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Summary
“There's nothing to report. In any case, I'm not the one you should be consulting with,” He continues, snapping off a plate of armor with a click that echoed hollowly against the tile walls, “seeing as I was off the field for the majority of the incident.” He tenses around that last word, incident, grinding it between his teeth before spitting it into the air.
“Really?” Clark lowers himself onto the bench, keeping a conscious distance between them. Bruce doesn’t turn to face him. Instead he shifts his weight away, practically hovering over the edge of his seat as he works at his other boot. “The prints say otherwise.”
Bruce freezes, a half-loose knot pulled taut between his hands.
“The what?”
a fic for bad things happen bingo, prompt: enemy turned caretaker!
Series
- Part 11 of Bad Things Happen Bingo!