppose to say no in front of all the media? Clark agreed readily, but his insides were doing back flips. Batman was still livid beneath his faux persona, but there seemed to be a hint of satisfaction and relief surfacing. He wasn't sure if he should be uneasy or simply downright afraid. So that was how he found himself posing for pictures and letting strange women kiss him on cheek though most snuck down to the corner of his lips. Just enough to claim they had kissed Superman for real. He shook hands, swept the handi-capped Police Commissioners daughter up for a gentle flight over the party after she had voiced her secret desire as a child was to be able to fly, and played extra nice. There wasn't a moment that passed that people weren't focused on the Man of Steel. So focused, that nobody seemed to notice when their Host vanished from his own banquet. Bruce had disappeared, and there was no way for Superman to simply disengage himself from the party. Not that people were now donating large sums to a needy cause just for their own chance to shake his hand.

He had come to Gotham by a force beyond his control. A subconscious need to understand why after showing Clark that there was a shy, sweet person lost so far down inside the Batman, Bruce had become more then stone-walled. He was downright hostile. Snappish, curt, and giving the League the cold shoulder. Giving Clark more then a cold shoulder. It didn't make any sense, and it had been eating away at him months. So strong was his need for an answer that he could have endangered Batman's secret by showing up here. Bruce had a right to be pissed and he was. Batman had used him as a diversion and escaped his own party, leaving Clark alone with his questions. Wherever Bruce had gone, Clark had no immediate way to reach him and get the answers out of him by force if that's what it would take. Instead, Clark had to steel his vast patience from the withering effect of the crowd of sycophants and tolerate inane attempts to get him into bed by a fair amount of people from both sides of the coin.

Alcohol was freely flowing come midnight and the media was politely directed out so as not to compromise the reputations of all parties still involved in the party/orgy by the look of things. two minutes passed twelve and already a slender hand slapped his bottom, a voice purring about steel. He found himself sticking close by the table Barbara Gordon and her two-young gentlemen friends had occupied all night as more and more people decided debauchery was the only natural follow up to being generous. Not that he was a saint in any way ,shape, or form... He did have an active fantasy life and a good left-hand grip since real life hadn't presented him with someone to curl into at the end of a day. It was just... He was a country soul. And SmallVille's folk just didn't get molested by strangers. One more hand creeping south of his yellow belt later he had pulled up the last free chair at the safe table.

"Sorry, you don't mind if I hide out here for a bit, do you?" He didn't think he was pleading, but desperation changed a lot of things.

"Not at all, Superman." Barbara said soothingly. "Too many invasions of your personal space, I assume?"

"I don't know why people can't take me at my word when I tell them I'm not actually made out of steel... Human curiosity at it's best, I suppose." He frowned still feeling hands on him even though he was safely tucked in away from the crowd.

"We're all detectives in this city." The red-head said wistfully, which earned her a sudden intense look from her two escorts.

Clark raised a brow and studied the young men. They were physically similar. They could have been brothers, but he didn't think they were. Good looking kids. Seemed like good people just from the vibe he got off of them. He extended a hand over the table to the elder of the two. "I don't think I got your name earlier, son."

"Richard Grayson." The young man dipped a head as he spoke.

Richard Grayson... Dick Grayson? "Bruce Wayne's son, Richard Grayson?" He wanted to be sure.

Barbara giggled. Dick sighed. "Yeah, I guess I am his son. He did raise me for a solid decade." For whatever reason, the concept of Bruce being a father was very amusing for the trio before him. Clark could understand if the children knew Bruce was Batman, but if they did know, they gave nothing away. "I owe him a lot. Great guy. Good mentor."

"Have you ever told him that?" He asked impulsively. His question was met with an eruption of laughter.

"He'd kill me!" Dick threw up his hands.

"It's Wayne Manor's golden rule." The younger boy spoke up. He had an air of confidence quite rare to see in a kid his age. "You never make Bruce feel old. It doesn't end well."

"I'll keep that in mind." He mused over his new arsenal for only a moment before he glanced at Barbara's watch. "Shouldn't you be in bed or something? You're sort of young to be in..." He motioned to the heavy partiers at a loss for words.

"It's a Saturday?" The boy offered up.

"Actually, Tim, our new friend is right. It's way past time Babs and I took you home."

"Seriously?" Tim exclaimed. Dick and Barbara nodded collectively. "Man... I can't believe I was sent to bed by Superman."

He laughed and apologized, standing to retrieve Barbara's coat. He helped her into it as any gentleman would and shook hands with the boys one last time. "You're good kids. Take care of each other, all right?"

"I'm pleased to say you're exactly as sweet as the Daily Planet says you are. I know you're only here to help charity, but I'm glad I was given this once in a lifetime opportunity to meet you. Can't say we ever see you here in Gotham." Barbara said honestly.

He caught himself before he could say 'aww shucks' like any hayseed being complimented by a pretty girl would. "I don't know about that, Miss Gordon. I have a pretty good friend who lives around here." He said instead, lifted a hand in parting, and drifted gracefully up into the sky.

He hovered, purposely drowning out the sounds of everything but the rush of wind. A light rain had just decided to fall but it held the promise of growing into a torrent soon. It felt good soaking through his suit. He was fond of the crisp feeling that came with cold weather. Lulled by the falling droplets he coasted on the wind, eyes closed. Bruce had wriggled away... Still unwilling to explain his sudden attitude. Why?

Gunshots. Multiple. He reacted so quickly by the time he opened his eyes he was standing in a bank before a man with a semi-automatic still smoking from one end, people crying behind him. In a blink he had crushed the gun and secured the man with the help of a nearby traffic sign. Tying men up with the pole of a stop sign never seemed to get old for some reason. He noticed there was a collection of masked men already cuffed, guns broken apart. He noticed a lot of blood. He noticed a rambling woman in a suit, Bank Manager, according to her name badge. He noticed a grimacing Dark Knight with a staggering hold on a desk. He didn't need to x-ray Bruce to know he had been shot. Multiple times. Not everybody could bounce bullets of their chest...

"Are the police on their way?" He asked the manager. Her wild eyes snapped into focus and she nodded. "That's good. Stay here."

He went to Bruce's side and helped support the injured man. He felt sick just looking at all the blood. All that time he had been trapped at Bruce Wayne's benefit, Batman had been out risking his life for his city. "You're going to protest this so I'm letting you know before hand that I'm not putting up with a temper tantrum." He intoned.

"You're not going to--"

"Zip it." Superman told Batman, carefully gathering him into his arms. The Knight must have been weaker then he looked for he didn't even make an aggravated noise as Clark cradled him on the trip back to the Cave. Bruce pursed his lips and debatably turned his head a fraction into Clark's collarbone. Almost seemed regretful when Clark set him down on the metal operating table and left to fetch Alfred.

But he sure did glare daggers when Clark returned with Alfred in tow.

"What were you doing here tonight, anyway?" Bruce demanded venomously.

"Perhaps interrogations can wait until after I'm finished, Master Bruce?"

"If I'm going to be lying here while you dig bullets out of me I might as well be doing something useful at the same time." Batman tore his cowl off and whipped it into the dark of the Cave. "Talk." He hissed at Clark. "And no anaesthetic, Alfred." He quipped at the unfazable older man, pulling away from the syringe. "You know I hate anaesthetics." He glared at Clark again. "Talk, already!"

Clark's head was swimming from all the mixed messages he was receiving from the man. Bruce seemed caught in the pull of two extreme ends. Clark couldn't pin down exactly what to two extremes were quite yet, but he recognized that Bruce was trying to make him angry, make him pull away and leave the Dark Knight alone at the same time as these tiny hairline cracks in Batman's mask were telling him another story all together. Bruce had been relieved to see him when he arrived at the robbery scene. His recall was as infallible of Alfred. Bruce had liked being held and carried by him for the first time. And while his tone was vicious now, his eyes were gentle and searching.

"Are you bi-polar or something?" He sighed, exasperated.

Bruce sat up straight, his anger melting away into confusion. "Am I..? Why would you--Hey!" He jumped as Alfred pulled out the syringe. "Alfred, I said..."

Alfred continued about his business as if he hadn't done a thing wrong. "That was a tranquilizer, Master Bruce. You're quite uppity for a man in your condition, I thought it best to sedate you so that I may work. You've lost a lot of blood we'll have to replace as well."

Clark could see the drug working through the man on a molecular level. Bruce faught to stay upright stubbornly, so out of his respect and general fondness for Alfred Pennysworth, Clark stepped forward and eased the Dark Knight down into a laying position. "Don't give Alfred a hard time, Bruce. I had to wake him up just to fix you up." He found he could still speak affectionately towards the man despite the earlier vitriol. Deft fingers worked the hard to see latches of the Kevlar body armor, freeing the Knight of them. He set the armor aside with the cape and gave Bruce's temple a caress with his knuckles, followed by his fingers combing the short black hair soothingly as Alfred cut away the murky and blood soaked undershirt. Bruce's expression was unreadable but his drowsy eyes were trained on Clark. "It's okay..." Clark whispered. "Whatever it is... I forgive you, all right."

"Clark..."

"Shh... I'll be here when you wake up. Go to sleep, Bruce."

"Mmm, Clark... I'm..." Bruce blinked slowly once more before his eyes fell shut and his breathing evened out.

"I know you're sorry." He told the sleeping man.

Alfred was a classic example of a man who's words were measured in quality over quantity, so when the butler spoke after administering the anaesthetic to the uncooperative patient, Clark took his words to heart.

"However unruly Master Bruce has been, Mr. Kent, I hope that you can look between the harsh words and see what they truly stem from?"

"He doesn't make it easy."

"Master Bruce speaks... fondly of you and only of you, Mr. Kent."

"Aww, shucks, Mr. Pennysworth." He sighed. "I'm fond of him too. That's why I'm here."