Clark has something to say

Bruce sits on the bed and nibbles on a cookie.

The empty room of the Supreme Head of State was filled with all kinds of messy things.

Professional exercise equipment was piled up in the corner of the room. The soft sofa at first glance was pulled to the side of the bed by the temporary guest, and a beautiful table lamp with a small floral lampshade was placed on the bedside table.

After nibbling, he patted it randomly, and then rubbed it on the sheet casually. He felt that it was almost clean, so he turned over and rolled to the sleeping side.

When the Hall of Justice was built before, out of some secret thoughts and a little selfishness, Brewster deliberately arranged a huge double bed in Clark's room.

Unexpectedly, it came in handy now.

There is a huge virtual screen above the head, which is projected upright at the exact eye-level position.

In the end, Clark didn't give him a cable TV either, but he found a projector that was out of the Batplane, made it unable to connect to the Internet, and stuffed a bunch of TV programs into it.

At Bruce's request, the Supreme Head of State passed in some more movies, one clicked, and the top one was Zorro, the gray ghost that he had watched countless times.

Clark knows what he likes best, Bruce thought.

He's been pretty decadent these days, healthy decadent, and Bruce can't remember the last time he wasted his time like this—maybe he was a total billionaire jerk before he became Batman.

Clark was quite generous in providing the best environment. The quality of what Bruce asked for was almost the same as that of Alfred when he was alive, exquisite and expensive.

By rights, a mattress with just the right amount of softness in the back should feel sleepy.

But he didn't feel sleepy at all, and he was even too awake.

The shadow of reality is like a gangrene, haunting him all the time like a ghost. The room of the god on earth is in stark contrast to the cruel reality. He is trapped in the hall of justice. Anxiety and irritability rise up uncontrollably, stacking more and more thick.

To make matters worse, Bruce couldn't tell how long he'd been locked up.

The windows were locked. At first, he thought that Clark was just trying to cut him off from the possibility of contacting the outside world, so he judged the time by the yellow sun energy device above his head, until the sense of incongruity became more and more serious, and he couldn't ignore it. .

His biological clock is almost out of order.

Even though he usually didn't follow the schedule, but now it's more like being forced to adjust his biological clock. When he picked a chance to ask Clark when he was in a good mood, he got a noncommittal response.

"For your quick recovery."

The Penguin used this method to break the captive's psychological defenses before. He put the prisoner in a cell with only an incandescent lamp and a clock, and then set the clock forward while he was asleep, a little bit each time.

Gradually, this person thought that he had been locked up for a long time, and only his own quiet room would drive him crazy. As long as Penguin appeared at the door, he would cry and tell all the secrets he knew.

Bruce belatedly realizes he's being controlled in another way.

A gentle and subtle transformation.

House arrest of Batman obviously does not satisfy Clark. Bruce thinks that the Kryptonian has become a lot smarter after going crazy, but this method is too much...

He couldn't find the right adjective.

To this day, he still doesn't want to apply those words to Clark.

As soon as Clark entered the door, he saw such a scene. He walked to the bed and said gently, "You should be sleeping at this point."

Bruce glanced at him and looked away: "I can't sleep."

Even if Clark brought in enough gadgets to pass the time, none of them could make him pay attention.

Clark frowned slightly.

The man in front of him showed haggardness and fatigue that shouldn't have been shown. According to his assumption, the Kryptonian repair fluid had already exerted most of its effects at this time.

Bruce has made the room look like a doghouse, and if he looks around, he can see leftover snack bags tucked behind the nightstand and cracker crumbs on the sheets.

Clark turned his face to the side, the wardrobe containing the Superman uniform was randomly filled with some garbage by Bruce, and the solemn crimson cloak was roughly pulled to the corner and wrinkled into a ball.

He paused, walked over and patted Bruce on the shoulder: "Get up."

Bruce straightened his arms in displeasure: "You go and clean up other places first."

But he got up very obediently, and stepped on the cashmere carpet with bare feet. This carpet was not what he asked for, but Clark kept watching him walk barefoot on the ground, so he took the initiative to bring it.

The god on earth lowered his eyes and concentrated on cleaning the room. He didn't take off his uniform, and the cloak was still soaked in blood, but he was holding a rag, doing what Clark would do before.

Bruce: "Bring me some bottles of wine next time, okay?"

As expected, there was no response.

Since he was locked in, he has become the one who has nothing to say, and he is used to saying a sentence two or three times before he is answered. If he is still ignored, he can switch to the next topic.

This time too, he mumbled to himself several times like a madman, and the deaf Kryptonian finally grew his ears again.

Clark looked at him. "You know I won't allow you to drink again."

He knew that Bruce hardly touched alcohol. In order to keep his head clear, Baby Bruce usually attended social occasions, and the goblets were filled with ginger cola that was similar in color to champagne.

There is only one situation where he needs alcohol.

Extremely painful.

When he lost his own child, when his Gotham was devastated, when he was lost and hopeless, when he doubted the meaning of Batman.

The last time Bruce was drinking heavily, he was entrusted by the old housekeeper to smuggle away the high-altitude spirits in the underground wine cellar. After thinking about it, he moved all the oak barrels.

He didn't want to do this at first, until one day, the super hearing captured a very small sound of falling to the ground.

Bruce was lying quietly on the carpet, the table was full of empty bottles, and his fingers were still in a grasping gesture. Only then did Clark know that the old butler was right.

Bruce is trying to kill himself.

When the matter was revealed, the dark knight, who was mentally unstable and fell into a rage, pushed Superman to the ground, pulled the beautiful red cape, and clenched his fists to smash down: "Who allows you—"

He secretly adjusted the softness of his skin, closed his eyes with his neck closed, thinking that if it wasn't for kryptonite, he would be a human sandbag today!

But the sound of the wind brushed past his face, and then he felt a warm body fall down, and there was an extra weight on his shoulders.

The drunk and messy man buried his face in his neck, and his voice was very low: "——why, Clark?"

Bruce repeated it again, as if to Clark, but also to himself, "Why?"

The desperation in his voice made Clark feel at a loss.

Superman can save everyone, heat vision can burn the sun, freezing breath can freeze the sea, and those powerful hands can bear the weight of an entire planet.

But there was nothing he could do about Bruce's pain.

Clark felt his heart was breaking into pieces, and he stroked the back of Bruce's neck, trying to reassure him, and solemnly promised that he would do everything in his power to prevent this from happening again—no guarantee, as long as Bruce Still Batman, he could have his worst day ever again at any moment.

Later, he was still experiencing the worst day, but Bruce Wayne, who had lost everything, had no chance of drinking anymore, and the people who swore to be good to him became the biggest source of torture for him.

Bruce swallowed, then added, "Coffee is fine too."

Clark walked away for a moment.

The past was as far away as another planet, but the super brain imprinted every minute and every second experienced by the master into a memory that would never fade. He remembered the weight of Bruce's body, the bitter kiss mixed with it, and the spilled wine. On the floor, gurgling into the carpet.

"...is coffee okay?" he heard Bruce ask him again.

He said, "Clark, you know, I really need it."

You know.

The god on earth looked at his former lover.

The whole world is his, including the person in front of him. Bruce is like a trapped animal, huddled in a small cage, biting the steel bars with fangs and claws every day, until he hit himself with cuts and bruises all over his body. .

Bruce looked at him seriously, and there was something eager in his blue eyes.

"...No." Clark heard himself say.

He knew enough about Bruce to let him see that the other party was very disappointed, and suddenly his spirit was a little bit weak.

So Clark said again, "Do you want to go out?"

**

Unexpected joy.

Bruce suppressed the anxiety, he was about to be pushed to the extreme by the uncontrollable situation, and then forced himself to calm down.

After repeated suffering, he gradually found a way to deal with Clark.

It's very simple, as he was sure, the little metropolitan reporter had never left, so he used the attitude of the past and restrained himself a little more—he didn't want to challenge the authority of the Supreme Head of State anymore.

Clark was in a good mood today, and Bruce glanced across the face of the god of the world without a trace, secretly speculating.

Going out is just another word for letting go.

The super speed of the god on earth can take him anywhere. They are at the foot of a beautiful mountain. Bruce calculated the angle of the sun and the latitude and longitude, and estimated that he should be in the place formerly known as Iceland.

He stared at the front thoughtfully, his eyes were solemn, changing the environment did not make him feel better, after all his plan was completely stuck at the beginning, not to mention...

Clark said flatly, "You don't like it here."

Bruce divided part of his attention, absent-mindedly: "It's good, but I prefer to go somewhere with people."

Before angering Superman, he made a patch in time: "I can only see you and Diana, how long has it been?"

Clark didn't answer, but his expression eased.

……very good.

Bruce walked forward in a boundless manner, passing through his mind one by one with the prepared backup plans, without exception, there were great risks.

Since he wasn't sure if he'd have a chance to come out again, and if so, it wouldn't be worth the risk, and maybe he could beg Clark to take him to a town.

Constantly weighing the pros and cons, Bruce lowered his eyes, and although it was still a secret that he was locked in Superman's room, he still had a glimmer of hope for Lex Luthor.

He raised his head sharply.

——The sound of the helicopter propeller is getting louder and louder from far to near.