a rare, rare blue

Clark had come out of surgery not long after that. He’d looked gray, under the fluorescent lights of the clinic, and he’d leaned heavily on Bruce on the way to the Batmobile. That had been two nights ago.

And now he was standing in the center of the cave fastening his cape. He turned as Bruce approached, and his face was cheerful and open. He clapped a hand on Bruce’s shoulder and held it there, that kind of casual grounding touch he was so fond of. “There you are,” he said. “Thanks for the hospitality, but I’ve got to run. There’s a huge blaze near the chemical plant, and it could get bad very quickly.”

“You’re not leaving,” Bruce said, which was his first mistake.