Clark apologizes and, inexplicably, Bruce looks even more angry. Like an insult has been thrown in his face-- Clark's audacity at acknowledging something Bruce is, in the (proverbial) light of day, apparently ignoring for the life of him. The way he clung to him, kissed him, whispered You scared the shit out of me. You're still scaring the shit out of me. Please don't do that again.

He feels exposed. It's awful. Something in his eyes shutters, drawing away from a wound. Slipping behind walls.

"Ambushes happen."

Bruce isn't going to back up, even with Clark drawing nearer. He's practically bristling with agitation, looking like he should be pacing or like Clark should be spontaneously lighting on fire from the force of his unhappy glare.

"You aren't responsible for me. It's not your place. And it's-- fuck, Clark."

Emotion cracking through, suddenly, anger and something like grief, but he doesn't move, doesn't reach out even though his hands curl into fists.

"I can't tell Lois you're dead or permanently impaired over me."

It'd destroy me. It'd destroy her.