DCU: Untitled Identity Porn
5. The Break
He had been lurking around in Luthor’s office nearly two hours before the alien bothered to show up and he’d had to bite back a scornful snort at the tardiness. So much for super-hearing and x-ray vision.
“A bit far from home, aren’t we?”
He uncurled himself from his crouch at the voice, trying not to belie just how long he’d been waiting there, pretending to look busy. Instead he said, in Batman’s raspy growl, “Breaking and entering doesn’t seem your style.”
A smug grin. “The window was open. Technically, it’s only entering.”
And it was funny, Bruce thought, because he still couldn’t put Superman’s face on top of Kent’s. Funny… and infuriating, and for a moment he entertained the notion that he might very well have been wrong about the whole thing; what if the alien and Kent weren’t the same person?
Well, that’s what he was trying to find out.
He went back to carefully cracking the electric locks on Luthor’s safe. They were good, but he was fairly certain he was better. Besides, they were WE made, and Bruce took a sly sort of pride in knowing that his company had never created a lock he couldn’t pick. Of course, neither had anyone else’s company, but that was somewhat moot.
Brilliant cerulean eyes watched him carefully for a few moments; Superman still hadn’t touched down on the floor, Bruce realised, and he filed that information away for later musing. Eventually, that clarion voice said, “You know, I’m not sure whether I should be trying to stop you or not.” It sounded… amused, and not just a little self-depreciating.
Bruce gave a snort of half-laughter. “This is Lex Luthor’s safe. I’m sure you’re just as curious to see what’s inside.”
“The thought had crossed my mind. I think the man is the single biggest buyer for lead sheeting.” Bruce felt warmth and presence across his back as the other man floated a little closer. “So are you looking for something in particular, or is it just time for some random vandalism?”
“Luthor’s got the backing of Wayne Enterprises to start an international operation looking to unearth ‘alien artefacts’.”
“I had heard.” There was a very definite heaviness to the comment, and though Bruce didn’t turn around he could all but feel the scowl against his back.
A click and the safe door swung open on smooth hinges; Bruce reached inside and pulled out a stack of well-thumbed maps and schematics, turning slightly and spreading them out across the carpet underneath Superman’s feet. A slight shift in the air and the alien was parallel to the floor, eyes racing across the paper almost too fast to follow as a frown etched deeply across the otherwise perfect face.
Batman read more slowly, pulling out a small camera as he did so to take photos. He already had a copy of everything, of course — had collected one weeks ago — but Superman didn’t know that.
Luthor’s excavation sites were seemingly quite random, spanning almost every continent. The coast off Metropolis, Australia, central Africa, the southern tip of South America, Antarctica, far north Greenland… Bruce hadn’t been able to ascertain exactly why Luthor had chosen the locations he had; he’d asked, of course, but he’d been palmed off with the kind of casual glibness that was supposed to pacify Brucie and of course drove Bruce absolutely berserk.
“These sites span a far bit of land.”
Bruce bit back a taunt and instead tried, “I don’t suppose you’d care to explain why?”
Brilliant crystalline eyes blazed at him briefly from under arched brows. “What makes you think I know any more about it than you do?”
The cape made his shrug look ridiculously over-dramatic. “Luthor is looking for a way to kill you. I suspect you know what it is.” It was a guess, but an educated one. Luthor had certainly dropped enough hints about it and, more than that, Bruce had seen footage from the incident with the crystal continent; had studied it with a ferocious intensity and the sneaking suspicion that Superman hadn’t simply been struggling to lift an extraordinarily heavy weight. He’d been injured.
“And here you are interested in it as well, it seems.” The air swirled and Superman was upright again, arms crossed and scowling and Bruce didn’t need to look up to know just how little there was in that pose that was human. He looked up anyway.
“I’m interested in Luthor not having it,” he said finally, because it was true enough.
“Why?” The question was fair enough, Bruce supposed; he’d made it perfectly clear the first time they’d met he didn’t trust the alien as far as he could throw him which, he suspected, wouldn’t be very far at all.
“Maniacs with super-weapons make me nervous,” he said smoothly and — ultimately — unhelpfully, returning to his photography. Some of the details had changed; an excavation site he remembered having been in Niger had been moved across the border into Chad, the designs for some of the excavation equipment had been tweaked. Small things, meaningless without the knowledge of what Luthor was looking for, exactly.
Superman’s voice broke him out of his frustration, “You… don’t like me much.” It wasn’t a question but it wasn’t exactly a statement of fact, either.
Batman didn’t look up. “I wasn’t aware I had to.”
An odd shifting sound and out of the top of his eyes Bruce could see what very much looked like red-slippered feet shuffling awkwardly. They still weren’t touching the ground. Carefully, he put the small camera away and began re-stacking the documents. The paper was thin and hard to handle through the thick gauntlets, so he moved slowly, careful not to leave any creases or marks. He knew Luthor enough to know the man would notice if they were out of order.
“Other way around.”
He looked up, and for a second he saw—
But Superman’s voice was conversational, his expression schooled back into disinterested neutrality. “It goes Greenland, Niger, Chad. You’ve got it stacked Greenland, Chad, Niger; Luthor will notice.”
For a moment, he said nothing, simply stared; daring the alien to do it again, trying to convince himself it hadn’t simply been a trick of too much thinking and too little sleeping. Eventually, a small crease appeared between sharp eyebrows and he realised he was expected to reply. So he said, “Yes. Thank you.” And reshuffled the papers while the alien looked at him with something that seemed to be half shock and half happiness. He didn’t think about it, instead simply slipped the documents back into the safe and re-sealed the whole thing. He stood and turned, only to find himself face-to-chest with Superman; the alien seemed to be… waiting for something, and oddly human look of apprehension crossing his smooth, too-perfect features.
“What will you do now?” It was supposed to be demanding and imperious, Bruce thought, but something in the voice didn’t quite make it.
“Wait,” he replied, getting a rolled-eyed look of frustration for his trouble. But the conversation was over, and he strode out onto Luthor’s wide balcony. When he looked back, Superman was still hovering inside, head cocked slightly and expression inscrutably inhuman once again. “Out,” Bruce heard himself snap.
Superman blinked, once, seemed to rouse himself as if from some kind of trance and grinned lop-sidedly before gliding smoothly out of the office. Bruce closed the ostentatious, art deco French doors after him and carefully re-set the locks, all the while conscious of the burning blue gaze fixed on his every move. He checked and re-checked everything for a good five minutes before he was satisfied. Truthfully, it was probably not strictly necessary but Superman was still watching him and the whole thing was getting on his nerves a bit. The other man didn’t say anything until Bruce was standing on the balcony ledge, ready to fall, and even the it was only, “Good bye, then.”
Bruce flicked his eyes up for a moment but if he was looking for something in that crystal gaze he didn’t find it. So instead he simply grunted, and fell.
He kept moving for a long time before the feeling of being watched lifted.