Grunted assent. Sounds good. Bruce isn't in a hurry to move, though, not particularly hungry yet; they can spend the next while just laying here. It's such a luxury, and Bruce has puzzled out that this sort of thing recharges his patience batteries - something sorely needed when dealing with anyone named Jason Todd, it turns out. He wishes it wasn't like that, but Bruce doesn't know how the fuck else to go about it. He realizes he's let out a sigh and buries his face against Clark's shoulder, as if blocking out the rest of the world. Fuck off, reality. At least for the next few hours.