Picture Perfect

By Adrian Tullberg

Yes, continuity is almost an afterthought in this story. Arguably, you can say that about most fan fiction as a whole.

The vast landscape of his family's wheat fields spread out before Clark. The kind of panoramic vista that made you wish Norman Rockwell did more landscapes.

He turned back into the house, where Lois was chatting with J'onn. Diana had the idea of having work outings, however the whole secret identity concept limited where you could go and have a conversation that wasn't laden with subtext, inference, and suspicious 'you-know-whos'. However his mother's farm, in the centre of multiple acres of land seemed to accommodate the need for privacy that was sorely lacking after wearing skin-tight clothing.

The whine of Bruce's suppressed jet engines of the bat-whatever he was using this week emanated overhead.

Clark was waiting for the Dark Knight as he hopped out of the cockpit. While his excuse was he was settling business in Gotham, Clark suspected that wanted a reason to not change out of several levels of body armour and a large flowing cape.

Bruce handed over a bottle of wine, not looking at Clark as he marched towards the Kent household in that unmistakable 'lets-get-this-over-with' fashion. Clark wondered if it was intentional or unintentional that the bottle probably was worth twice more than the refrigerator it would be stored in.

"Good to see you too, Bruce."

"You noticed my utter delight in being here."

"The Gotham withdrawal kicking in already?"

"I have hotels in Gotham. Plural. And it would be extraordinarily easy for me to set up one of the penthouses. And yet everyone in the League elected to hold this little event nearly two thousand miles away in the literal middle of the country."

"It's almost like someone has spent an extraordinary amount of time and effort trying to make Gotham as inhospitable to superheroes as possible. And you never denied my Gotham Withdrawal remark."

"I gave that comment the attention and dignity it deserved."

"Just like I'm giving the implication that my childhood home is an inhospitable hole."

"It's out of the way. It appears hospitable."

"I thought you thoroughly investigated each and every one of us."

"Considering the extent you wear your heart on your sleeve, investigating your parents would have been a waste of resources."

"You really hate traveling beyond the East Coast, don't you?"

"You know, you can be annoying, Kent."

"I also know where to dump you if you annoy me."

Bruce opened the door and strode in, Clark noticing his mother talking to Barry. "Ma? This is …"

Ma had turned, and was looking at the Dark Knight, looking at his lower face, with an expression of dawning recognition and elevating blood pressure.

"…Bruce …?"

That was odd, considering he'd never revealed anyone's secret identity to her. Clark looked at Bruce; judging by his rapidly fluctuating vitals, something was …

"…Mom…?"

Clark's jaw dropped.

Bruce dropped. In the fashion that a two-hundred-pound-plus man passing out like a dead weight can drop.

The unconscious body of Bruce Wayne . Batman, spread out on the floor, with Martha Kent a.k.a Martha Wayne nee Kane looking at the two of them with a combination of realisation and guilt provided an interesting image.

Lois pointed out the obvious question. "What do we do?"

Several heroes pulling out their phones and snapping pictures seemed to be the immediate response.