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When Bruce pulls another all-nighter but tries to hide it from Clark, he looks... like a drunk-as-hell teenager trying to look sober. His posture is awkwardly straight, his gestures are controlled and mechanical, and as for his speech...
"Good morning, Clark."
The second Clark hears it, he furrows his brows in confusion. As Batman, Bruce would usually omit his accent, make it purposely clean and devoid of any distinctive features. As Bruce Wayne, he would use more sophisticated language, making the show of his "old money', but otherwise, there was not that big of a difference.
Now he spoke with a clear. british. accent. And Clark admits it's a bit funny. But mostly concerning.
Bruce notices his frown and decides on a change in tactic, "Did you sleep well? Anyway, Alfred prepared a breakfast for us, and I insist that you eat before you fly off to Daily Planet. We worked a lot yesterday, investigating that criminal scheme between the cities. I think we will figure out the nuances in a week or two."
Clark is not convinced, but he is touched with Bruce's concern, and Alfred does make the most scrumptious omelet he ever tried, so he follows him obediently in the hall, where Alfred sets a small table just for the two of them.
"Good morning, gentlemen. Breakfast is ready. I will bring the coffee in a minute. Clark," he pauses, "two sugars and milk, am I right?"
"Absolutely. Thank you, Alfred."
They sit down at the table, and as Bruce takes the fork in his hands, Clark notices when for a second it starts trembling. Of course, Bruce takes control of the tremor the next moment, but he isn't fast enough to fool him.
Clark scans his body and uses microscopic vision, just to make sure.
"Bruce," Clark rarely uses superman-voice without wearing the costume, but he swears - sometimes he feels like out of two of them, Bruce is the alien one, "How many hours did you sleep today?"
He stays silent. Now, Clark is 99% sure that Bruce lied to him yesterday when he said that he would work just for ten more minutes and then go to sleep too. 1% stands for the probability of this person not being Bruce at all.
Which is, in their field of work, improbable but not impossible.
"Bruce, there is so much caffeine in your blood I can actually see it."
The silence is thick and telling. Bruce looks at him like a teenager whom the parents just told he is under house arrest for a month.
It takes Clark ten more seconds before he realizes that this won't work.
"I get it, Bruce. You wanted to do more work because the faster we solve this case, the fewer people get hurt. I really do, you know that. But it won't help anyone if you just work yourself to the grave and die from a stroke at 30."
Now, he knows he could suggest asking Lois for help. Heck, he thinks she might be just as good of an investigator as Bruce, certainly better than Clark is. But he somehow feels it is too early for that. In the end, Bruce's trust is a fragile thing, earned only through time and hardships. Which, in Clark's eyes, makes it even more valuable.
"Let's do it this way. I will come here right after work, and we will continue our search. In the meantime, try to get at least a couple of hours of sleep. Please?" Clark smiles a little, seeing as Bruce's face and posture soften a bit, letting the tiredness seep through the cracks of his persona.
Bruce looks down before quietly answering, "I... okay. I will try," For a couple of seconds, he seems to have a battle with himself. Whoever wins, he ends up saying, "I shouldn't have lied to you yesterday.”
Clark's smile broadens. That is probably the closest to "sorry" he ever got from the man. But it is more than enough.
Timely as ever, Alfred comes in with a tray in his hands.
"Coffee, gentlemen," He says, as he places one of the cups before Clark.
Bruce stops him before he puts the second cup, "Thanks, Alfred. But I think I will drink tea for today."
"Of course, master. Camomile?"
Bruce slightly winces, "Yes, please."
"I'll get it in a minute."
___________________
Alfred leaves the room with a warm smile on his lips. Sometimes, he feels like saying, "I don't get paid enough for all of this," but he does, in fact, get paid much more than enough. So, he does what he does best - plans the next meal to include as much of Clark's favorite food as possible.
"Manipulation," some might say.
"Positive reinforcement" would be his calculating answer.