Clark looks at him from where he remains on his back, sort of playing at an exhaustion or defeat he doesn't feel. Feet slack at the ankles, hand idling on his stomach. His smile closes, less toothy, but still there. You ever feel ways about the people who trained you?
Is not an appropriate follow-up, but it scrolls through his brain like a news ticker. Considers the ceiling again, does not make comparisons about how quickly his body sheds sensation, no twinges, no aches, in contrast to where his knee thumped down on Bruce's thigh, because he lacks the proper frame of reference.
Doesn't mean he's going to forget much about it, though.
"Makes sense."
There's no Bat Academy, after all. No one thing that made Bruce what he is. The world wasn't equipped to do it, in the way Themyscira grew her soldiers, or Krypton forged gods. He remembers something, in his Kryptonite memory haze, about how Bruce had to force the world to make sense.
no subject
Is not an appropriate follow-up, but it scrolls through his brain like a news ticker. Considers the ceiling again, does not make comparisons about how quickly his body sheds sensation, no twinges, no aches, in contrast to where his knee thumped down on Bruce's thigh, because he lacks the proper frame of reference.
Doesn't mean he's going to forget much about it, though.
"Makes sense."
There's no Bat Academy, after all. No one thing that made Bruce what he is. The world wasn't equipped to do it, in the way Themyscira grew her soldiers, or Krypton forged gods. He remembers something, in his Kryptonite memory haze, about how Bruce had to force the world to make sense.