"You looked devastated at the time." Bruce let the observation settle. "I thought you might cry."
He raised a hand before Clark could speak. "I wasn't following you. To be clear. People in other cities have a fixed image of Gotham. Journalists willing to come here and look with fresh eyes are rare enough that I wanted to introduce myself. Invite you for a drink, at minimum. Not for the article. For the eleven trees." He paused. "You needed to be alone, so I kept my distance. That might have been a mistake."
Clark looked down, the tension in his jaw tightening. This had nothing to do with being recognized.
He had planted more than a dozen trees. In Metropolis, in a cemetery near the museum, he planted them for the others lost in the disaster—the ones who never worked for Wayne Enterprises, whose names missed the news cycle. He did it alone, before dawn, because he could not do it any other way. No one had seen that.
Someone else had worn his body as a weapon. Someone took everything that made him dangerous and aimed it at the city he spent years trying to protect. If Dr. David Gannerson had stolen any other form, any other strength, the casualty count would have been a fraction of what it was. He was too powerful. That was always the problem.
Jude placed a hand on Clark's shoulder. A brief pressure. Heroes absorbed the consequences of things they had not done, because the alternative was leaving it to no one.
"I know who you are, Mr. Wayne," Clark said. His voice dropped to a quiet register. "I am sorry about the branch office. About your people."
Bruce narrowed his eyes. Jude caught the shift from the side—the hard focus Bruce used when deciding if someone was lying.
That is enough. Jude kept his face neutral. Suspecting Superman of being compromised or deceived was operational sense. Building contingencies against him was expected. But looking at a man standing in a cemetery, who had quietly planted eleven trees in the rain for strangers, and still doubting his sincerity—Jude was going to need a moment.
Bruce looked away. He reached out and gripped Clark's shoulder.
"Don't apologize to me," Bruce said. "Two months ago, I was angry about the casualties at the Metropolis branch. The property damage was secondary. Property can be rebuilt. People can't." He studied the grove. "That incident left me with a specific perspective on Superman. Not displaced anger. There is exactly one being on this planet with that level of power. The destruction that follows him, even when he tries to help, operates on a scale divorced from his intentions. He can want to protect people and still be the most dangerous thing in the room. That is simply what he is."
Clark swallowed, keeping his eyes fixed on the grass.
"A month ago, my thinking shifted," Bruce continued. "He has been more precise with his power since the incident. He was present for the reconstruction. He attended the memorial." He paused. "Whether any of it is an act, I can't say for certain. But it is possible he has a human heart."
Clark lifted his head. The tension in his shoulders dropped, and a brief, open warmth touched his features.
Jude leveled a flat stare at Bruce. The implication hung in the air between them—wondering if this sudden shift had anything to do with a certain flattering newspaper article about Gotham. Bruce ignored him.
"Clark," Jude said. "Do you know about Batman?"
"The Gotham urban legend?" The corners of Clark's mouth ticked upward. "I've heard a lot since I arrived. About a year ago, I saw a video."
"Which one?"
"A burning residential building. Batman was pulling people out. After the rescue, he went back inside for a man who had run out without any clothes on. Brought him out a shirt and pants." Clark smiled faintly. "That detail stuck with me."
Bruce's eyebrow ticked up a fraction. He turned to Jude, his expression perfectly rigid.
Jude ignored him.
"Once he got everyone out, he was ready to leave. Then something happened." He watched Clark. "Care to guess?"
Clark shook his head.
"Someone asked him to go back into the fire for a bank card." Jude waited a second. "Then someone else asked for a phone. Then a wallet. A driver's license. Soon everyone had something, and they all started asking."
A beat.
"If that were Superman, what does he do?"
Clark considered the question, his brows drawing together.
"Superman could go back in. He could retrieve everything they asked for. He could probably extinguish the fire entirely with a single breath." He paused. "But that question isn't fair to Batman."
"Why not?"
"Batman isn't Superman. He might be extraordinary. I think he probably is. But he is afraid of fire the same way anyone is. He can be hurt. He is a real person." Clark held Jude's gaze. "Those demands were unfair to him."
Bruce stared at Clark. His face remained a mask, but the absolute stillness in his posture broke for a fraction of a second.
Jude smiled.
"Most of the time," Jude said, "people are harder on the good ones and easier on the bad ones. The man without clothes stood outside that building and started shouting at the crowd. He was the only person there who defended Batman." He looked at Clark. "You would have been the second."
He let the silence stretch, then shifted his stance.
"I feel the same way about Superman. Whatever the supervillains in Metropolis have destroyed over the years, that bill doesn't go to him. It isn't fair to hand it to him." He glanced at Bruce. "Wouldn't you agree?"
Bruce blinked, pulling his focus back to the present. He nodded once. Slowly.
Clark reached out and pulled Jude into a hug.