Rescued (SuperBat fic)

4

My phone buzzes as I step out of the tower into the early evening gloom. I come to a stop when I see a text from Clark waiting unread, only half its contents revealed on my lock screen. Someone jostles me as I open the text.
Clark: Bruce, I'm out at a bar. Come have a beer?
Me: It had better be a dive. I'm not in the mood to be seen.
Clark sends me the address. Liam pulls a face when I tell him the address, a downward curl of his mouth as I slide into the backseat of the town car. We arrive twenty minutes later at a rough block close to downtown, although as I glance out the window, I see no obvious bars.
My phone buzzes once more.
Clark: It's a basement bar. I'll come out onto the steps.
And as promised, he emerges. He's wearing jeans and a tee, looking young. I see the way he hastily assesses the street and the barely visible movement of his lips as he murmurs something to himself. I am glad for the way he smiles as I step out of the car, though I wish my heart wouldn't kick right now.
Clark shifts on his feet as I cross the street and is quick to pull me into a hug once I am close enough. I freeze, arms by my sides, until he lets me go and leads me into the bar.
Once settled into a booth in the back with a pitcher of beer, I ask, "What's up?"
Clark sighs, throws back a hefty amount of his beer.
"I need a friend," he says. "It's about Lois."
I tug the collar of my shirt away from my neck and loosen my tie, my eyes on the other side of the room.
"What can I do?"
"I need to clear her things, what's left anyway."
"Right."
"Her mom came and got the important stuff, college notebooks, her diploma, her photo albums. I just can't bring myself to throw anything out. I need someone rational to help me."
I take a breath. He just needs someone cold. For some reason, that stings.
"Tell me when and where, I'll be there."
He nods and there is silence as we both drink.
The next morning I find myself in a leafy block by the river, buzzing the doorbell of a cleaned-up brownstone. Clark leans out of a window and waves for a moment, then ducks back inside. The door buzzes open and I climb the stairs. Clark is lingering in his doorway on the third floor.
An hour later, with one empty box left, I square up to the collection of tapes, CDs and obsolete tech. I go to take the CDs from the shelf but stop myself. Some of these definitely aren't to Clark's taste. If they're Lois', I can't just throw them right out.
"Clark? What are you doing about CDs? Any you want to keep?"
There's silence. I look around, over to the ajar door of the bedroom. I can see one of his knees, his toes tapping on the carpet, his leg shaking.
"Clark?"
Still, he says nothing.
I take light steps over to the open bedroom door and lean on the frame.
Clark is clutching an oversized college sweater, holding it balled up in his lap.
"Her perfume is still on this. It's faded, but it's there."
"Oh."
"I started to clear her make-up, but I couldn't lift her perfume."
He glances over at the bottle
"If I toss it, then she's really gone."
The obvious thought floats through my head - she's already gone.
"Would using it really be so bad?" I ask.
And as soon as the words have left my mouth, I realise exactly how dumb they are.
Clark shakes his head and digs his fingers tighter into the sweater.
We stay silent for a few moments.
I look out at the fire escape, at the bird perching on the rusting metal.
It surprises me when Clark says, "Throw out all the CDs. I don't need them. I have all those songs on Spotify."
I leave Clark where he is and carefully place the player and all the CDs into a box. I pace the room. The shelves are almost bare now, emptied as they are of Lois' college reading lists, CDs and tapes.
There's not much left to do, except offer Clark my shoulder.
I find myself wandering into the kitchen and rooting around for tea or coffee. And as I'm digging around at the back of a cupboard, fiddling with types of tea I've never heard of, I feel him behind me. My heart pounds. My mouth is dry. I can't turn to face him.
"Beer's in the fridge."
"I wanted to bring you tea, but I don't know how you take it."
There's a beat of silence.
"The chamomile," he says. "With the smallest drop of honey."
And then he steps away, lands on the sofa.
The cupboard door bangs as I close it. I cringe, my shoulders jumping towards my ears. I drum my fingers and peer over my shoulder at Clark as I wait for the kettle to boil. When the kettle whistles, Clark shakes in his seat, hugs himself. I watch him draw his feet up onto the sofa and then sit with his legs crossed.
I take him his tea with the bag left in and a drop of honey swirling through it. He wraps both his hands around the mug and looks up at me with wet, red eyes.
I take a seat on his coffee table, my knees high between us.
Clark sips slowly, looking past me, his eyes unfocused.
I feel a knot in my chest, open my mouth to speak, close it a moment later. Before I can overthink, I reach across and put a hand on Clark's knee and stroke my fingertips across the worn denim of his jeans.
He gasps and hides his red cheeks behind his mug. His eyes land on my hand.
I stop what I'm doing and start to lift my hand.
Clark puts one of his hands over mine and his palm is warm and calloused.
"Don't stop," he rasps.
"I'm sorry, Clark, I probably haven't been much help."
He shakes his head.
My heart sinks. My head drops.
"Shut up, man," he says. "I couldn't have done this with anyone else."
I lift my head.
He smiles, just a little.
"I'm glad I'm seeing more of you," he mutters.
I feel my chest swelling. I squeeze his knee and shuffle closer to him.
"I needed a friend," he mutters.
Friend.
My stomach twists itself into a knot. I look into his square, chiselled face, into his sad eyes.
It wouldn't have worked anyway. He's too wholesome - a small-town sweetheart. He doesn't need someone messed up like me.
I clear my throat.
Clark jumps.
"Are you alright? Should I head off?"
Clark's eyebrows are knit together and he chews on his bottom lip.
"Yeah," he says finally. "I can drive these over to goodwill myself."
When he smiles, it doesn't reach his eyes.
I stand and take his hands. He seems taken aback. I pull him up to his feet and wrap my arms around his middle. He stays tall and rigid in my arms.
I take backwards steps on my way out, watching him carefully, blinking away the thought of kissing him as we pause on the threshold.