Chapter 2
The ringing in his ears was the only damage the explosion had caused. He’d been shielded from most of the blast by Clark, who’d swooped in and flown them both out at the last minute.
Bruce cursed silently. This was why he never liked missions with Kent. He always felt his rationality slipping in favour of trusting Kent’s invincibility. If he had been alone, he would have spent more time surveilling the building and sniffing out potential traps.
With Kent, however, he had the propensity to dive in headfirst and worry about the consequences later.
After Clark had handed the driver over to the Metropolis police officers who, alongside firefighters, swiftly descended on the blazing fire, he returned to Bruce and offered to fly him to where he’d parked the Batmobile.
“Where’s your… no worries, found it.” Gently, Clark set them both down on a patch of disused road miles outside Metropolis. There, the Batmobile gleamed, its glossy black surface reflecting the silver moonlight.
“Can you pilot?” Clark asked, affixing Bruce with a worried stare as Bruce brushed off the last of the blast detritus on his suit.
Bruce fought the urge to roll his eyes. Ringing ears was negligible damage in his line of work. He had been stabbed, poisoned, shot, and hypnotised on several occasions and still found a way to pilot the Batmobile. No need to tell Clark that, though.
“Autopilot,” he replied, unlocking the vehicle with a flick of his wrist. “Back to the Fortress?”
Clark nodded and then smiled. “Race you there.”
This time, Bruce did roll his eyes, shaking his head as Clark disappeared, shooting off with a thunderous clap. As the red-and-blue suit disappeared into the night sky, Bruce allowed himself a small smile. They worked well together; they always had.
Not recently, of course. In fact, it had been two years since the duo last went on a mission. And that was squarely his fault, he knew.
The thought of their crumbling bond elicited an uncomfortable twinge in his chest, and a better man would have paused, examined the feeling thoroughly and tried to determine the cause. But not Bruce.
He did not—could not—dwell on his emotions; that deep, inky well chock full of monsters he dared not gaze into. Monsters that lurked at the edge of his consciousness, waiting with baited breath and bared fangs to rip his sanity into shreds.
With another look over his shoulder at the now-dwindling column of smoke in the distance, he stepped into the Batmobile, powered the vehicle up, feeling the vibration of the engine deep within his bones, and started the journey southward.
The Fortress of Solitude was hidden in one of the mountains bordering Metropolis to the south. The vast multi-chambered sanctuary was carved directly into the mountaintop and served as Kent’s base of operations.
The entrance of the Fortress was so well-hidden that other members of the League often struggled to find their way in. To Bruce, however, the Fortress was like a second home, another Batcave (though not as well-equipped) where he could rest, recover and restrategise.
Although he’d not been here for the past two years, it was with a familiar deftness that he steered the Batmobile, now in flight mode, between two jagged peaks and dipped to land in front of the entrance.
He stepped out of the Batmobile, wincing a little at the strength of the wind, and walked up to a portion of the striated blue-grey and dark brown rock face. He placed a hand on the cool mountain rock, waiting as his biometrics were scanned. A second later, the ground vibrated, and with a grinding sound, a fissure in the rock face appeared, and he slid into the space.
The Fortress was as he remembered; the dark-blue crystals lining the walls and the floors, impossibly high ceilings with glittering ice chandeliers dripping from them, a statue of Kar-El and another of Lara, and a faint incandescence that seemed to radiate from all corners of the base.
Bruce walked through the vestibule, under the linked hands of Clark’s parents and made his way into the main hall. Numerous hallways and doors branched off the hall, leading to different chambers in the base, and he took the hallway directly opposite the entrance. As he ambled to the Crime Lab, he scanned the Fortress, taking note of how things had changed in his absence.
He walked past a slightly ajar door to a room he knew once belonged to Lois Lane.
A glance through the cracked door told him that it hadn’t been used in a while. The shelves, typically full of Lois’ books and other trifles, were empty. The large bed that took up most of the space was gone; the table, chair and desk lamp were all hidden under a large dust cover.
Bruce knew that Clark and Lois had broken up even before the Justice League was established, but he also knew that post-breakup, their relationship remained…complicated.
Bruce recalled one evening after they’d finished a tour of the upper levels of the newly constructed Hall of Justice. He’d been impressed with the detailing work, but had wanted to hear Superman’s opinion on the design of the meeting room. He’d turned a corner, searching for the other man, when he’d seen Clark standing in the shadow of a tall column with his head bowed and his face scrunched.
“I know, Lois,” Clark had said in a very tender voice into a phone, his eyebrows pinched with an emotion akin to remorse. “I’ll be there to see you.”
That was not how people spoke to their exes.
But now, looking at the barren room that used to be full of life, it seems like they have finally cut their ties and moved on. He was only speculating, but he could ask. Clark could use the comfort.
A better man would have asked, given his friend the opportunity to speak about a failed—and most likely, painful— relationship. But not Bruce. He did not dare glance into that ugly pit.
“That was quite eventful,” Clark said, as Bruce stepped through the doors of the Crime Lab. “Thank you for the interesting evening, Bats.”
Clark turned to look at Bruce with a smile on his face. The Kryptonian had shed the top half of his suit, the material pooling around his waist, to reveal a sculpted torso and a smattering of hair across his chest.
Bruce allowed his eyes to wander briefly, taking in the broadness of Clark’s shoulders and the
Ignoring the tendrils of lust slowly unfurling deep in his stomach and lower, he joined Clark at the display table. The Crime Lab was the third most advanced technology and science lab in the world (behind the Batcave and the Watchtower). The large space was divided into four sections. On the left, there was a laboratory dedicated to chemical and spectrographic analysis, complete with test tubes, balances and spectrometers—all automated. The two sections on the right were the biological and physical analysis labs.
In the centre of the room were the computers, capable of processing mountains of data within nanoseconds.
The manifest they’d taken from the driver lay on the tabletop, and Bruce placed the driver’s phone next to it. Clark had already pulled the preliminary report on the explosion and was displaying it in holograph at the centre of the console.
“If you like close calls with explosions, then I’ll be more than happy to indulge you, Kent,” Bruce replied, scanning through the police report. The cops had found nothing of interest for now.
Clark shrugged. “We were aware that it might have been a trap. Even if they knew you were investigating them, encasing the bomb in lead is proof that at least they expected me.”
Bruce paused, hands inches away from the manifest lying on the table. Shock rippled through his body, and he whipped his head to stare at Clark. “How?”
The Man of Steel was formidable, and one of his most important superpowers was his ability to see through solid objects. Clark could see through metal, concrete, wood, crystals, ice…He could see through all solid objects, all except lead. This was not a well-known fact. Outside the members of the League, he doubted that there were up to five people aware of this caveat.
“Even if they were expecting you, how did they know to encase the bomb in lead. Are there many people who know that you can’t see through lead?” Bruce demanded.
Even if the bomb had been triggered to only activate once the doors to the container had been opened, how would they have known that Clark wouldn’t be able to see through the lead casing?
A thoughtful look descended on Clark’s face, and he pinched his chin as he considered. “I haven’t told many people.”
“Luthor?”
Clark shook his head. “I’m not sure he is aware. My life would have been a little more difficult if he knew.”
“Anybody in your private life?”
Clark tilted his head, blue eyes flashing as he said, “Lois knows.”
Bruce paused. There it was, another opportunity to ask, but he mentally sidestepped the emotional landmine and said, “I’m certain she is not telling the world your weaknesses, so we can remove her from the list of potential leaks. You think someone in the League was a little bit too loose with that fact?”
“I doubt it. Besides, I don’t want to doubt any member of the League, Batman,” Clark replied, shooting Bruce a dangerous look, his voice heavy with accusation.
Ah.
In a second, the atmosphere in the room transformed, and the hairs on Bruce’s skin stood on end, as if he were standing next to a power generator. The danger in Clark’s eyes was a sharp reminder that Bruce was inches away from the most powerful person on earth, a superhuman who could literally kill him with a glare.
An image floated into his mind. The tiny Kryptonite crystal enclosed in a borosilicate glass tube, concealed deep in the Batcave. The tiny piece of Kryptonite that Luthor used to weaken and immobilise Clark. That insignificant piece that was somehow never found, even after Luthor’s plot was foiled.
Bruce was certain Clark was listening to his heartbeat, counting his breaths, watching his face. Clark suspected Bruce was with that missing piece of Kryptonite. He had no proof, but he’d always suspected.
Batman smirked. “I don’t want to suspect any member of the League, too, Superman. But it remains a possibility.” As a jab, he added, “Alongside Lois Lane, of course.”
There was nothing to be gained from goading the most powerful man on earth. Absolutely nothing, but Bruce found that he could not resist. Especially now that their relationship was this dark, murky swamp of anger, attraction and suspicion.
Still, the pleasure he got from seeing Clark’s jaw grind was priceless.
Clark shot him another warning look. “We are getting off track. The lead casing is secondary. Let’s focus on Luck & Co.”
Bruce gave a small nod of acquiescence. He commandeered the console and pulled up the report he’d been drafting about the elusive company. “Here’s what I’ve gleaned about them.”
Luck & Co. was a manufacturing company specialising in the production of military-grade communications equipment. The company was founded three years ago, and according to publicly available financial records, it had done enough to keep itself going.
Six months ago, the company hit a big milestone. They applied for a defence contract and won the bid. The government had given their go-ahead, and Luck & Co. began importing materials to ramp up production for the military.
None of the items they imported, however, were necessary for the production of communications equipment. Add that to the revelation that the manifests never completely matched the actual content of the shipments, and there was a solid basis for suspicion.
Even more telling was the fact that there was no invitation to tender from the Department of Defense around the time Luck & Co claimed to have submitted a bid.
“Their founder, Mr Reacher King, is said to be an astute but very private businessman,” Bruce concluded, a mocking lilt in his voice.
“Let me guess, he has never been seen in public.”
“Correct. And there are no records of the name in any database.”
Clark nodded thoughtfully. “So everything about the company is falsified. The government contract, their financial records, their founder, and now their shipments. How did you get on their trail?”
“I got the lead from Robin,” Bruce said, picking up the manifest and thumbing through it. “He was busting a Penguin operation at the docks. The Penguin and his cronies have been a persistent thorn for the past couple of weeks, and Robin went to investigate the rumours that there might be a new drug being imported into Gotham.
“By sheer luck, he searched a Luck & Co. container and noticed that the list of contents pasted on the container did not match the actual contents. He brought it to my attention, and I took the case up. A little digging and a lot more discrepancies cropped up.”
“Hmmm,” Clark said after a while. “And these shipments just disappear into thin air.”
“At first, the convoluted trail led me to believe the containers were disappearing somewhere in Gotham. However, I began to track more and more of these containers crossing state lines. More and more shipments are coming into Metropolis. With the bomb trap today, I am beginning to suspect that Metropolis might be the true target and Gotham just a conduit for the smuggling.
“I’ll run a search on all recent Gotham-Metropolis cargo transport. I’ll also run a check on the list of chemicals to see if I can find a lead there,” Bruce continued, waving the manifest. He turned to face Clark fully. “If they are building something, they need space and equipment to build it. You can find out if there are any abandoned buildings or factories in Metropolis that are suddenly enjoying an increase in activity.”
“That’s a good plan,” Clark said, fingers deftly turning off the holographic display. “But let’s call it a night for now.”
Bruce eyed the other man. His blue eyes were bright with energy. “I hope you are not saying that for my sake, Clark. I am nocturnal.”
Clark chuckled slowly, shaking his head. “It’s been a long night, Bruce. We almost got blown up. Let’s call it a night.”
Bruce nodded, dropping the manifest onto the tabletop.
“Go wash up,” Clark added with a small wave. “I’ll have dinner whipped up in no time. You know your way to your room.”
Bruce thanked him and turned to leave. And as he left the Crime Lab, he could feel Clark’s gaze on him, trailing every move he made.
