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The Justice League Tower was quiet that night, perched in geosynchronous orbit above Earth like a silent sentinel. Outside the reinforced glass, the planet turned slowly, cloaked in cloud and city light. Inside, the glow from overhead panels cast soft shadows across the long table in the central common room, where three of the League's finest sat, surrounded by stacks of paperwork.
Batman sat at the head of the table, straight-backed and utterly still, flipping through reports with surgical precision. His cowl lay discarded nearby, unruly hair framing the intent lines of a domino-masked face. Ungloved fingers made no sound as they turned each page. The half-eaten slice of pizza near his elbow had long gone cold.
Across from him, Superman lounged in his chair with his glasses on, though he didn’t need them here. His cape was draped over the back like a worn coat, and he tapped a pen thoughtfully against the edge of his report. His page was only half-filled. He'd been staring at the same paragraph for ten minutes, not because he didn’t understand it, but because, for the first time in days, it was quiet.
Hal Jordan, Green Lantern, looked the least inclined to be productive. He had his boots kicked up on the table and his chair tilted back dangerously far, letting his ring float the paperwork in front of him as he half-read, half-watched a tiny holographic projection of some game or music video drifting lazily in the air.
"Man," Hal said at last, smirking as he tapped his pen on his knee, "when I signed up to defend the galaxy, I didn’t think it’d involve... tax forms."
“Accountability matters,” Batman said without looking up. His voice was flat as ever, like gravel on steel.
Hal rolled his eyes. “So does sleep, Bats. You ever try it? It's this thing humans do, kind of revolutionary.”
Superman chuckled under his breath. “Don’t encourage him. Last time he multitasked, he filed a Metropolis incident report under ‘Z.’”
“Z for Zatanna,” Hal said brightly. “She did most of the work!”
“That was the Lobo situation. In New Mexico.” Batman didn’t sigh, but there was a particular tightness in his jaw that suggested he might if he were anyone else.
“Close enough,” Hal shrugged.
“I’m redoing it,” Batman muttered, already reaching for a blank form.
“You’re no fun,” Hal said, flopping back in exaggerated defeat. “One of these days, you’re gonna short-circuit from over-efficiency, and we’ll all be standing around wondering why the Watchtower smells like ozone and burnt coffee.”
The room settled again into a quiet rhythm. The soft hum of the Tower. The scratch of pen on paper. The rustle of turning pages.
Superman yawned, covering it with the back of his hand. He glanced over at the window, watching the curve of Earth for a moment. “You ever think we could automate some of this?”
“Interns,” Hal said immediately, sitting up. “We need interns.”
“We don’t have interns,” Batman said, already anticipating the suggestion.
“We could get interns,” added Hal.
Superman smiled tiredly. “We’d have to file the paperwork.”
There was a beat of silence.
“...Forget I said anything,” grumbled Hal.
The three of them returned to their tasks, sort of. Hal started doodling on the corner of a report.
Batman continued flipping through reports like it was second nature. The faint discoloration near his temple, what was left of the bruise, had nearly faded. Hal kept glancing at it anyway.
“You know,” Hal said, finally breaking the silence as he reached for another slice of cold pizza, “you took a pretty hard hit the other day.”
Batman didn’t look up. “It’s handled.”
“Mmhmm.” Hal chewed, glancing at him. “Hey Spooky, how’s your head?”
Superman, seated across the table, barely looked up from his own paperwork.
Without missing a beat, Batman replied, “Well, I haven’t had any complaints yet.”
The room went still.
Superman blinked.
Hal froze, pizza slice halfway to his mouth.
Both stared at Batman.
Batman turned another page, then looked up at their twin expressions. He sighed with the weight of someone who knew exactly what he’d just said.
“I meant,” he said flatly, “my head feels fine.”
But Hal was already grinning. “No, no, don’t ruin it now. That was the first time I’ve ever heard you make a joke or flirt. It was weirdly effective.”
Superman lowered his pen slowly, eyes flicking between them. He didn’t speak, but the tight smile pulling at his mouth wasn’t quite amusement.
Batman didn’t deny it. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, letting a trace of that smooth, polished Brucie Wayne charm seep into his voice. “Well, you caught me on a good night.”
“Oh yeah?” Hal leaned in, chin in his hand, smile broad. “Is that Wayne-speak for ‘I’m free and I want to have fun’?”
Batman raised a brow. “Careful. I bruise easily.”
“From what I’ve seen,” Hal said, clearly enjoying himself now, “you bruise like a concrete wall.”
Superman let out a soft exhale through his nose. It was almost a laugh. Almost.
He watched them closely, watched how Batman’s shoulders had relaxed a little, how Hal’s grin got brighter the more Batman played along. It was rare to see Batman banter. Rarer still to see him do it with anyone who wasn’t Superman. He really must be tired… or concussed.
And Superman wasn’t sure if he liked that.
“So,” Hal said, nudging Batman with his elbow like they were old drinking buddies, “what are you doing tonight? Want to grab a drink? Or, you know, file two years’ worth of backlog and complain about how inefficient I am?”
Batman leaned back slightly, eyeing him with a faint smirk. “Depends. You buying?”
Hal laughed. “For you? Only if I can expense it.”
Superman’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You two want me to give you some space?” he said lightly, not quite joking.
Batman looked over at him, that smirk still lingering. “You’re welcome to come. If you can keep up.”
Superman raised an eyebrow but didn’t answer. He dipped his head back to his paperwork, though the page hadn’t changed in five minutes.
Hal propped his feet up on the edge of the table, his half-finished report long forgotten in favor of needling Batman. “You know,” he said, stretching lazily, “I always figured you were more the silent brood-in-the-shadows type. Never pegged you for a flirt.”
Batman didn’t look up. “I’m full of surprises.”
Hal chuckled. “That right? So, what else don’t we know, Spooky? Secret salsa lessons? Closet jazz pianist? Soft spot for rom-coms?”
Batman finally raised his eyes, slow and unbothered. “You’d be amazed how well ballroom dance works as a distraction during a sting operation.”
Superman glanced up at that, a line forming between his brows.
Hal blinked. “Wait—you’re actually trained in ballroom dancing?”
“Several styles,” Batman said smoothly. “You’d be surprised how often high society requires you to twirl someone across a floor before hacking their offshore accounts.”
Hal gave a low whistle, clearly delighted. “Man, you are just full of weird talents. Are you sure you’re not trying to seduce me right now?”
Batman’s mouth twitched, an almost-smile. “Would it be working if I was?”
Hal threw both hands in the air. “I knew it. Spooky is capable of flirting. And it’s terrifying… but also kind of hot. I feel like I need to recalibrate my whole worldview.”
Across the table, Superman shifted in his seat. He tried to look busy, but his pen was just spinning in idle circles. His jaw worked once, like he was about to say something, but he didn’t.
Instead, Batman looked at Hal, a little more amusement creeping into his voice now. “You’re the one who asked how my head was. Don’t complain when you get the honest answer.”
“I’m not complaining,” Hal said, raising his brows. “I’m just saying, if I knew a bonk to the skull would unlock your charming side, I would’ve accidentally dropped a batarang on you years ago.”
Superman let out a quiet, clipped breath. “That’s not funny,” he said, mostly under his breath.
Hal glanced at him. “C’mon, big guy. Lighten up. It’s just banter.”
Superman looked up, eyes calm, but not entirely amused. “I’m sure.”
Batman, meanwhile, glanced between them and then folded his report closed with deliberate care. “I think that’s enough of this mission log for tonight.”
Hal leaned forward again, grinning. “You sure? You were just getting interesting. I’m pretty sure I just got hit on by Gotham’s favorite cryptid.”
Batman stood, cloak settling around him like a shadow. “Don’t let it go to your head, Lantern. It was a momentary lapse.”
“Right, right,” Hal said, watching him go with a smirk. “A concussion-induced lapse. Got it.”
As Batman passed behind Superman’s chair, he paused. Just briefly.
“Coming?” he asked, almost idly.
Superman looked up at him, eyes unreadable.
“Sure,” he said after a beat. “Somebody’s got to make sure you don’t accidentally flirt your way into another intergalactic incident.”
Batman smirked faintly, then walked out of the room.
Superman rose and followed, quiet as ever.
Hal stayed behind, staring at the doorway they’d both disappeared through.
“…Huh,” he muttered, mouth tugging to one side. “Okay. So that’s a thing… Barry owes me $20.”
And he reached for another slice of pizza, whistling low to himself as the Tower settled back into silence.
…
The hallway outside the common room was dim and still, quiet except for the soft hum of the Tower’s systems.
Batman walked ahead in his usual controlled silence, cape swaying gently behind him. He didn’t glance back, didn’t need to. He could already hear the telltale rhythm of footsteps trailing just a little too close behind him.
Superman caught up after a few seconds, arms folded tightly across his chest, his cape swishing with just a little more drama than usual.
“You know,” he said, a little too casually, “you really seemed to be enjoying yourself back there, Bruce.”
Bruce didn’t slow. “I was working, Clark.”
Clark made a soft, grumbly sound. “You were flirting.”
Now Bruce glanced over, just briefly, with one brow raised. “And?”
Clark wrinkled his nose, clearly trying not to scowl. “And you don’t flirt like that with me.”
Bruce stopped, finally turning to face him.
Clark stopped too, lifting his chin just slightly and shifting his weight in that way he always did when he was trying to look composed. It didn’t help that his bottom lip had the slightest hint of a pout to it, unintentional, maybe, but impossible to miss.
Bruce eyed him for a long, quiet moment.
“You’re pouting,” he said.
Clark looked genuinely offended. “I am not.”
“You are,” Bruce said, and there was something gentler about his voice now, dry but amused.
Clark looked away with a small huff, shoulders bunching. “I just don’t get why Hal gets all the fun comments and clever lines. I’ve known you longer.”
Bruce stepped closer, eyes sharp but soft around the edges. “And you think that means I should flirt with you the way I do with him?”
Clark hesitated. “...Yes? Maybe? I don’t know. Just something.”
Bruce’s gaze swept over him. “You want me to call you a distraction with legs and good hair?”
Clark looked up at him, eyes hopeful in a way he probably didn’t realize. “I mean… if you meant it.”
Bruce exhaled a quiet breath, like a laugh that never fully formed. “Clark,” he said softly, “I don’t flirt with you because I’m not trying to get your attention. I already have it.”
Clark blinked. Some of the pout faded, replaced with something sheepish.
“Oh.”
Bruce took another step closer. “Yeah. Oh.”
Clark's ears turned a little pink.
“You’re kind of the worst,” he mumbled.
“I know,” Bruce said. “Still want me to flirt with you?”
Clark shrugged, smile creeping back. “Might be nice.”
Bruce stepped close enough for their chests to brush. “You’re the most powerful being on Earth, and yet here you are... sulking over compliments.”
Clark looked at him, the pout returning with just the barest hint of a smile. “I’m sensitive.”
Bruce smirked. “And adorable.”
That did it. Clark turned even more pink.
“I hate you,” he muttered.
Bruce leaned in just a little. “No, you don’t.”
Clark sighed, quietly dramatic. “...No. I really don’t.”
Bruce didn’t step back.
If anything, he leaned in slightly, just enough to make Clark’s already-rosy ears burn a little hotter. The taller man tried to hold his ground, but there was a tell in the way his eyes darted briefly to Bruce’s mouth, then quickly back up again like he hadn’t meant to.
Bruce noticed, of course. He noticed everything.
“I really don’t flirt with you enough,” Bruce murmured, voice low and thoughtful, like he was considering a tactical adjustment mid-mission.
Clark cleared his throat, looking anywhere but directly at him. “I didn’t say that.”
“You implied it. Pouted it, actually.”
Clark frowned, soft and harmless. “It wasn’t that bad.”
Bruce’s smirk grew. “Clark. You literally just stood in the hallway and said, ‘You never flirt like that with me’ while looking like someone stole your cape and left you outside in the rain.”
Clark opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again with a dramatic sigh. “Okay. Maybe I was being a little dramatic.”
Bruce tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly in amusement. “Which, for the record, was criminally cute.”
Clark flushed again. “You don’t have to—”
“—You wrinkled your nose,” Bruce interrupted, stepping just a little closer. “Do you know you do that when you're trying to pretend you’re not sulking?”
“I wasn’t—” Clark started, then cut himself off as Bruce raised a brow.
“You were,” Bruce said, unbothered. “It’s okay. Like I said, I find it very cute.”
Clark gave him a sideways look, more sheepish than annoyed. “You think everything I do is cute when I’m annoyed.”
“Not true,” Bruce said, folding his arms loosely. “I also think you’re cute when you’re trying very hard not to ask for attention.”
Clark huffed. “I wasn’t asking for attention.”
Bruce’s smile turned sly. “You were.”
“I—”
“You were jealous.”
Clark groaned, dramatic now, dragging a hand down his face. “Ugh. I can bench-press a space shuttle, and you’re really going to sit here and call me adorable.”
Bruce let out a quiet chuckle, an actual laugh, and took another half-step in.
“Clark,” he said softly, eyes scanning him, “I think, you’re a six-foot-four ray of sunshine with godlike powers and the emotional subtlety of a golden retriever. And when you pout, it’s absolutely adorable. And the way you get flustered when you want something but won’t ask for it?” His smile softened. “It’s irresistible.”
Clark stood there, blinking. Entirely disarmed.
And that pout came right back.
Bruce nearly laughed again.
“See? You’re doing it again.”
Clark frowned. “I am not!”
“You are,” Bruce said, teasing, warm. “And I swear if I don’t kiss you soon, I’m going to lose it.”
Clark’s voice came out quieter than he intended. “L-lose it?”
Bruce leaned in close enough to brush shoulders, eyes dark and fond. “Lose it because I’d have to keep pretending I’m not stupid about you.”
Clark swallowed, visibly caught between a grin and another completely ineffective frown. “You’re the worst.”
“And you,” Bruce said, “are the most adorable thing I’ve seen in this tower all night.”
Clark opened his mouth, then closed it, then looked away with a defeated smile tugging at his lips.
“…I still want a compliment,” he muttered.
Bruce didn’t move away. “You want it now?”
Clark nodded once.
“Okay,” Bruce said. He leaned in, lips just at Clark’s ear. “You’re handsome. Ridiculously strong. The most frustratingly earnest man I know. And when you pout, it’s honestly unfair.”
Clark’s shoulders relaxed, a slow, pleased smile spreading across his face.
“Better?” Bruce asked.
Clark gave a slow nod. “Almost.”
Bruce raised a brow. “Almost?”
“I might need one more,” Clark said innocently, eyes twinkling now. “Just for balance.”
Bruce stared at him a second.
Then smirked. “You’re so high-maintenance.”
Clark grinned. “But irresistible, right?”
Bruce let out a quiet breath, half a laugh, half a sigh of surrender. “Don’t push your luck.”
Clark stood close now, barely a breath between them, his eyes locked on Bruce’s. The world outside the hallway might as well have stopped spinning. His voice came out low and certain but laced with something tender.
“If I kiss you,” Clark murmured, “you won’t deflect. Right?”
Bruce didn’t so much as blink. “Try me.”
That was it.
Clark surged forward, not fast, not rough, but decisive. One hand rose to cradle Bruce’s face as he leaned in and kissed him. Soft at first. Gentle. The kind of kiss that said finally without needing the word. Bruce didn’t pull away. Didn’t hesitate. He leaned into it, lips moving slowly against Clark’s in a quiet give-and-take.
It was patient, reverent, months of tension wrapped in a single, lingering kiss.
Clark let out a slow breath, eyes fluttering shut, savoring it. His thumb stroked Bruce’s jaw, memorizing the shape of him like he’d dreamed about this a thousand times but hadn’t dared to imagine how real it would feel.
Bruce’s hands found Clark’s sides, steady, warm, drawing him in inch by inch.
And then everything changed.
Bruce tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss. Just enough. Just enough to push Clark over that edge between restraint and hunger.
Clark’s hand fisted the front of Bruce’s suit as he kissed him again, deeper, more urgent, the soft press turning suddenly ravenous. Bruce met him move for move, his hands tightening at Clark’s waist, anchoring him in place as their mouths moved in sync, wet, heated, wanting.
Clark let out a quiet, guttural sound as he pressed Bruce back against the wall, slow, unrelenting. And then, without breaking the kiss, his free hand slid down Bruce’s back, curving boldly around the curve of his ass.
He grabbed it, firm and possessive, like he’d been waiting to do it for years.
Bruce gasped softly into the kiss, the sound muffled against Clark’s mouth, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he kissed him harder. One hand rose to grip the back of Clark’s neck, pulling him in tighter, as if daring him to go further.
Clark did.
Their hips met in a slow, grinding motion that made Bruce groan against his lips, low and broken. The sound shot straight through Clark, and he deepened the kiss again, tongue sweeping past Bruce’s lips, swallowing that sound, devouring it.
The hand on Bruce’s ass squeezed again, fingers curling, and Bruce arched into him, body no longer stiff, but giving, responding.
“You like that?” Clark whispered against his lips.
Bruce barely managed, “God yes.”
Clark chuckled, breath warm against his cheek. “Not what I expected.”
Bruce opened his mouth to retort, but Clark kissed him again, cutting it off, this time with teeth. He bit Bruce’s lower lip, just enough to make Bruce hiss, and soothed it with his tongue.
Bruce’s hands moved now, not still anymore. One slid beneath Clark’s cape, over the curve of his back, pulling him in with a kind of strength that nearly matched his own. The other tangled in Clark’s hair, tugging just enough to tilt his head and kiss him at a different angle, deeper, filthier, hungrier.
Clark moaned softly, hips rolling against Bruce’s. His grip on him, firm, demanding, grounded them both as they lost themselves in the kiss. It had gone from soft to consuming in seconds, and neither of them seemed inclined to stop.
“You’re not gonna make me regret this, are you?” Clark mumbled, barely pulling away.
Bruce’s voice was raw, wrecked. “Depends.”
“On?”
“If you stop,” Bruce smirked, “then you’ll regret it.”
Clark didn’t stop.
He kissed Bruce again and again, quick ones, then long ones, then slow drags of his mouth that made Bruce tighten his grip, made his breath stutter. Clark’s hands were everywhere now: one at the back of Bruce’s neck, one still gripping his ass like he owned it, like he wanted to claim every inch of him.
“You’ve been driving me insane,” Clark said between kisses, voice rough and uneven. “You walk around like nothing touches you in that tight batsuit, such a tease. Acting like I don’t want to run my hands all over you, rip it off you any time we’re alone and make you mine until you’re screaming nothing but my name.”
Bruce didn’t answer, he grabbed Clark by the front of his suit and yanked him back in. Their mouths met again, messy and deep, all tongue and heat and open want. The kind of kiss that left them both panting.
Clark moaned against his mouth, the hand on Bruce’s ass slipping a little lower, fingers curling to feel the muscle flex beneath the armor. “You’re unreal,” he said. “How the hell do you taste this good?”
Bruce’s response was barely a whisper: “Why, you want to eat me up?”
Clark laughed into the kiss, breathless and wrecked and smiling like he didn’t care how gone he sounded. “I’m serious. I could do this all damn night.”
Bruce rested his forehead against Clark’s, catching his breath, lips red and wet and parted. “You think I’m stopping you?”
Clark stared at him like he didn’t understand how someone like Bruce Wayne could look at him like that. Soft and dark and completely wrecked, pupils blown wide, mouth kiss-bruised, breath unsteady.
He kissed him again, slower this time.
Then another kiss.
And another.
Soft. Deep. Possessive.
Bruce made a quiet noise in his throat, a sound that didn’t belong to the Batman, not really. It was something gentler, softer. Something just for him.
When they finally parted again, both of them breathless and barely standing, Clark let his head fall to Bruce’s shoulder. His voice came out rough, quiet.
“I’m not walking away from this like nothing happened.”
Bruce’s hand slid up to rest at the back of Clark’s neck. “Good.”
Clark’s fingers gave one last squeeze, slow and full of intent. “And I’m definitely grabbing your ass again.”
Bruce smirked, voice low and hoarse. “Try it and find out what happens.”
Clark kissed his neck, grinning. “You say that like it’s a threat.”
“It’s a challenge.”
Clark lifted his head, eyes dark and smiling.
“Good.”
And then he kissed him again.
They were still pressed close, Clark’s hands very much still on Bruce’s ass, their mouths lingering near each other, flushed and panting, sharing quiet kisses in the dim corridor light, when the silence was broken.
A door down the hall slid open with a familiar hiss.
Clark didn’t move.
Bruce didn’t move.
But they both froze.
“…Hey, Bruce, did you leave your—” Hal’s voice rang out casually as he stepped around the corner, a datapad in hand and zero sense of timing in his entire body. “I was just going through that shipment log and—”
He stopped.
Dead.
His eyes landed directly on them, Clark with his hands firmly squeezing Bruce’s backside, Bruce with both arms wrapped around Clark’s neck, his hair disheveled, their faces flushed and kiss-bruised, lips parted like they’d just come up for air after diving deep.
There was a full beat of silence.
Then Hal groaned, loudly, threw his hands in the air, and turned right back around.
“Oh, come on!”
Clark blinked. “…What?”
Hal kept walking away, waving a hand behind him like he couldn’t bear to look again. “Not the kiss. Not the ass grab. No seriously, congrats on that Big Guy, Spooky has a great ass. Not the post-makeout glow. That’s all fine, good for you, great, I support it, but now I definitely owe Barry twenty bucks!”
The door slid shut behind him with a dramatic shhhhk.
Clark stared at the spot where he’d disappeared. Then at Bruce.
Bruce blinked once. “You think Barry had money on us?”
Clark raised an eyebrow. “You don’t?”
Bruce sighed. “Fair.”
Clark rubbed the back of his neck, still slightly dazed. “You think Hal’s gonna be mad about it?”
Bruce smirked. “Only at his wallet.”
Clark chuckled, forehead dropping against Bruce’s. “We are never gonna hear the end of this.”
Bruce’s hand slid up his back. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“If we give them something else to gossip about.”
Clark narrowed his eyes playfully. “Like what?”
Bruce leaned in, voice low and dangerous at his ear. “I can think of a few things.”
Clark made a soft sound in his throat, cheeks flushing again but this time, he grinned like he wasn’t the least bit sorry.
“…I really hope this hallway has security footage.”
Bruce kissed the corner of his mouth. “It does.”
Clark laughed. “Good.”
Epilogue
Hal stormed back into the monitor room with all the subtlety of a thunderclap, muttering under his breath and aggressively sipping from a coffee mug that had definitely been empty for the past twenty minutes.
Barry had arrived a few minutes prior, perched in a chair, feet kicked up on the console, eating trail mix out of a bag like it was popcorn.
He barely looked up. “So?”
Hal didn’t answer. He just slumped into a chair, glared at the monitor, and sighed like the world had betrayed him personally.
Barry popped a peanut into his mouth. “That good, huh?”
Hal glared harder. “You’re the worst.”
Barry’s smile widened. “So… was it just kissing? Or was it full-on cape-on-cape crime?”
Hal groaned. “Dude.”
“C’mon, I earned this. I was very specific in my prediction,” Barry said, casually scrolling through security feeds. “Post-patrol hallway hookup, instigated by Clark, initiated after jealousy flare-up triggered by Hal Jordan’s natural charm. I believe those were my exact words.”
“Natural charm my ass,” Hal muttered.
Barry held out his hand, palm up. “Pay up, Lantern.”
Hal dug into his pocket and slapped a crumpled twenty into Barry’s hand like it physically pained him.
Barry beamed. “Thank you. For believing in love. And my incredible observational skills.”
“Don’t talk to me,” Hal said, throwing his head back against the chair. “Ever again.”
Barry tapped at the console, casually pulling up a paused frame from the hallway feed. It was very clearly Clark and Bruce, mid-kiss, Clark’s hand on Bruce’s ass, Bruce’s cape twisted in Clark’s fist.
Barry let out a low whistle. “God, that’s so cinematic. I should’ve made a side bet on lighting.”
Hal didn’t even open his eyes. “If you show that to anyone, I swear to god—”
“I’m not gonna share it,” Barry said, mock-offended. “I’m gonna treasure it.”
Just then, Diana walked in, scanning the room with one brow raised. “What are you two whispering about?”
Barry grinned. “Oh, nothing. Just love blooming in space.”
Diana gave him a look. “What did Clark and Bruce do?”
Hal groaned. “Why does everyone already know?!”
Diana just smiled knowingly, arms crossing. “Darling, we’ve all been waiting for years.”
Barry fist-pumped. “Justice League Gossip Hive, vindicated.”
Hal slouched deeper in his chair. “I should’ve put money on them not making out in the hallway.”
Barry shrugged, munching another handful of trail mix. “Should’ve believed in the power of romantic tension. That stuff’s nuclear.”
Just then, the monitor feed flickered, someone had manually shut off hallway surveillance.
Barry blinked. “Oh no. They found the camera.”
Hal snorted. “You better hope Batman doesn’t check who accessed the footage.”
Barry slowly slid the keyboard away from himself like it might explode. “…We don’t have to mention it.”
Diana just smirked, already walking off. “You boys are on your own.”
Barry turned to Hal, mock-panicked. “Okay, so do you think Clark would protect me, or—”
Hal just laughed, bitter and doomed. “Nope. You’re toast.”