"You'll like it," he says, stepping out of the remainder of his clothing, "but it'll bum you out, too."

What with China and all. But it's still an important place to Bruce, and he thinks Clark will appreciate the old-fashioned traditionalism. It's very midwest, in its way. (Also, at least half of the secret ninja cults are pretty cool.)

The shower is expansive, a blend of stereotypical but artfully applied blue and white tiles, plenty of room and only the suggestion of a need for a door. It makes slipping in beside Clark an easy affair of merely moving over, one broad hand smoothing over his forearm, up to his elbow, around his bicep, his touch little more than ghosting. Feeling the way the water pours over him. He pulls his hand away as he steps fully into the cubicle, standing behind Clark and then putting both hands on the small of his back, sweeping up the strong column of his spine, coming to the base of his skull and rubbing. There are never any knots of tension or sprained muscles, but that's no reason to never engage in this kind of touch.

"Salt water and ozone," he murmurs.