The city never slept.
Gotham's streets were alive with crime, filth, and desperation. It was a perfect hunting ground for those who thrived in the dark. And now, for the first time in months, they were being hunted again.
Mark stood on the edge of a rooftop, the Bat-symbol on his chest glowing faintly under the streetlights, his cape shifting slightly in the wind. The new suit Eve had built was more than just armor—it was a second skin, seamless and silent. He flexed his fingers, feeling the reinforced gloves respond perfectly. This wasn't some heavy, clunky Batsuit. This was his.
Barbara's voice crackled in his ear.
"How's it feel?"
Mark sighed under the cowl. "Like I'm wearing a bat costume in a city full of psychos. Feels about right."
Barbara chuckled. "Well, you look the part. I gotta say, you're better at this than I thought."
Mark leaped from the rooftop, landing silently on the fire escape below. "I don't do anything halfway."
"Well, it's working. Just stopped another mugging a few blocks from you. Word's already spreading. They're scared, Mark. They think Batman's back."
He didn't respond. He didn't need to.
Below, a small-time gun deal was going down in a back alley. Five men—three buyers, two sellers. One of them, a scrawny guy with a rat face, nervously glanced around as he held up a pistol. "These are fresh. Military-grade. You got the cash?"
One of the buyers, a thick-necked bastard with tattoos up his arms, nodded and handed over a briefcase. "All there."
Mark dropped down behind them, silent as death.
"Yo, what the f—"
He slammed his fist into the tattooed man's face, feeling the crunch of cartilage as the guy's nose shattered. Before the others could react, Mark twisted, driving his boot into another's knee, snapping it sideways. The man screamed as he collapsed, but Mark was already moving.
The rat-faced guy tried to pull his gun, but Mark caught his wrist, twisted, and dislocated his elbow in one smooth motion. The scream barely left his throat before Mark slammed his head into the brick wall. The last two panicked, one scrambling for his gun, the other reaching for a knife.
Mark stepped forward, grabbed the gunman's wrist, and crushed the bones in his hand with a single squeeze. The man howled, dropping the weapon, but Mark wasn't done. He grabbed the guy's collar, lifted him, and slammed him down onto the pavement hard enough to knock him out cold.
The last one, knife in hand, was frozen in place. His whole body shook as he stared at the bodies around him.
"N-no... you're not... you're not supposed to be here! They said you were gone!"
Mark stepped toward him, his cape billowing slightly. "They were wrong."
The guy turned to run. Mark fired his grapple line, snagging the back of his jacket and yanking him backward. The man hit the ground hard, the knife skidding away.
Barbara's voice crackled in. "That was clean. Quick, brutal, efficient. Bruce would almost be proud."
Mark exhaled through his nose. "Next target?"
She pulled up another report. "Robbery in progress. High-end jewelry store. Two hostages. Four gunmen. Masked."
"On it."
He launched himself into the air, grappling across buildings. He rushed across the tops of the buildings allowing himself to use a fraction of his enhanced abilities which pushed him beyond superhuman level. He slid under vents jumped across buildings and used his cape to glide and land on a low building. The jewelry store's front window had been smashed, alarms blaring. Inside, four men moved quickly, filling bags with expensive watches, diamonds, and anything else they could get their hands on. Two civilians were on their knees, hands behind their heads, terrified.
One of the masked men turned to the hostages. "Shut up and stay down, or I start blowing kneecaps off."
Mark landed silently on the roof, crouching by the skylight. He could see everything—every movement, every detail. The leader, the twitchy one, was the most dangerous. His finger rested too easily on the trigger. The others? Hired muscle.
Barbara's voice came through. "You have a plan?"
"Yeah. Hit 'em fast, hit 'em hard."
"Classic Mark."
Mark smirked.
Then he dropped.
The first man never saw him coming. He landed on him like a wrecking ball, knocking him unconscious instantly. The second turned, but Mark was already on him, delivering a brutal elbow to the throat before throwing him over the glass counter. The third got a shot off. Mark twisted, the bullet barely grazing his new suit. Before the guy could fire again, Mark grabbed his arm and snapped it at the elbow. The man collapsed, howling in pain.
The last one—twitchy trigger-finger—grabbed a hostage and pressed the gun to her head.
"BACK OFF!" he screamed. "I'LL DO IT!"
Mark stared at him. Silent. Unmoving.
The man was shaking. "I-I swear to God, I'll—"
Mark took one step forward.
The guy panicked, fired—Mark was already moving he threw a batarang at the man which sliced off the trigger finger. He then closed the distance in a blink, twisting the gun from the man's grip and slamming his forehead into his face. The man crumpled, blood spilling from his broken nose.
Barbara's voice came through. "That was quite… scary."
"That was the point."
The hostages trembled, staring up at him.
"You're... you're really back?" one of them whispered.
Mark didn't answer. He turned, cape flowing behind him as he disappeared into the night.
...
Mark stood on the rooftop, crouched on the edge as he looked out over the city. The streets below were alive with crime. It wasn't even just major incidents like armed robberies or gang violence—muggings, carjackings, assaults. Everywhere he looked, Gotham was eating itself alive.
"This city is a lost cause," he muttered.
Barbara's voice crackled in his ear. "Bullshit."
Mark sighed. "Come on, Barb. This place is a mess. I've been out here for hours, and it's non-stop. No matter how many guys I put down, there's ten more waiting to take their place."
"You think Bruce never thought that?"
"I don't know, maybe he did, but it still feels pointless."
Barbara exhaled. "It's not pointless. You think about it too big. You're looking at the whole city like you have to fix it. You don't. You're just supposed to hold the line. One night at a time, one crime at a time. You stopped that robbery tonight? That's one less store owner getting put in a body bag. That's two people who go home alive instead of bleeding out on the floor."
Mark didn't respond right away. He looked down at the city again.
"... I don't know how Batman did this every night."
Barbara's voice softened. "Because he never focussed on the big picture unless he had to. Just the next fight."
Mark let that sink in for a second before shaking his head. "Still think this city's a dump."
"Yeah, well, tough shit, Batman. You're in it now."
Mark smirked slightly. "Any other good news for me?"
"Actually, yeah. A WayneTech truck just got hijacked. Loaded with high-end weapons and equipment. GCPD's trying to stop it, but these guys are tearing through them."
Mark rolled his shoulders. "Alright. I'm on it."
He pressed a button on his suit, sending a silent signal. Then, without hesitation, he jumped. The wind howled past him as he dropped, his cape billowing behind him. He landed in a crouch directly in the Batmobile, the sleek black machine having arrived just in time.
Bruce probably wouldn't be too happy about him having Eve hack the Batmobile's autopilot, but oh well.
He gripped the wheel and hit the accelerator. The engine roared, tires screeching against the pavement as he tore through the streets of Gotham.
...
The hijackers were loving this.
The truck was a beast—armored, reinforced, and packed with millions of dollars worth of tech. And it was theirs.
One of them, a greasy-looking guy with a scar across his lip, was practically giddy. "You know how much we're gonna make sellin' this shit?! This is retirement money, boys!"
The driver laughed. "If we don't crash this thing first! You sure you can keep up the speed?"
"Relax, I got it."
In the passenger seat, another thug was holding one of the WayneTech weapons—a compact energy cannon that was far beyond anything street gangs should have access to.
The guy grinned. "Check this out—"
He leaned out of the window and fired a blast at one of the cop cars in pursuit. The bolt of energy slammed into the front bumper, sending the vehicle flipping through the air before crashing into a building.
The hijackers cheered.
"WOOOOO! Did you see that shit?!"
"GCPD ain't got nothing on us!"
"We're untouchable, baby!"
Then the Batmobile slammed into them landing next to them from a freeway just above them. The truck lurched violently as the reinforced front of the Batmobile rammed into the back tires, sending sparks flying. The men inside screamed, the entire vehicle rattling from the impact.
"What the fuck?!"
Then they saw it.
The Batmobile pulled up beside them, its sleek black frame cutting through the night. Inside, the silhouette of Batman himself.
The driver panicked.
"No, no, no—he's gone! He's supposed to be gone!"
The guy with the energy weapon didn't waste time. He aimed at the Batmobile and fired. Mark jerked the wheel at the last second, dodging the blast as it tore through a parked car. He couldn't afford to take too many hits—Bruce might kill him if he actually damaged this thing.
Barbara's voice crackled in. "Jesus, these guys are amped."
"Yeah, and they've got big toys."
"What's the plan?"
Mark smirked.
"I'm gonna take the truck obviously."
"... You're what?"
Mark didn't answer. He gunned the accelerator, speeding ahead before cutting the wheel hard, forcing the Batmobile into a drift alongside the truck.
Then he leaped.
He landed hard on the roof, his boots denting the metal. Inside, the hijackers screamed.
"HE'S ON THE ROOF!"
"FUCK, FUCK, FUCK—"
One of them, a burly guy with brass knuckles, scrambled up through the roof hatch, pulling himself onto the top. He rushed Mark, swinging. Mark dodged effortlessly. The guy went for a wild right hook—Mark caught his arm, twisted it, and snapped the elbow joint in one clean motion. The man howled, but Mark silenced him with a brutal headbutt, sending him toppling off the side of the truck. Another one tried to climb up. Mark grabbed the edge of the hatch and slammed it down on his fingers. The man shrieked and fell back inside.
Barbara's voice crackled. "That was... is he okay?"
Mark smirked. "They'll live."
He took a step forward. Then jumped.
Flipping over the edge of the roof, he smashed feet-first through the windshield. The driver barely had time to scream before Mark kicked him out of the seat, sending him crashing against the dashboard.
With perfect timing, Mark grabbed the wheel and slammed the brakes. The massive truck screeched, tires smoking as it skidded across the pavement before finally grinding to a halt.
Silence.
Then, from the comms, Barbara.
"... Okay. That was cool."
Mark exhaled. "Yeah. It kinda was."
After getting out the truck Mark made sure to contain all of the thugs. He thought about questioning them, considering the fact that there was no way they would've been able to pull something like this off without any support, but in the end he decided to let it go and let the cops deal with him.
"Mark I've got something important, it can't wait," Barbara said through their headset.
Besides it looked like he'd be even busier tonight.
...
Mark landed silently on the rusted metal beams high above the warehouse floor, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene below. A dozen men, heavily armed, were stationed around the massive room, surrounding a group of frightened, bound individuals—women and children, most of them bruised, terrified, and clinging to one another.
Human traffickers. The absolute worst kind of filth.
Mark's fingers clenched into a fist. This wasn't a simple mugging or a convenience store robbery. This was more evil, the fact these women and children were being sold into the what was basically slavery lit a fire in him that burned. These weren't just thugs looking to make a quick buck—these were men who thrived on suffering, who made a business out of treating human lives like currency.
Barbara's voice came through his earpiece, hushed, controlled. "Mark... be careful. These guys aren't street trash, they're part of a bigger network. I've been tracking their operations for a while, and they have major connections."
"Doesn't matter, I'll deal with all of them now," Mark muttered, his voice low. He had spent his whole life dealing with people who wanted him dead. This wouldn't be any different.
He analyzed the scene quickly, counting each armed man, noting their weapons, their positions. Most were carrying small arms—handguns, a few SMGs—but two stood out. One had a pump-action shotgun strapped to his back, pacing near the captives like a caged animal. The other, clearly the leader, sat at a desk near the back, checking his phone while a rifle rested across his lap.
Mark moved.
He dropped down behind one of the men standing watch near the loading dock entrance. Before the guy could react, Mark grabbed his head and slammed it into the steel support beam, knocking him out instantly, he also likely cracked open his skull but he didn't care, he wouldn't feel bad for hurting filth like this. He caught the body before it hit the ground, dragging it into the shadows.
One down.
He moved fast, taking out two more guards brutally, snapping one's arm before delivering a knockout blow to his temple, then driving his knee into the other's spine before he could even scream, he felt the man's spine snap, he'd never walk again.
'Good.'
Three down.
The others were still clueless.
Mark crept along the upper scaffolding, narrowing his sights on the man pacing with the shotgun. He timed it perfectly—just as the guy passed under the catwalk, Mark dropped, wrapping his arms around the man's neck, wrenching him into a chokehold. The guy flailed, tried to fire the shotgun, but Mark twisted his arm and snapped his wrist in one motion before choking him unconscious.
Four down.
Then one of the others finally noticed something was wrong.
"Hey—where's Tommy?" one of the traffickers called out, turning in circles, his pistol drawn.
Mark moved fast. He surged forward, catching the man by the wrist and twisting it, making him fire a shot into the ground. The sound sent the rest of the thugs into panic mode. Before anyone could react, Mark threw the guy into a stack of crates, knocking him out cold.
Then all hell broke loose.
Gunfire erupted. The traffickers scattered, some taking cover behind steel containers, others firing blindly into the shadows. The captives screamed, pressing themselves against the floor.
Mark stayed low, weaving through the chaos, using their panic against them. He grabbed a fallen SMG, unloading the clip into the ceiling to send them further into confusion before tossing the weapon aside. He moved to the nearest gunman, dodging a wild swing of a crowbar before delivering a savage uppercut to his chin. Blood and teeth splattered across the ground as the man collapsed.
The last two tried to run.
Mark wasn't having it.
He caught one by the collar, spinning him around before slamming him into a nearby wall so hard it cracked the concrete. The last one—the leader—was making a break for the exit, fumbling with his phone, probably trying to call for backup.
Mark was on him in a second.
He grabbed the man's wrist and crushed the phone in his grip. The man screamed as Mark lifted him off the ground by his throat, his feet kicking wildly.
"P-please! Please!" the man choked out. "Y-you don't understand! You—You're not supposed to be here!"
Mark's grip tightened. "I'm here now."
Then he drove his fist into the man's gut, sending him sprawling across the floor in a heap.
Barbara's voice came through his earpiece. "Holy shit, Mark. That was... intense."
He exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as he turned to the group of captives. They stared at him, wide-eyed, trembling. He wasn't exactly comforting in this suit, but at least they weren't dead.
"You're safe now," Mark said. "Cops will be here soon."
One of the women nodded, tears streaming down her face. "T-thank you..."
Mark said nothing. He turned, disappearing into the shadows just as sirens filled the night.
Barbara's voice crackled again. "You still breathing?"
"Yeah," Mark muttered, leaping onto a fire escape.
"...You okay?"
Mark didn't answer right away. This had felt different than the other fights. He had beaten plenty of people to a pulp before, but this? These men had deserved worse than what he gave them.
But that wasn't the point.
"I'm fine," he finally said. "What's next?"
Barbara hesitated. "...You sure?"
"I said what's next, Barbara."
A pause. Then "Gang activity near the docks. Looks like a smuggling operation."
Mark sighed. "Gotham's just full of great people, huh?"
Barbara snorted. "Oh yeah, a real paradise."
...
The night had been long.
Mark had spent hours putting down criminals, stopping robberies, beating the shit out of gangsters, and making sure Gotham still feared the Bat. His movements were calculated, his strikes efficient, his presence terrifying. Just like Bruce. Maybe even better.
But now, as he sat perched on a rooftop, overlooking the city, he felt burnt out.
Physically, he was fine. Barely a scratch on him. But mentally? His brain felt like it had been wrung dry. The things he'd seen tonight weren't just the typical low-life scum committing basic crimes. Gotham was a horror show.
He'd stopped a group of guys dragging a woman into an alley. Six men against one—her clothes torn, her makeup smeared from crying, her voice hoarse from screaming for help. He broke them. Hard. One tried to stab him, so he shattered his arm. Another pulled a gun, so he made sure the guy wouldn't walk again. The woman? She didn't even thank him. She just sat there, shivering, hugging her arms around herself.
And then there was the kid.
A boy, maybe ten years old, standing over a fresh corpse. His father. Shot in the head for refusing to hand over his wallet. The kid was holding the damn thing—his dad's wallet—like maybe if he had just given it up faster, his dad would still be breathing. He didn't cry. Didn't scream. Just stood there, staring. Empty.
Mark had landed too late for that one.
Barbara's voice crackled in his ear. "You did good tonight, Mark."
He exhaled slowly. "Yeah."
"You sound thrilled."
He rolled his shoulders. "Just another night in Gotham, I guess."
There was a pause. Then, softer, "Are you okay?"
Mark didn't answer right away. He wasn't sure how to.
Finally, he muttered, "I don't know."
Barbara sighed. "You should get some rest."
Mark reached up, turned off the comms. He was done talking.
He was just about to stand when something whipped through the air. His instincts kicked in, and he flipped backward just in time to avoid the strike. As he twisted in midair, he caught a glimpse of what it was.
'Is that a whip?'
The moment he landed, another crack sounded, and this time he caught it. His hand snapped forward, gripping the leather mid-strike, and with one hard yank, he pulled the attacker straight out of the shadows and into his grasp.
A woman crashed into his chest, and Mark immediately locked an arm around her throat, pinning her.
And that's when he got a good look at her.
Curves in all the right places, a black leather catsuit that hugged her body like it had been painted on, long legs wrapped in thigh-high boots, a zipper just low enough to tease without giving everything away. Her black mask framed sharp green eyes, and full lips curled into something between amusement and annoyance.
"Who are you, and what do you want?" Mark growled.
The woman pouted, feigning disappointment. "Here I thought the big bad Bat finally came out to play. Only to find out it's just another boy wonder."
Mark scowled and shoved her off him, sending her stumbling back. "I am Batman."
She tilted her head, lips twitching in amusement. "Oh? Is that so?"
Mark stayed silent, watching her.
She giggled, placing a hand on her hip. "That might fool the common folk, sweetheart, but not me. I know Batman. Very well." Her smirk faltered slightly, just for a moment. "Or at least, I used to."
Mark crossed his arms. "You got history with him? Take it up with him."
"That's the problem." She took a slow step closer, moving too gracefully for someone in Gotham's filth. "He's disappeared."
Mark didn't say anything.
She took another step. "So I'll ask again." Her voice dropped, sultry and slow. "Where. Is. He?"
Mark held her gaze. "No clue."
She hummed, circling him like a predator. "I don't believe you."
"Not my problem."
She ran a gloved finger down his arm. "I can be very persuasive, you know."
Mark caught her wrist before she could get any further. "Not interested."
She sighed dramatically. "Such a shame. You really do look the part. For a second, I almost believed it was him under there."
Mark said nothing.
Her fingers brushed his jaw, a teasing touch. "If it makes you feel better, you wear the cowl very well."
And then, before he could react, she pressed a kiss to his chin.
Then she was gone, disappearing into the shadows like she was never there.
Mark exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "Gotham women are fucking insane."
Good thing he'd already disconnected the call from Barbara.
___________________________
The sterile white lights of the Watchtower's medical bay hummed softly overhead as Mark sat beside Kara's hospital bed, his fingers idly tracing the back of her hand. She squeezed his palm, clearly trying to stay calm, but he could feel the tension in her grip. Raven sat on the other side of the bed, her violet eyes focused on Kara as she gently rubbed her back. In her arms, she held Waylon, who had just finished feeding and now clutched onto the fabric of her robes, making tiny noises as he dozed.
Kara was supposed to have given birth by now. That was what had everyone worried. Kryptonians, from what they knew, had fairly standard gestation periods when compared to humans—if anything, they sometimes gave birth sooner. But here they were, well past her expected due date, and nothing had happened. No labor pains, no contractions. Just... waiting. Mark exhaled through his nose, rubbing his thumb against Kara's knuckles. She was trying not to show how anxious she was, but he could see it. It had been creeping up on her for days, the uncertainty, the nagging fear that something was wrong.
"Everything's fine, Kara," Raven murmured, running her fingers through the blonde's hair. "The baby's strong. And if something was wrong, we'd know."
Kara huffed, closing her eyes for a moment. "I know, I just—" She exhaled sharply, pressing her free hand to her belly. "I should have had this baby by now. I don't like this."
Mark squeezed her hand, leaning in to kiss her forehead. "We'll figure it out."
Just then, the doors slid open, and the Watchtower's chief medical officer, Dr. Lang, entered. She was an older woman, gray-haired but sharp-eyed, holding a datapad as she approached the bed.
"Well, good news," she said, looking between the three of them. "The tests show that the baby is perfectly healthy. Strong vitals, excellent development, no complications."
Mark let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Kara visibly sagged against the bed. Raven, ever composed, simply nodded, but even she seemed relieved.
"So what's the holdup, Doc?" Mark asked.
Dr. Lang pursed her lips. "Given the baby's mixed heritage, it's possible that the standard gestation expectations don't apply here. Kryptonian, Viltrumite, and human DNA all interacting in ways we don't fully understand... the timeline could be slightly different."
Kara groaned. "So what? I could be pregnant for months longer?"
Dr. Lang chuckled. "I doubt it. But I would recommend you stay here on the Watchtower for the time being. We have the best medical tech in the system, and if anything does happen, we'll be able to respond immediately."
Kara frowned. "I don't need to stay here. I'm fine."
Mark and Raven exchanged looks.
"Kara," Raven said, tone firm but soft, "we should at least consider it."
Mark nodded. "It's the safest place right now. I know you don't like being cooped up, but let's not take any risks."
Kara looked between them, biting the inside of her cheek, then huffed. "Fine. But only because I don't want you two hovering over me more than you already do."
Mark grinned, leaning over to kiss her. "That's all I ask."
Kara rolled her eyes, but there was warmth behind it.
...
Later, as they sat together in one of the Watchtower's apartments, the tension from earlier had mostly dissipated. Kara was leaned back in the seat, her hand resting on her belly, Mark beside her with an arm draped around her shoulder. Raven sat across from them, still holding Waylon, rocking him slightly as they talked.
"So what's the plan after the baby's born?" Kara asked, looking over at Mark.
He shrugged. "Thinking about helping Jonathan with the farm for a bit."
Kara's eyebrows shot up. "You? A farmer?" She snorted. "I can't picture that."
Mark rolled his eyes. "I can do manual labor, you know."
"Oh, I know, but you farming? What, are you gonna start waking up at sunrise and milking cows?"
Raven chuckled. "I'd like to see that."
Mark sighed. "Look, I just figured it'd be nice to help out. Jonathan's been good to us, and I kinda like the place. It's... quiet."
Kara smirked. "So you're just gonna be a small-town boy now?"
Mark shot her a dry look. "I grew up in Gotham, Kara. A farm is practically a vacation."
Kara giggled, leaning into him.
Raven tilted her head. "And your hero work?"
Mark exhaled through his nose. "Been doing it for over a week now. Apparently, I'm all over the news."
"As Batman and Invincible," Raven noted.
Mark scoffed. "Yeah, well, both of those are temporary."
Kara hummed. "You say that now."
Mark shook his head. "I've got more important things to worry about."
Without another word, he pulled them closer, his hands firm on their waists. He kissed Kara first, his lips hungry against hers, his tongue exploring her mouth with a deep, claiming kiss that made her moan into him. His hand slipped under her shirt, feeling the swell of her heavily pregnant belly before moving up to her breasts, caressing them through the fabric. Then, he turned to Raven, his kiss softer but no less passionate, his lips pressing against hers, his hand sliding down to grip her ass, pulling her against him.
The room filled with the sound of their heavy breathing, the air thick with desire. Mark's touches were everywhere, one hand sliding up Kara's back, feeling her skin, while the other roamed over Raven's thigh, his fingers teasing closer to her center. Kara's hands were just as eager, tugging at Mark's shirt, her fingers playing with his nipples, making him grunt in pleasure. Raven pressed herself against him, her hands on his shoulders, her body reacting to his touch with soft moans.
Clothes started to come off in a rush of need. Mark lifted Kara's shirt, revealing her swollen breasts, her nipples dark and hard, begging for attention. He kissed down her neck, his teeth grazing her skin, sending shivers through her. Raven helped him out of his shirt, her fingers tracing the lines of his muscles, her breath hot on his skin. Mark's hands were quick to unbutton Kara's jeans, sliding them down to expose her, the sight of her pregnancy making his desire spike even more. Raven was next, her shorts tossed aside, leaving her in just her underwear, Mark's hands kneading her ass, appreciating her curves. They were on the brink, the tension almost too much to bear. Mark pushed Kara back onto the bed, his mouth finding her nipples, sucking, licking, drawing a loud moan from her. He then turned to Raven, guiding her down beside Kara, his fingers teasing at the edge of her panties, feeling how wet she was for him.
But right at the edge of no return, Mark stopped, his breathing heavy, his body tense with wanting. He looked at both of them, their bodies flushed, eyes filled with need. He shook his head, pulling back. "We can't, not yet."
Kara, her chest heaving, pouted, her hand reaching out for him. "Why not?" she asked, her voice laced with frustration and desire, her pregnant belly a beautiful reminder of their connection.
Raven, her lips still swollen from their kisses, looked at him with those deep, longing eyes, her pout mirroring Kara's. "Please, Mark," she murmured, her hand on his arm, trying to draw him back.
Mark's resolve was clear, though the effort to maintain it was palpable. "Kara, you're heavily pregnant, and Raven, you're still healing. We need to be careful," he explained, his voice thick with the strain of control. He stood, looking at both of them, their bodies laid out before him, the very picture of temptation. The disappointment was written all over their faces, but they knew him well enough to respect his decision. Kara sighed, rolling onto her side, her hand now gently touching Raven's thigh, seeking some comfort in their shared frustration. Raven leaned into Kara, their bodies close, finding solace in each other's presence, even as they both watched Mark with a longing that was almost tangible.
He was tempted to take their asses again but he didn't want to risk anything with the baby, especially since things were so uncertain. And if he couldn't do it with Kara then he couldn't do it with Raven, he had to be fair with both his wives.
Feeling the strain of his cock threaten to burst open his trousers Mark got up and told them he had to go cool off. It didn't help that they both continued to touch each other as they tried to reach their peak. Mark left the lounge, stretching his arms over his head as he walked through the Watchtower's halls. His hard dick gladly went away before he crossed paths with anyone but the frustration he felt from it only seemed to pile on to everything else he was feeling. He'd been at this hero thing a week and every night he felt burnt out and like he'd made no progress at all.
He made his way to the observation deck, stepping into the vast open space where the reinforced glass gave an unobstructed view of Earth. The planet floated below, bathed in the soft glow of the sun, its surface a tapestry of blues, greens, and swirling white clouds. The sight was always something, no matter how many times he saw it.
Then he heard a noise behind him and he turned. Superman stood beside him, hands resting on his hips, his cape shifting slightly as he moved. They stood in silence for a while before Clark finally spoke.
"You've been doing good work."
Mark smirked slightly. "You keeping tabs on me?"
Clark chuckled. "Not directly, but I see the results." He turned slightly to face him. "You've been helping a lot of people, both as Invincible and as Batman."
Mark let out a small exhale. "Yeah, well... it's been crazy out there."
Clark nodded. "It always is."
Mark shifted, resting his forearms on the railing. "Doesn't really matter, though."
Clark raised a brow. "Why do you say that?"
Mark gestured vaguely to the planet below. "It's just... no matter what we do, people don't stop. I took down a guy trying to mug a woman the other night, snapped his wrist in three places. Not even five minutes later, another asshole tried to do the exact same thing on the next block over. It's like they don't learn."
Clark tilted his head. "So what, you think it's pointless?"
Mark frowned slightly, shaking his head. "I wouldn't say pointless, but it's like trying to drain the ocean with a bucket. You stop one crime, five more pop up. You save someone today, they're just gonna be in danger again tomorrow. It never ends."
Clark sighed, folding his arms. "You're right. It doesn't end. Not for us."
Mark gave him a sideways glance. "And that doesn't bother you?"
Clark was quiet for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "It used to. There were times I felt like I wasn't making any real difference. That no matter how hard I tried, the world would always be broken."
Mark huffed. "Sounds about right."
"But then I realized something." Clark turned toward him fully. "The world isn't broken, Mark. It's just... lost."
Mark scoffed. "Yeah? Feels pretty broken to me."
Clark smiled slightly. "Because you're looking at the big picture. But change doesn't happen all at once. It's not about fixing everything. It's about making things better, little by little."
Mark frowned. "So what, you're saying we just chip away at it forever?"
Clark nodded. "Yes. Because every person we help, every life we save, matters. Even if it's just one. Even if it feels small."
Mark exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "That's... slow."
Clark chuckled. "It is. But it's the only way that lasts."
Mark stayed quiet for a moment, mulling it over.
Clark glanced at him. "That girl you saved from the traffickers. Do you think she thinks what you did was pointless?"
Mark clenched his jaw, looking down. "...No."
"Then it wasn't," Clark said simply.
Mark tapped his fingers against the railing, thinking. "I don't know, man. I get what you're saying, I really do, but people are awful. Even the ones we help, half the time they don't even deserve it."
Clark sighed. "People can be awful. But they can also be better. That's why we do this—to remind them of that."
Mark let out a dry chuckle. "Man, you're really committed to this 'hope' thing, huh?"
Clark smiled. "Someone has to be."
Mark thought about it. Maybe Clark was right. Maybe the world wasn't as hopeless as he thought. Maybe.
"...Guess I'll keep at it a little longer," he muttered.
Clark clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Good."
Mark smirked. "Still think you're full of shit, though."
Clark laughed. "I get that a lot."
They stood in comfortable silence for a while, just watching the Earth spin below. Then Clark glanced at him.
"You know, if you need a break, I know a place."
Mark raised a brow. "Yeah?"
Clark nodded. "There's this little town in France. Not a tourist hotspot, just a quiet, beautiful place. Lois and I go there sometimes when we need to get away from everything. No capes, no villains. Just peace."
Mark hummed. "Sounds... nice."
Clark smirked. "It is. And I think you'd like it."
Mark considered it. Maybe a little peace wouldn't be so bad.
...
The next day, Mark sat with Kara and Raven in their quarters on the Watchtower, telling them about his conversation with Clark. He had expected some resistance, maybe even a sarcastic remark from Kara about him taking a "vacation," but to his surprise, they were both on board with the idea.
"You should go," Raven had said simply, holding Waylon close as she rocked him slightly. "You've been pushing yourself too hard."
Kara, resting against a pillow, had nodded. "Yeah, Mark, you've been running yourself into the ground between Gotham and everything else. Take a break. Relax. Who knows, you might actually like not getting shot at for once."
Mark wasn't sure about it at first. He still felt like there was too much to do. Staying in Gotham, being here with Kara, waiting for the baby to come. But... they had a point. And as much as he hated to admit it, he was tired.
So the next morning, after making sure everything was fine with Kara and Raven, he left the Watchtower and flew toward France.
The moment he arrived, Mark had to admit—Clark picked a damn good place.
The small town was nestled deep in the countryside, surrounded by rolling green hills and golden fields of wheat that swayed in the warm breeze. It was the kind of place that looked like it belonged in an old painting, untouched by the chaos of the modern world. The buildings were traditional, old stone cottages with wooden shutters and small gardens overflowing with flowers. Narrow cobblestone streets wound through the town, leading to open-air markets and cozy little cafés where locals gathered, sipping coffee and talking like they had all the time in the world.
The air smelled clean. Fresh. A mix of baked bread, lavender, and something sweet he couldn't quite place. The entire place felt different from anywhere he had ever been before. No sirens. No gunshots in the distance. No constant tension pressing down on him. Just... quiet.
Mark landed just outside a small inn that Clark had recommended. It was a rustic little place, family-run, with ivy crawling up the walls and a view of the river just down the hill. The woman at the front desk—a kind old lady with laugh lines and a thick accent—greeted him warmly, handing him the keys to a small but comfortable room with a balcony overlooking the fields.
As he stepped out onto the balcony, looking at the endless stretch of countryside before him, Mark exhaled.
Maybe... this wasn't such a bad idea after all.
(AN: So this chapter is Marks first week as a hero and basically just him getting into it. Next chapter we will finally be getting into the swing of things with Mark meeting someone important for the second time. Anyway I hope you enjoyed the chapter.)
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