Smallville is everything Bruce imagines it to be - and he does imagine, too much for his own good. Not Smallville specifically, but of course, being an orphan, being someone possessed of an awareness of his own lot in life, he's entertained many a daydream over the years about having been born into different circumstances. Somewhere normal, somewhere mundane, safe, and beautiful.
He looks at Clark more than the landmarks. This is perhaps not surprising. That there is something inherently funny about Superman driving an old pickup goes unvoiced; it, him, this, is all so charming as to take his breath away.
The urge to ruin it somehow is an ever-present ache.
I could get that fixed, he thinks, of the destruction. It wouldn't be a problem, and wouldn't be any more or less suspicious than him buying out Kiowa First American National (what a name). He is cognizant of course of the fact that if Smallville is keeping Superman's secret, that Smallville is also now collectively keeping the secret of a surly Gothamite billionaire who just happens to haunt the town, all of a sudden. Do they need bribed? Not for Clark, obviously, but he's-- you know, not as nice as Clark. Maybe it's a memorial, offers up another perspective on the remains of a destroyed shop.
They're at a stop sign - or rather, a light that seems to have never once been connected to a power grid - and a woman passing by waves at Clark, but doesn't stop to chat. Too cold, probably. Or perhaps because he's got company.
"Your mom saw us," he says. It's not an announcement, because if Bruce picked up on that, then Clark definitely did, and if anyone knows Clark's mother it's Clark. It's also not really a question. It's just-- a topic, shuffled up onto the table of discussion. Faintly curious. Something else, too, drawn in too deep and subtle to be identified as wryness. If it were Bruce's kid, he'd probably be pissed.
no subject
He looks at Clark more than the landmarks. This is perhaps not surprising. That there is something inherently funny about Superman driving an old pickup goes unvoiced; it, him, this, is all so charming as to take his breath away.
The urge to ruin it somehow is an ever-present ache.
I could get that fixed, he thinks, of the destruction. It wouldn't be a problem, and wouldn't be any more or less suspicious than him buying out Kiowa First American National (what a name). He is cognizant of course of the fact that if Smallville is keeping Superman's secret, that Smallville is also now collectively keeping the secret of a surly Gothamite billionaire who just happens to haunt the town, all of a sudden. Do they need bribed? Not for Clark, obviously, but he's-- you know, not as nice as Clark. Maybe it's a memorial, offers up another perspective on the remains of a destroyed shop.
They're at a stop sign - or rather, a light that seems to have never once been connected to a power grid - and a woman passing by waves at Clark, but doesn't stop to chat. Too cold, probably. Or perhaps because he's got company.
"Your mom saw us," he says. It's not an announcement, because if Bruce picked up on that, then Clark definitely did, and if anyone knows Clark's mother it's Clark. It's also not really a question. It's just-- a topic, shuffled up onto the table of discussion. Faintly curious. Something else, too, drawn in too deep and subtle to be identified as wryness. If it were Bruce's kid, he'd probably be pissed.