Fic: Delectus Meus Mihi...
Title: Delectus Meus Mihi...
Characters: Bruce/Clark
Disclaimer: The boys belong to DC and to each other, but not to me.
Notes: Written for the 2006 Secret Santa for
carolandtom. I had a lot of fun with this one--lost memory is kind of an obsession of mine. :)
Rating: PG-13
Summary:
carolandtom's prompt: "Due to some sort of attack or accident, Clark loses his memory, doesn't recognize Bruce at all. Bruce has to teach him everything from the beginning. Will Clark fall in love with Bruce again?" The original and the very kind feedback it received can be found here.
Word Count: 5900
White room.
Clark was in a white room.
His head hurt.
It was a hospital room. Sort of.
Sitting next to his bed was a man in a black turtleneck and beige slacks. He had dark, thick hair that fell into his eyes a little bit. Deep blue eyes. He looked worried.
"Where am I?" Clark managed to say.
The man eyed him warily. "You're in the infirmary, Clark."
Clark tried to sit up. "How do you know my name? Who are you?"
The man looked down abruptly. When he looked up again his face wasn't worried anymore, it was closed and shuttered. "Clark. You're-there's been an accident."
Clark realized he was in a hospital gown. "Did something happen at the Planet? Are you a doctor?"
"No, I'm your...co-worker."
Clark shook his head and the room wavered around him. "No. You don't work at the Planet." He started to get out of bed. "And I'd like to see a doctor. I don't know what's going on-"
The man reached out and pushed him back down into the bed. "Clark, no, let me explain-"
Frustrated, annoyed, and starting to be a little alarmed, Clark shoved angrily at the dark-haired man. It wasn't a really hard shove, but the man was thrown backwards into a cabinet as if he'd been hit by a truck. Medical supplies flew everywhere, and the man landed on his feet like a cat, and nearly spitting like one. Clark stared in terror at his own hands. What was going on? He looked over his shaking hands to the man, who was still collecting himself, his handsome face furious. He stalked up to Clark, jabbed a finger at his chest. "You. Stay here. And don't touch anything." He was gone, the door slamming behind him.
Clark was only too happy to obey the man at this point. He had caught the expression on the man's face when Clark had shoved him, and it had been distilled, killing fury. No, before that. It hadn't been anger at first, but something else. Something like shock, maybe.
Clark didn't dare move or touch anything. He lay down on the bed. He could still hear the man's footsteps pounding angrily down corridors somewhere. Another door slammed, and Clark could hear the man's voice, snarling.
"Find someone else to play nursemaid, Princess! I don't know why you picked me for this job anyway, he's liable to kill me before I re-train him."
A woman's low contralto answered him. "Bruce, please. We voted, and we all agree you're the best person for this task." The woman's voice paused and she continued more hesitantly. "Bruce...I know that you two were-" she broke off and Clark could hear the man's heartbeat leap, stutter, stammer for a moment before she continued, "-not always good friends, but you know him better than anyone..."
The husky voice continued, but Clark couldn't process her words as shock rang through his body. He could hear the man's heartbeat! But that was impossible-impossible.
Clark suddenly became horribly aware that he could hear the woman's heartbeat as well, he just hadn't been listening to it. Like a floodgate opening, all the sounds he had been hearing and not attending to rushed at him. Scattered conversations-You think the big guy will be all//Can't do this, Diana//He'll pull through, I know//needs you now, Bruce//but Blood said the loss would probably be permanent-the hiss of machinery from a hundred machines, the hum of lights-still Superman, even if//what if he never-a cacophony of heartbeats, breathing, rustling clothes, the ringing sound of tiny particles of something hitting the metal building they were in-it was too much. Clark cowered on the bed, lost in a welter of sound, clinging to sanity.
Dimly through the chaos he heard the man's voice nearby, barking at someone-"Get everyone else off the station! Everyone! Now! He's not used to super-hearing anymore, he can't-just go! I'll shut down everything but life support-" The random voices and heartbeats picked up a desperate urgency We have to//He can't//Hurry up, Wally-then the first man was next to him again, his hand gripping Clark's firmly, his voice in Clark's ear.
"Clark, listen to me. I know it's overwhelming, I know it's frightening, but just focus on my voice." The low voice was urgent but gentle. "Just listen to my voice, hang on, Clark. Listen to me, it's going to be all right. You can get through this, you've gotten through worse, it's just super-hearing, listen to me, just to me, don't worry about the rest." The words didn't matter; Clark clung to the man's hand and honed in on his voice like the beam of a lighthouse, guiding him in from a stormy sea. "It's all right, Clark. You can do it. Just...trust me. Focus on my voice. I'm sorry." As the tremors wracking Clark's body eased slightly, the man continued. "That's it. Good. Good job. Now, keep relaxed and just...open up a little bit. Let a few more sounds in." The other people were gone, the random machinery noise was dulled, and Clark eventually found that he could open his eyes.
The man sighed as Clark met his gaze, and his shoulders slumped a little. "Better?"
"What...what have you done to me?" Clark was ashamed of the tears in his voice, the fear and uncertainty, but the man merely squeezed his hand once and let go.
"We haven't done anything to you."
"Look," Clark sat up with an effort, trying to make himself clear. "My name is Clark Kent and I'm a reporter at the Metropolis Daily Planet. I don't know what's happened to me, but I shouldn't be able to-to throw you across the room like that. Or hear...everything."
The man covered his eyes for a second, gathering his thoughts. He looked up at Clark, grimacing, the hand still on his forehead. "Yes, Clark, you're a reporter at the Planet. You're from Smallville, the son of Jonathan and Martha Kent."
"You know all that about me-"
"But you're also much more," the man said, cutting him off. "You're-" He stood up. "Well, I'll show you." He went to one of the screens on the wall, typed in a few commands. On the screen, a video of Clark. Wearing a red and blue suit. And flying. Bullets bounced off of him, and beams of light lanced from his eyes and melted guns to slag. The man stood with his back to Clark, staring at the screen.
"That's not me. That's someone who looks like me. I-" Clark couldn't find the words to explain how wrong the image seemed.
The video ended. The man continued to look at the blank screen. "There was a fight. Dr. Destiny. A magical backlash. It...took out all your memories of being anything but a mild-mannered reporter. We scanned your mind, had our best magicians examine you. They all agreed: There's a good chance you'll never remember this side of your life." The man turned, his stormy blue eyes bitter. "So the League voted me to train you in the use of your powers, your background, your history, your teammates. Get you...up to speed again."
"Why not just let me be? Why not leave me in my normal life?"
"Your normal life?" The man barked a mirthless laugh. "How normal would your life have been when you lost control of your super-hearing? Or-God forbid-your heat vision? No, Clark, the world needs Superman. Your team needs you. And you've never had a 'normal life,' and never will, whether you get your memories back or not."
He leaned forward, his wolfish blue eyes sarcastic, his hand out. "Clark Kent, I'm Bruce Wayne. I'll be your trainer until you're back in control of your powers."
Clark shook the proffered hand. Without really thinking, he said, "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Wayne."
The man winced. "Well. Call me Bruce, at least."
:-:
Bruce flicked on the last switch. "You're still all right?"
Clark swallowed hard. The machines buzzing to life around them one by one had been disorienting, but slowly he managed to adjust his hearing until he was involuntarily focusing on the most important thing to hear. The hissing noise of space particles hitting the space station--and he still couldn't believe he was on a space station-faded into the background.
He had still put up some protest at the idea of his being a super-powered alien, but when Bruce had attempted to jab a scalpel through his wrist-and it had broken off even as Clark flinched-he was forced to conclude the man might have a point. After he had patched Clark through to talk to his mother there was really no way to argue anymore. Even the relative ease with which he had regained control of his hearing seemed to indicate that perhaps this was a skill he was used to having. But it all still seemed completely bizarre.
Bruce was still looking at him, waiting for an answer. "Yes. Yes, it's fine."
Bruce worried his lower lip for a while. "I think I'm going to risk taking you down to the Fortress. It's a better setting for you to practice in-for example, I don't have to worry about you punching a hole in the wall and letting in vacuum. And your computer has files..." He trailed off at Clark's confused face and sighed. "You have a Fortress. Of Solitude. Underneath the Arctic icecap. It's where you keep most of the things associated with your Kryptonian identity." He walked toward a different machine. "We can use this to teleport there. If your hearing gives you any problems, let me know and we'll teleport right back."
Clark nodded and followed him onto a pad of some sort. There was a weird disorienting feeling, and suddenly he found himself...somewhere else. It was a lot noisier there, and he had to stand with his eyes closed for a few minutes, getting used to the extra input of waves, sea-life, and wind nearby. When he opened them again, Bruce was watching him carefully. "Okay?"
"Yes. I think I'm getting used to that."
"Good." The aristocratic eyebrows lifted. "You won't be much use to us if you can't handle the noise of a battle." The man turned and stalked away down a corridor, and Clark followed, feeling stung and rebuffed. "Use to us"-the man acted like Clark was a fancy windup toy that was currently broken, somehow, and he was the mechanic assigned to get the gears whirring right again. Clark would have left him-but he didn't know how to work the teleporter and had no idea where he was. Great. Resignedly, he followed Bruce into a large hall dominated by a huge computer screen.
Bruce was calling up a few windows. "All right," he said as Clark trailed in behind him. "Let's start with your powers." A bulleted list appeared on a window: "Superman's Powers." "As Superman, you have access to a large variety of powers: invulnerability, super-strength, and super-hearing, all of which seem to be involuntary, and an array of others such as flying, cold breath, heat vision, and x-ray vision, which appear to need your conscious control."
"You have a Powerpoint presentation prepared about me."
Bruce crossed his arms and nodded at the neat bulleted list with some satisfaction. "It's more advanced software than Powerpoint, but the same basic idea. I put it together while you were unconscious. It's got three major sections: powers, history, and-" the clinical tone stumbled just a little, "-relationships. Obviously your powers are top priority, but I assumed we'd work in some of the other sections as we-"
"I'm not some lab rat, you know."
Bruce looked confused. "What?"
"I'm not some machine you can input the right data into and make... work again! Like a business plan for projected earnings or something. I can't believe you took the time to break down this whole other life into nice little neat components, like a-a frigging Wikipedia entry!"
Bruce looked at the screen and tapped a console absently with one finger. "It was...something to do. While we waited."
Clark walked up to the other man. He was tempted to jab him with a finger, but he was a little worried about what his super-strength might do. "Something to do? I have a whole life I've lost, and you're looking for something to do?" He threw up his hands and stepped away. "What if I don't even want to do this super-hero thing from now on? Maybe I don't want to work for you people. Have you even considered that possibility?"
Without looking at him, Bruce called up a video onto the screen, his fingers snapping angrily on the controls. Clark in the red and blue outfit again, saving people. Stopping lava flows, damming rivers, rescuing kittens from trees, catching falling people. Bruce turned his head just enough to meet Clark's eyes. "This is what Superman stands for. If you don't want to use your powers to help people, then you've lost a lot more than your memory."
He left the video running, the presentation screen up as well, and walked toward a door on the far side of the room. At the door, he paused, not looking back. "Let me know when you're ready to start training. What you do after you get in control of your powers is up to you."
A few hours later, Clark walked into the next room. Bruce was doing push-ups next to a cot, mechanical, his breathing deep and steady, his eyes fixed on the floor below him. He looked like he'd been doing them for hours and might well continue to do them indefinitely. Clark cleared his throat and the other man stopped in mid-pushup and looked over at him, eyes flinty.
"I've read the part about the history and background. About Kal-El. I'm...ready to work on my powers, if you're still willing to help."
Bruce didn't smile. He stood up, straightened his sweater, and nodded. "I'm always willing to help you, Clark."
:-:
"This is crazy. People can't fly."
"You're not 'people.' You're Superman. I still think you should wear the costume, it might help."
Clark took another tentative hop, landing firmly on the ground yet again. "No way. I'm not going to put up with you sniggering at me. And you haven't given me a single bit of useful advice on how to do this."
Bruce rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "That's because I have no idea. I've heard it said that the best approach is to throw yourself at the ground and miss."
"That's great." Clark steeled himself to really put his all into it this time, crouching.
"You could try saying 'Up, up, and away.' That always seemed to help."
"Fuck you, Bruce." Clark leapt as high as he could--and landed on his stomach on the stone floor with a resounding impact. He rolled over to glare at the other man.
"Maybe we should work on the vision-based powers instead," Bruce suggested.
"The cold breath came so easy, I don't know why the flying's so difficult." Clark sighed and pulled himself into a sitting position.
"You're trying too hard. And it's late, and you're still recovering from your injury. Maybe we should call it a night and give you some rest."
"I don't want to rest, I want to fly," Clark complained, but embarrassed himself by yawning at the end of the sentence. "Okay, maybe some sleep would do us both good."
Bruce dusted his hands off. "All right, I'll be back in about six hours then." He started to move back toward the teleporters.
"You're just going to leave me here alone?" Bruce turned and gave him a surprised look. "Can't I go back to my apartment in Metropolis?"
"Not until I feel more confident about your powers."
Clark looked down at his shoes. "Couldn't you, um, stay here? What if something goes wrong with my hearing again, or something?" He looked up to see Bruce gazing at him, his face unreadable. He felt himself blushing, but said it anyway. "This is a really lonely place and I'm feeling very...alone."
"That's why it's the Fortress of Solitude, not the Fortress of Companionship."
Clark ignored the sardonic tone and spoke instead to something he saw in the back of the man's gaze, something elusive and quicksilver. "Please stay."
It was Bruce's turn to look down. "All right." A quick, cynical glance. "If you really feel you need a babysitter."
Clark decided to ignore that too. "Uh, where do we sleep here?"
Bruce pointed back to the room with the cot. "I sleep there. Your room is over here." He led Clark to a large room with a big circular bed. Silver sheets.
"Looks like a tacky honeymoon suite."
Bruce pursed his lips and eyed the room. "No accounting for alien tastes." He went to a spot on the wall and touched it; it slid open to reveal a drawer full of fluffy blankets. He tossed a red one at Clark and snagged a black one for himself. He paused at the door, looking back at Clark, forlorn on the large shining bed. "Sleep well, Clark."
"Happy dreams, Bruce."
The other man sighed and rested his forehead on the doorframe for a moment. "Yeah. Happy dreams." Then he was gone, his footsteps echoing down the hall away from Clark.
:-:
A new scorch mark was added to the wall as Clark focused. "Good job, Clark," said Bruce approvingly. "See, that wasn't so hard once you figured out the right way to focus your vision. Think you're ready to try the x-ray vision now?"
Clark squinted at the wall. "How do I switch?"
Bruce frowned. "I think you described it once as feeling like a sort of...extra eyelid? There's a set of muscles at the corners of your eyes, here and here," he reached out and lightly touched Clark's eyes. "If you flex them, somehow..." He trailed off, looking slightly annoyed. "I know," he muttered to himself, "Let's get the guy with no superpowers at all to train him! That's perfectly logical!"
Clark screwed his eyes up in concentration, ignoring Bruce's dire grumbles. "I think-" He blinked a couple of times. "Hold on." It was a strange sensation, but he could actually feel the muscles now that Bruce had pointed them out. He focused-and scorched the wall again. Bruce backed a few steps away. "All right, no, this time I think I've really got it."
"I hope so."
It took another twenty minutes or so of squinting and de-focusing, but then there was an odd shifting feeling around his eyes, and he was looking through the wall into the bedroom. He made a relieved sound. "I've got it, Bruce! I can see into the next room!"
Bruce looked skeptical. "I'm not letting you off that easy. Prove it."
"Well...my bed's not made."
Bruce snorted. "You already knew that."
Annoyed, Clark cast around for something that would prove him right. "Um, there's a seal swimming just outside the walls...I can see the circuitry in the computer..." He glanced at Bruce. "...And you're wearing a ring on a chain around your neck, underneath your clothes, with a Latin inscription: Dilectus meus mihi, et ego illi. He smiled triumphantly at the other man. "How's that?"
Bruce looked just a little pale. He reached up and touched the spot the ring lay hidden beneath. "All right, Clark, I believe you." He turned away, back to the computer. "Maybe it's time for you to learn more about your teammates, since you're going to have to start working with them again soon." He called up a screen with five faces on it, masked and costumed. "These are the members of the Justice League. All of them have unique powers and abilities. Together, we make one of the most powerful groups in the known universe."
Clark frowned. "'We'? Are you on this team?"
"What did you think I was?"
"Well, actually I thought you were a kind of...specialist, brought in specifically to train me."
Bruce shrugged. "I don't have powers like the rest of you, but yes, I'm on the team."
Clark eyed the five faces. "You're the one wearing black."
The other man looked slightly surprised. "How did you know?"
Clark laughed. "Well, you're not green or black, and I'm pretty sure you're not a woman. That leaves only the man in red and the man in black. And the man in red is smiling. Ergo, therefore, you must be the one in black, because I've never seen you smile." He eyed the pictures again, ignoring Bruce's snort. "So we work together? You and me? Did we...get along?"
"We've worked together for about a decade now. And we...don't always get along, no. Didn't. We did sometimes," Bruce added softly.
The idea that he and this man could have a whole history that he didn't remember unnerved Clark. And this led him to the inevitable question...he blurted it out before he could think better of it. "Did I-as Kal-was I in a relationship with anyone?"
Bruce seemed neither alarmed nor amused by the question. "As far as the League knew, you weren't involved with anyone," he said, as though he'd prepared an answer in advance. He continued briskly, "We're going to drill the history and powers of these people until you get them memorized. You have to know what roles we all play in combat if you're ever to join us again." He reached up absent-mindedly and touched the place on his chest where the ring lay underneath, continuing his lecture. Clark suddenly realized he had seen Bruce make that unconscious gesture many times now, but he had never realized what he was touching, like a talisman.
Clark did his best to try and focus.
:-:
"Damnit, Clark, the flying is important."
"I know it is, Bruce! That's probably why I can't get it." In the last three days, Clark had memorized the powers and the strategies of the Justice League until he could recite their usual maneuvers in his sleep. He had become able to switch back and forth between heat and x-ray vision effortlessly. And he had gotten much better control of his super-strength, to the point where he could engage in some cautious sparring with Bruce without hurting him. Going through the intricate fight choreography with the other man, like a dance that his body seemed to remember on its own, was his favorite part of the training. Late at night, as he drifted off to an exhausted sleep, he would almost admit to himself that he liked the feel of Bruce's body against his, the muscles taut and straining together, the gleam of the other man's eyes challenging him. Almost.
But flying continued to escape him. Bruce kept pushing him to wear the red and blue suit, Clark kept refusing. And he stayed earthbound and frustrated.
"Maybe if I went outdoors, had some more space to maneuver in."
Bruce shrugged somewhat dismissively. "At this point, I'll try about anything."
Soon they were standing on a set of sheer ice cliffs, sparkling in the Arctic moonlight. The Northern Lights rippled wanly overhead and thick sheets of stars glowed as Clark crouched and leapt, crouched and leapt again, trying to reach for them. Finally, he walked to the edge of a cliff and looked down. About thirty feet below, icy rocks glittered. Swallowing hard-he knew he was invulnerable, but it was hard to keep in mind at key moments-he jumped.
And smacked into the rocks below, shattering some of them.
"I think maybe you got a little bit of air time during the fall," a voice pointed out helpfully from the top of the cliff.
"You know what? You suck at encouraging," he yelled back, and began the long climb to the top again.
At the top, he sat down and put his head on his knees. "I'm never going to get this. I give up."
Bruce wrapped his arms around himself in the cold wind. He sighed. "All right, Clark." Clark looked up at his tone, which was an odd mix of resignation and irritation.
Then Bruce walked to the edge of the cliff and jumped over.
Clark had Bruce safe in his arms before he got ten feet down. He felt the earth's gravity holding him, pushing and supporting him like a friend, and he reached out against it. The stars rocketed crazily above them, and he was airborne and it was like every moment of freedom and joy he had ever experienced or imagined, every dream of ecstasy possible...he started laughing and couldn't seem to stop. Bruce was warm and solid in his arms-finally, finally, his mind sang-and as he coasted to a halt in midair, he pulled back from the other man's tight embrace to smile at him in a rush of relief and happiness.
Bruce's impassive face glared back at him. "It's about time. I shouldn't have had to resort to that."
Some of the joy went out of Clark's flight, and he glared back. "You know, I have never seen you smile. Not for anything. What the hell is wrong with you, anyway?"
Bruce looked like he was considering a nearly infinite set of options. "My parents were murdered in front of me when I was a child."
Clark blinked. "I'm very sorry to hear that. But you can't tell me you've had no reason at all to smile since then."
He found his feet touching the icy cliff again; he had drifted down like a slowly deflating balloon after seeing Bruce's face. He let go of Bruce and the other man backed off, then turned to look away from Clark.
"I lost someone I cared about. Recently." His voice was very quiet. "We had been quarreling-you may not have noticed this, Clark, but I can be somewhat high-maintenance-and he said." He paused. "He said he wished he hadn't fallen in love with me, that he would never do it again if he had the choice. And then he left. And then he was gone."
He turned back and looked in Clark's direction, but seemed to be looking past him, at something just beyond Clark's left shoulder. "He made me smile, even when I didn't want to," he said flatly. It sounded like a eulogy.
He started to walk back toward the entrance to the Fortress, but paused when he drew level with Clark. "Trust me, I'm pleased you've managed to fly. Good work." Then he kept walking to the entrance, leaving Clark alone with the cold stars.
:-:
Clark found him later, doing push-ups again, eyes on the floor. He didn't look at Clark.
"You shouldn't be angry at him, the person who died," Clark said softly. Bruce kept moving through his exercises. "People sometimes say stupid things that they don't mean. I'm sure he would have taken it back if he had had a chance. I mean, he must have been used to you being something of a jackass if he was able to be in a relationship with you."
"How very comforting," said Bruce dryly, still not looking up.
Clark sighed. "I'm just saying that-" he paused, uncertain. "That once someone did the work to get to know you, once they actually fell in love with you, I don't think they'd ever want to do it differently. I suspect you inspire a great deal of loyalty in your friends and your teammates. I mean, I've only known you for four days and you've talked me into wearing this."
Bruce rolled into a standing position at that, looking gravely at Clark in the bright suit. Clark felt deeply embarrassed standing in that appraising gaze, but eventually Bruce merely nodded. "You look..." he paused as if searching for the right word, "correct."
"I feel ridiculous," Clark complained.
Bruce drew closer. "That...is...correct," he said lightly, flicking invisible lint from the shining shoulders with each word. He eyed Clark's face. "But you don't wear glasses, because you don't need them," he said, reaching out and gently removing them. "And you wear your hair differently in uniform. Like...so." Long fingers reached out and stroked through Clark's hair until he could feel it falling across his forehead. He closed his eyes, lost in the caressing sensation for a moment. He didn't want it to stop, he realized. He wanted-
He knew what he wanted, but the raw grief he had seen in Bruce's eyes outdoors constrained him. The man didn't need him intruding on his pain. Clark stepped back away from Bruce's hands, breaking the contact. Bruce stared at him, his face unreadable. Into the silence, the computer suddenly burst into urgent light and sound.
A woman's face formed on the monitor. Clark recognized it from the files: Wonder Woman, Princess Diana of Themyscira. When she saw him in the costume, her pale blue eyes lit up. "Kal-Superman," she said joyfully.
"You must be Diana," he said, and watched the hope die out of them.
"Yes," she said a bit dully. She looked at Bruce, and Bruce shook his head very slightly.
"He seems to be in control of his powers, Princess. No field testing yet, of course."
"Do you think he's ready? The Key and Luthor are causing some trouble in Metropolis, and we could use the assist. At least one of you."
Bruce was already halfway to his room. "We'll be there in a moment."
Diana looked dubious. "Both of you?"
"Both of us." The door slid closed.
Wonder Woman nodded. "I'll see you soon, Superman. It's...good to have you back."
He wanted to say it was good to be back, but it didn't feel like he was "back" at all. Nor did it feel good. It felt like this was going to be his first fight ever, and he was frankly sick with anxiety. "Thank you," he managed before she cut the connection.
The door opened and Batman came out, cape swirling around him in the cold drafts of the Fortress. Clark blinked at him. He looked about a hundred times more deadly in person than he had in the files, all of the dangerous beauty Clark had sensed in Bruce put on open display, carved into ebon and shadow. He strode past Clark toward the teleporters, speaking quickly.
"J'onn will set up a telepathic link when we get there, connecting us to the rest of the team. It feels a bit...scratchy, inside the head, but don't let it distract you. Standard operating procedure here is that the rest of us will deal with the Key and you'll focus on Luthor. He has a power suit that makes him quite formidable. I'm going to suggest we run this one a bit differently and have Lantern give you some backup while we see how fine your control is. If you feel you're having difficulty, don't be stupid and insist on sticking it out-fall back and let us handle it. We don't want you jeopardizing the battle. Or getting yourself hurt," he added grudgingly.
At the teleporters, he glanced at Clark's face, then suddenly laid a hand on his arm. "You'll be fine, Clark. You're Superman. You won't let us down."
Clark rather wanted to disagree, but then the teleporter took them, and he had no time to argue after.
:-:
Bruce pulled off the cowl as they re-appeared in the Fortress, clearly fuming. "I told you to focus on Luthor!"
"You didn't know that monkey was going to be there too-I made a judgment call and went to help Flash deal with him."
"Gorilla Grodd is not just some monkey. You could have ruined everything. What if he-"
"-But I didn't ruin everything."
"Flash might disagree."
"He was going to get a lot worse than a broken arm without some quick backup, Bruce!"
Bruce made an angry hissing sound. "You! I was hoping this accident would change your style a little, but you're the same pigheaded, arrogant prima donna you ever were."
"I lost my memories, not my personality, Bruce. I'm sure you'd rather I had ended up some lobotomized, tractable and biddable super-pet, but I'm still me."
Bruce snorted. "Well, thank goodness." Clark couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not. The tone was dripping with sarcasm, certainly, but something about his eyes seemed otherwise. "I'm surprised you didn't want to go back to the Watchtower for the 'Welcome back Superman' party," Bruce continued quickly.
"I...wanted to rest. I have to get back to my civilian life tomorrow after the 'sick leave' you finagled me." Actually, he had felt rather flustered and overwhelmed by the rest of the JLA's relief and exuberance at having Superman "back." He didn't want to depress them as they found out how little he actually remembered them. Plus he could tell Batman was furious and he wanted to get the inevitable scolding over with.
And maybe he wanted just a little more time with Bruce.
Bruce said, "Well, I'll let you get that rest." He looked perhaps just the tiniest bit apologetic. "I really have a lot of catching up to do at my place. I've let a lot slide while training you." That probably should have stung, but he said it without any recrimination.
Clark looked at him, trying to memorize the lines of his face to hold in his mind tonight. "Can we meet here tomorrow? For sparring practice?"
Bruce snorted. "I don't think you need it after today. But yes," he added, looking at Clark's face, "I'll come back tomorrow. If you don't mind."
"I'd like it."
Bruce nodded, absent-mindedly touching his chest again. "All right."
Bruce requested the Watchtower teleport him directly to his place, then stood waiting for the command to go through. "Take care, Bruce," said Clark. Then something darted through his mind, maddeningly elusive...he grabbed at it. "And say hi to Alfred for me."
Eyebrows lifted like black wings. "I've never mentioned Alfred to you. He's not in the files."
Clark shook his head. It was gone again, everything but- "He makes me cookies, sometimes."
Bruce stood very still on the teleporter pad for a moment. Then suddenly he smiled at Clark, his face transformed into something lovely and bright and, for the first time, hauntingly familiar. As Clark caught his breath, it dissolved into blue light and was gone.
-----
Dilectus meus mihi, et ego illi: My beloved is mine, and I am his. (Song of Solomon 2:16)
Characters: Bruce/Clark
Disclaimer: The boys belong to DC and to each other, but not to me.
Notes: Written for the 2006 Secret Santa for
carolandtom. I had a lot of fun with this one--lost memory is kind of an obsession of mine. :)
Rating: PG-13
Summary:
carolandtom's prompt: "Due to some sort of attack or accident, Clark loses his memory, doesn't recognize Bruce at all. Bruce has to teach him everything from the beginning. Will Clark fall in love with Bruce again?" The original and the very kind feedback it received can be found here.
Word Count: 5900
White room.
Clark was in a white room.
His head hurt.
It was a hospital room. Sort of.
Sitting next to his bed was a man in a black turtleneck and beige slacks. He had dark, thick hair that fell into his eyes a little bit. Deep blue eyes. He looked worried.
"Where am I?" Clark managed to say.
The man eyed him warily. "You're in the infirmary, Clark."
Clark tried to sit up. "How do you know my name? Who are you?"
The man looked down abruptly. When he looked up again his face wasn't worried anymore, it was closed and shuttered. "Clark. You're-there's been an accident."
Clark realized he was in a hospital gown. "Did something happen at the Planet? Are you a doctor?"
"No, I'm your...co-worker."
Clark shook his head and the room wavered around him. "No. You don't work at the Planet." He started to get out of bed. "And I'd like to see a doctor. I don't know what's going on-"
The man reached out and pushed him back down into the bed. "Clark, no, let me explain-"
Frustrated, annoyed, and starting to be a little alarmed, Clark shoved angrily at the dark-haired man. It wasn't a really hard shove, but the man was thrown backwards into a cabinet as if he'd been hit by a truck. Medical supplies flew everywhere, and the man landed on his feet like a cat, and nearly spitting like one. Clark stared in terror at his own hands. What was going on? He looked over his shaking hands to the man, who was still collecting himself, his handsome face furious. He stalked up to Clark, jabbed a finger at his chest. "You. Stay here. And don't touch anything." He was gone, the door slamming behind him.
Clark was only too happy to obey the man at this point. He had caught the expression on the man's face when Clark had shoved him, and it had been distilled, killing fury. No, before that. It hadn't been anger at first, but something else. Something like shock, maybe.
Clark didn't dare move or touch anything. He lay down on the bed. He could still hear the man's footsteps pounding angrily down corridors somewhere. Another door slammed, and Clark could hear the man's voice, snarling.
"Find someone else to play nursemaid, Princess! I don't know why you picked me for this job anyway, he's liable to kill me before I re-train him."
A woman's low contralto answered him. "Bruce, please. We voted, and we all agree you're the best person for this task." The woman's voice paused and she continued more hesitantly. "Bruce...I know that you two were-" she broke off and Clark could hear the man's heartbeat leap, stutter, stammer for a moment before she continued, "-not always good friends, but you know him better than anyone..."
The husky voice continued, but Clark couldn't process her words as shock rang through his body. He could hear the man's heartbeat! But that was impossible-impossible.
Clark suddenly became horribly aware that he could hear the woman's heartbeat as well, he just hadn't been listening to it. Like a floodgate opening, all the sounds he had been hearing and not attending to rushed at him. Scattered conversations-You think the big guy will be all//Can't do this, Diana//He'll pull through, I know//needs you now, Bruce//but Blood said the loss would probably be permanent-the hiss of machinery from a hundred machines, the hum of lights-still Superman, even if//what if he never-a cacophony of heartbeats, breathing, rustling clothes, the ringing sound of tiny particles of something hitting the metal building they were in-it was too much. Clark cowered on the bed, lost in a welter of sound, clinging to sanity.
Dimly through the chaos he heard the man's voice nearby, barking at someone-"Get everyone else off the station! Everyone! Now! He's not used to super-hearing anymore, he can't-just go! I'll shut down everything but life support-" The random voices and heartbeats picked up a desperate urgency We have to//He can't//Hurry up, Wally-then the first man was next to him again, his hand gripping Clark's firmly, his voice in Clark's ear.
"Clark, listen to me. I know it's overwhelming, I know it's frightening, but just focus on my voice." The low voice was urgent but gentle. "Just listen to my voice, hang on, Clark. Listen to me, it's going to be all right. You can get through this, you've gotten through worse, it's just super-hearing, listen to me, just to me, don't worry about the rest." The words didn't matter; Clark clung to the man's hand and honed in on his voice like the beam of a lighthouse, guiding him in from a stormy sea. "It's all right, Clark. You can do it. Just...trust me. Focus on my voice. I'm sorry." As the tremors wracking Clark's body eased slightly, the man continued. "That's it. Good. Good job. Now, keep relaxed and just...open up a little bit. Let a few more sounds in." The other people were gone, the random machinery noise was dulled, and Clark eventually found that he could open his eyes.
The man sighed as Clark met his gaze, and his shoulders slumped a little. "Better?"
"What...what have you done to me?" Clark was ashamed of the tears in his voice, the fear and uncertainty, but the man merely squeezed his hand once and let go.
"We haven't done anything to you."
"Look," Clark sat up with an effort, trying to make himself clear. "My name is Clark Kent and I'm a reporter at the Metropolis Daily Planet. I don't know what's happened to me, but I shouldn't be able to-to throw you across the room like that. Or hear...everything."
The man covered his eyes for a second, gathering his thoughts. He looked up at Clark, grimacing, the hand still on his forehead. "Yes, Clark, you're a reporter at the Planet. You're from Smallville, the son of Jonathan and Martha Kent."
"You know all that about me-"
"But you're also much more," the man said, cutting him off. "You're-" He stood up. "Well, I'll show you." He went to one of the screens on the wall, typed in a few commands. On the screen, a video of Clark. Wearing a red and blue suit. And flying. Bullets bounced off of him, and beams of light lanced from his eyes and melted guns to slag. The man stood with his back to Clark, staring at the screen.
"That's not me. That's someone who looks like me. I-" Clark couldn't find the words to explain how wrong the image seemed.
The video ended. The man continued to look at the blank screen. "There was a fight. Dr. Destiny. A magical backlash. It...took out all your memories of being anything but a mild-mannered reporter. We scanned your mind, had our best magicians examine you. They all agreed: There's a good chance you'll never remember this side of your life." The man turned, his stormy blue eyes bitter. "So the League voted me to train you in the use of your powers, your background, your history, your teammates. Get you...up to speed again."
"Why not just let me be? Why not leave me in my normal life?"
"Your normal life?" The man barked a mirthless laugh. "How normal would your life have been when you lost control of your super-hearing? Or-God forbid-your heat vision? No, Clark, the world needs Superman. Your team needs you. And you've never had a 'normal life,' and never will, whether you get your memories back or not."
He leaned forward, his wolfish blue eyes sarcastic, his hand out. "Clark Kent, I'm Bruce Wayne. I'll be your trainer until you're back in control of your powers."
Clark shook the proffered hand. Without really thinking, he said, "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Wayne."
The man winced. "Well. Call me Bruce, at least."
:-:
Bruce flicked on the last switch. "You're still all right?"
Clark swallowed hard. The machines buzzing to life around them one by one had been disorienting, but slowly he managed to adjust his hearing until he was involuntarily focusing on the most important thing to hear. The hissing noise of space particles hitting the space station--and he still couldn't believe he was on a space station-faded into the background.
He had still put up some protest at the idea of his being a super-powered alien, but when Bruce had attempted to jab a scalpel through his wrist-and it had broken off even as Clark flinched-he was forced to conclude the man might have a point. After he had patched Clark through to talk to his mother there was really no way to argue anymore. Even the relative ease with which he had regained control of his hearing seemed to indicate that perhaps this was a skill he was used to having. But it all still seemed completely bizarre.
Bruce was still looking at him, waiting for an answer. "Yes. Yes, it's fine."
Bruce worried his lower lip for a while. "I think I'm going to risk taking you down to the Fortress. It's a better setting for you to practice in-for example, I don't have to worry about you punching a hole in the wall and letting in vacuum. And your computer has files..." He trailed off at Clark's confused face and sighed. "You have a Fortress. Of Solitude. Underneath the Arctic icecap. It's where you keep most of the things associated with your Kryptonian identity." He walked toward a different machine. "We can use this to teleport there. If your hearing gives you any problems, let me know and we'll teleport right back."
Clark nodded and followed him onto a pad of some sort. There was a weird disorienting feeling, and suddenly he found himself...somewhere else. It was a lot noisier there, and he had to stand with his eyes closed for a few minutes, getting used to the extra input of waves, sea-life, and wind nearby. When he opened them again, Bruce was watching him carefully. "Okay?"
"Yes. I think I'm getting used to that."
"Good." The aristocratic eyebrows lifted. "You won't be much use to us if you can't handle the noise of a battle." The man turned and stalked away down a corridor, and Clark followed, feeling stung and rebuffed. "Use to us"-the man acted like Clark was a fancy windup toy that was currently broken, somehow, and he was the mechanic assigned to get the gears whirring right again. Clark would have left him-but he didn't know how to work the teleporter and had no idea where he was. Great. Resignedly, he followed Bruce into a large hall dominated by a huge computer screen.
Bruce was calling up a few windows. "All right," he said as Clark trailed in behind him. "Let's start with your powers." A bulleted list appeared on a window: "Superman's Powers." "As Superman, you have access to a large variety of powers: invulnerability, super-strength, and super-hearing, all of which seem to be involuntary, and an array of others such as flying, cold breath, heat vision, and x-ray vision, which appear to need your conscious control."
"You have a Powerpoint presentation prepared about me."
Bruce crossed his arms and nodded at the neat bulleted list with some satisfaction. "It's more advanced software than Powerpoint, but the same basic idea. I put it together while you were unconscious. It's got three major sections: powers, history, and-" the clinical tone stumbled just a little, "-relationships. Obviously your powers are top priority, but I assumed we'd work in some of the other sections as we-"
"I'm not some lab rat, you know."
Bruce looked confused. "What?"
"I'm not some machine you can input the right data into and make... work again! Like a business plan for projected earnings or something. I can't believe you took the time to break down this whole other life into nice little neat components, like a-a frigging Wikipedia entry!"
Bruce looked at the screen and tapped a console absently with one finger. "It was...something to do. While we waited."
Clark walked up to the other man. He was tempted to jab him with a finger, but he was a little worried about what his super-strength might do. "Something to do? I have a whole life I've lost, and you're looking for something to do?" He threw up his hands and stepped away. "What if I don't even want to do this super-hero thing from now on? Maybe I don't want to work for you people. Have you even considered that possibility?"
Without looking at him, Bruce called up a video onto the screen, his fingers snapping angrily on the controls. Clark in the red and blue outfit again, saving people. Stopping lava flows, damming rivers, rescuing kittens from trees, catching falling people. Bruce turned his head just enough to meet Clark's eyes. "This is what Superman stands for. If you don't want to use your powers to help people, then you've lost a lot more than your memory."
He left the video running, the presentation screen up as well, and walked toward a door on the far side of the room. At the door, he paused, not looking back. "Let me know when you're ready to start training. What you do after you get in control of your powers is up to you."
A few hours later, Clark walked into the next room. Bruce was doing push-ups next to a cot, mechanical, his breathing deep and steady, his eyes fixed on the floor below him. He looked like he'd been doing them for hours and might well continue to do them indefinitely. Clark cleared his throat and the other man stopped in mid-pushup and looked over at him, eyes flinty.
"I've read the part about the history and background. About Kal-El. I'm...ready to work on my powers, if you're still willing to help."
Bruce didn't smile. He stood up, straightened his sweater, and nodded. "I'm always willing to help you, Clark."
:-:
"This is crazy. People can't fly."
"You're not 'people.' You're Superman. I still think you should wear the costume, it might help."
Clark took another tentative hop, landing firmly on the ground yet again. "No way. I'm not going to put up with you sniggering at me. And you haven't given me a single bit of useful advice on how to do this."
Bruce rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "That's because I have no idea. I've heard it said that the best approach is to throw yourself at the ground and miss."
"That's great." Clark steeled himself to really put his all into it this time, crouching.
"You could try saying 'Up, up, and away.' That always seemed to help."
"Fuck you, Bruce." Clark leapt as high as he could--and landed on his stomach on the stone floor with a resounding impact. He rolled over to glare at the other man.
"Maybe we should work on the vision-based powers instead," Bruce suggested.
"The cold breath came so easy, I don't know why the flying's so difficult." Clark sighed and pulled himself into a sitting position.
"You're trying too hard. And it's late, and you're still recovering from your injury. Maybe we should call it a night and give you some rest."
"I don't want to rest, I want to fly," Clark complained, but embarrassed himself by yawning at the end of the sentence. "Okay, maybe some sleep would do us both good."
Bruce dusted his hands off. "All right, I'll be back in about six hours then." He started to move back toward the teleporters.
"You're just going to leave me here alone?" Bruce turned and gave him a surprised look. "Can't I go back to my apartment in Metropolis?"
"Not until I feel more confident about your powers."
Clark looked down at his shoes. "Couldn't you, um, stay here? What if something goes wrong with my hearing again, or something?" He looked up to see Bruce gazing at him, his face unreadable. He felt himself blushing, but said it anyway. "This is a really lonely place and I'm feeling very...alone."
"That's why it's the Fortress of Solitude, not the Fortress of Companionship."
Clark ignored the sardonic tone and spoke instead to something he saw in the back of the man's gaze, something elusive and quicksilver. "Please stay."
It was Bruce's turn to look down. "All right." A quick, cynical glance. "If you really feel you need a babysitter."
Clark decided to ignore that too. "Uh, where do we sleep here?"
Bruce pointed back to the room with the cot. "I sleep there. Your room is over here." He led Clark to a large room with a big circular bed. Silver sheets.
"Looks like a tacky honeymoon suite."
Bruce pursed his lips and eyed the room. "No accounting for alien tastes." He went to a spot on the wall and touched it; it slid open to reveal a drawer full of fluffy blankets. He tossed a red one at Clark and snagged a black one for himself. He paused at the door, looking back at Clark, forlorn on the large shining bed. "Sleep well, Clark."
"Happy dreams, Bruce."
The other man sighed and rested his forehead on the doorframe for a moment. "Yeah. Happy dreams." Then he was gone, his footsteps echoing down the hall away from Clark.
:-:
A new scorch mark was added to the wall as Clark focused. "Good job, Clark," said Bruce approvingly. "See, that wasn't so hard once you figured out the right way to focus your vision. Think you're ready to try the x-ray vision now?"
Clark squinted at the wall. "How do I switch?"
Bruce frowned. "I think you described it once as feeling like a sort of...extra eyelid? There's a set of muscles at the corners of your eyes, here and here," he reached out and lightly touched Clark's eyes. "If you flex them, somehow..." He trailed off, looking slightly annoyed. "I know," he muttered to himself, "Let's get the guy with no superpowers at all to train him! That's perfectly logical!"
Clark screwed his eyes up in concentration, ignoring Bruce's dire grumbles. "I think-" He blinked a couple of times. "Hold on." It was a strange sensation, but he could actually feel the muscles now that Bruce had pointed them out. He focused-and scorched the wall again. Bruce backed a few steps away. "All right, no, this time I think I've really got it."
"I hope so."
It took another twenty minutes or so of squinting and de-focusing, but then there was an odd shifting feeling around his eyes, and he was looking through the wall into the bedroom. He made a relieved sound. "I've got it, Bruce! I can see into the next room!"
Bruce looked skeptical. "I'm not letting you off that easy. Prove it."
"Well...my bed's not made."
Bruce snorted. "You already knew that."
Annoyed, Clark cast around for something that would prove him right. "Um, there's a seal swimming just outside the walls...I can see the circuitry in the computer..." He glanced at Bruce. "...And you're wearing a ring on a chain around your neck, underneath your clothes, with a Latin inscription: Dilectus meus mihi, et ego illi. He smiled triumphantly at the other man. "How's that?"
Bruce looked just a little pale. He reached up and touched the spot the ring lay hidden beneath. "All right, Clark, I believe you." He turned away, back to the computer. "Maybe it's time for you to learn more about your teammates, since you're going to have to start working with them again soon." He called up a screen with five faces on it, masked and costumed. "These are the members of the Justice League. All of them have unique powers and abilities. Together, we make one of the most powerful groups in the known universe."
Clark frowned. "'We'? Are you on this team?"
"What did you think I was?"
"Well, actually I thought you were a kind of...specialist, brought in specifically to train me."
Bruce shrugged. "I don't have powers like the rest of you, but yes, I'm on the team."
Clark eyed the five faces. "You're the one wearing black."
The other man looked slightly surprised. "How did you know?"
Clark laughed. "Well, you're not green or black, and I'm pretty sure you're not a woman. That leaves only the man in red and the man in black. And the man in red is smiling. Ergo, therefore, you must be the one in black, because I've never seen you smile." He eyed the pictures again, ignoring Bruce's snort. "So we work together? You and me? Did we...get along?"
"We've worked together for about a decade now. And we...don't always get along, no. Didn't. We did sometimes," Bruce added softly.
The idea that he and this man could have a whole history that he didn't remember unnerved Clark. And this led him to the inevitable question...he blurted it out before he could think better of it. "Did I-as Kal-was I in a relationship with anyone?"
Bruce seemed neither alarmed nor amused by the question. "As far as the League knew, you weren't involved with anyone," he said, as though he'd prepared an answer in advance. He continued briskly, "We're going to drill the history and powers of these people until you get them memorized. You have to know what roles we all play in combat if you're ever to join us again." He reached up absent-mindedly and touched the place on his chest where the ring lay underneath, continuing his lecture. Clark suddenly realized he had seen Bruce make that unconscious gesture many times now, but he had never realized what he was touching, like a talisman.
Clark did his best to try and focus.
:-:
"Damnit, Clark, the flying is important."
"I know it is, Bruce! That's probably why I can't get it." In the last three days, Clark had memorized the powers and the strategies of the Justice League until he could recite their usual maneuvers in his sleep. He had become able to switch back and forth between heat and x-ray vision effortlessly. And he had gotten much better control of his super-strength, to the point where he could engage in some cautious sparring with Bruce without hurting him. Going through the intricate fight choreography with the other man, like a dance that his body seemed to remember on its own, was his favorite part of the training. Late at night, as he drifted off to an exhausted sleep, he would almost admit to himself that he liked the feel of Bruce's body against his, the muscles taut and straining together, the gleam of the other man's eyes challenging him. Almost.
But flying continued to escape him. Bruce kept pushing him to wear the red and blue suit, Clark kept refusing. And he stayed earthbound and frustrated.
"Maybe if I went outdoors, had some more space to maneuver in."
Bruce shrugged somewhat dismissively. "At this point, I'll try about anything."
Soon they were standing on a set of sheer ice cliffs, sparkling in the Arctic moonlight. The Northern Lights rippled wanly overhead and thick sheets of stars glowed as Clark crouched and leapt, crouched and leapt again, trying to reach for them. Finally, he walked to the edge of a cliff and looked down. About thirty feet below, icy rocks glittered. Swallowing hard-he knew he was invulnerable, but it was hard to keep in mind at key moments-he jumped.
And smacked into the rocks below, shattering some of them.
"I think maybe you got a little bit of air time during the fall," a voice pointed out helpfully from the top of the cliff.
"You know what? You suck at encouraging," he yelled back, and began the long climb to the top again.
At the top, he sat down and put his head on his knees. "I'm never going to get this. I give up."
Bruce wrapped his arms around himself in the cold wind. He sighed. "All right, Clark." Clark looked up at his tone, which was an odd mix of resignation and irritation.
Then Bruce walked to the edge of the cliff and jumped over.
Clark had Bruce safe in his arms before he got ten feet down. He felt the earth's gravity holding him, pushing and supporting him like a friend, and he reached out against it. The stars rocketed crazily above them, and he was airborne and it was like every moment of freedom and joy he had ever experienced or imagined, every dream of ecstasy possible...he started laughing and couldn't seem to stop. Bruce was warm and solid in his arms-finally, finally, his mind sang-and as he coasted to a halt in midair, he pulled back from the other man's tight embrace to smile at him in a rush of relief and happiness.
Bruce's impassive face glared back at him. "It's about time. I shouldn't have had to resort to that."
Some of the joy went out of Clark's flight, and he glared back. "You know, I have never seen you smile. Not for anything. What the hell is wrong with you, anyway?"
Bruce looked like he was considering a nearly infinite set of options. "My parents were murdered in front of me when I was a child."
Clark blinked. "I'm very sorry to hear that. But you can't tell me you've had no reason at all to smile since then."
He found his feet touching the icy cliff again; he had drifted down like a slowly deflating balloon after seeing Bruce's face. He let go of Bruce and the other man backed off, then turned to look away from Clark.
"I lost someone I cared about. Recently." His voice was very quiet. "We had been quarreling-you may not have noticed this, Clark, but I can be somewhat high-maintenance-and he said." He paused. "He said he wished he hadn't fallen in love with me, that he would never do it again if he had the choice. And then he left. And then he was gone."
He turned back and looked in Clark's direction, but seemed to be looking past him, at something just beyond Clark's left shoulder. "He made me smile, even when I didn't want to," he said flatly. It sounded like a eulogy.
He started to walk back toward the entrance to the Fortress, but paused when he drew level with Clark. "Trust me, I'm pleased you've managed to fly. Good work." Then he kept walking to the entrance, leaving Clark alone with the cold stars.
:-:
Clark found him later, doing push-ups again, eyes on the floor. He didn't look at Clark.
"You shouldn't be angry at him, the person who died," Clark said softly. Bruce kept moving through his exercises. "People sometimes say stupid things that they don't mean. I'm sure he would have taken it back if he had had a chance. I mean, he must have been used to you being something of a jackass if he was able to be in a relationship with you."
"How very comforting," said Bruce dryly, still not looking up.
Clark sighed. "I'm just saying that-" he paused, uncertain. "That once someone did the work to get to know you, once they actually fell in love with you, I don't think they'd ever want to do it differently. I suspect you inspire a great deal of loyalty in your friends and your teammates. I mean, I've only known you for four days and you've talked me into wearing this."
Bruce rolled into a standing position at that, looking gravely at Clark in the bright suit. Clark felt deeply embarrassed standing in that appraising gaze, but eventually Bruce merely nodded. "You look..." he paused as if searching for the right word, "correct."
"I feel ridiculous," Clark complained.
Bruce drew closer. "That...is...correct," he said lightly, flicking invisible lint from the shining shoulders with each word. He eyed Clark's face. "But you don't wear glasses, because you don't need them," he said, reaching out and gently removing them. "And you wear your hair differently in uniform. Like...so." Long fingers reached out and stroked through Clark's hair until he could feel it falling across his forehead. He closed his eyes, lost in the caressing sensation for a moment. He didn't want it to stop, he realized. He wanted-
He knew what he wanted, but the raw grief he had seen in Bruce's eyes outdoors constrained him. The man didn't need him intruding on his pain. Clark stepped back away from Bruce's hands, breaking the contact. Bruce stared at him, his face unreadable. Into the silence, the computer suddenly burst into urgent light and sound.
A woman's face formed on the monitor. Clark recognized it from the files: Wonder Woman, Princess Diana of Themyscira. When she saw him in the costume, her pale blue eyes lit up. "Kal-Superman," she said joyfully.
"You must be Diana," he said, and watched the hope die out of them.
"Yes," she said a bit dully. She looked at Bruce, and Bruce shook his head very slightly.
"He seems to be in control of his powers, Princess. No field testing yet, of course."
"Do you think he's ready? The Key and Luthor are causing some trouble in Metropolis, and we could use the assist. At least one of you."
Bruce was already halfway to his room. "We'll be there in a moment."
Diana looked dubious. "Both of you?"
"Both of us." The door slid closed.
Wonder Woman nodded. "I'll see you soon, Superman. It's...good to have you back."
He wanted to say it was good to be back, but it didn't feel like he was "back" at all. Nor did it feel good. It felt like this was going to be his first fight ever, and he was frankly sick with anxiety. "Thank you," he managed before she cut the connection.
The door opened and Batman came out, cape swirling around him in the cold drafts of the Fortress. Clark blinked at him. He looked about a hundred times more deadly in person than he had in the files, all of the dangerous beauty Clark had sensed in Bruce put on open display, carved into ebon and shadow. He strode past Clark toward the teleporters, speaking quickly.
"J'onn will set up a telepathic link when we get there, connecting us to the rest of the team. It feels a bit...scratchy, inside the head, but don't let it distract you. Standard operating procedure here is that the rest of us will deal with the Key and you'll focus on Luthor. He has a power suit that makes him quite formidable. I'm going to suggest we run this one a bit differently and have Lantern give you some backup while we see how fine your control is. If you feel you're having difficulty, don't be stupid and insist on sticking it out-fall back and let us handle it. We don't want you jeopardizing the battle. Or getting yourself hurt," he added grudgingly.
At the teleporters, he glanced at Clark's face, then suddenly laid a hand on his arm. "You'll be fine, Clark. You're Superman. You won't let us down."
Clark rather wanted to disagree, but then the teleporter took them, and he had no time to argue after.
:-:
Bruce pulled off the cowl as they re-appeared in the Fortress, clearly fuming. "I told you to focus on Luthor!"
"You didn't know that monkey was going to be there too-I made a judgment call and went to help Flash deal with him."
"Gorilla Grodd is not just some monkey. You could have ruined everything. What if he-"
"-But I didn't ruin everything."
"Flash might disagree."
"He was going to get a lot worse than a broken arm without some quick backup, Bruce!"
Bruce made an angry hissing sound. "You! I was hoping this accident would change your style a little, but you're the same pigheaded, arrogant prima donna you ever were."
"I lost my memories, not my personality, Bruce. I'm sure you'd rather I had ended up some lobotomized, tractable and biddable super-pet, but I'm still me."
Bruce snorted. "Well, thank goodness." Clark couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not. The tone was dripping with sarcasm, certainly, but something about his eyes seemed otherwise. "I'm surprised you didn't want to go back to the Watchtower for the 'Welcome back Superman' party," Bruce continued quickly.
"I...wanted to rest. I have to get back to my civilian life tomorrow after the 'sick leave' you finagled me." Actually, he had felt rather flustered and overwhelmed by the rest of the JLA's relief and exuberance at having Superman "back." He didn't want to depress them as they found out how little he actually remembered them. Plus he could tell Batman was furious and he wanted to get the inevitable scolding over with.
And maybe he wanted just a little more time with Bruce.
Bruce said, "Well, I'll let you get that rest." He looked perhaps just the tiniest bit apologetic. "I really have a lot of catching up to do at my place. I've let a lot slide while training you." That probably should have stung, but he said it without any recrimination.
Clark looked at him, trying to memorize the lines of his face to hold in his mind tonight. "Can we meet here tomorrow? For sparring practice?"
Bruce snorted. "I don't think you need it after today. But yes," he added, looking at Clark's face, "I'll come back tomorrow. If you don't mind."
"I'd like it."
Bruce nodded, absent-mindedly touching his chest again. "All right."
Bruce requested the Watchtower teleport him directly to his place, then stood waiting for the command to go through. "Take care, Bruce," said Clark. Then something darted through his mind, maddeningly elusive...he grabbed at it. "And say hi to Alfred for me."
Eyebrows lifted like black wings. "I've never mentioned Alfred to you. He's not in the files."
Clark shook his head. It was gone again, everything but- "He makes me cookies, sometimes."
Bruce stood very still on the teleporter pad for a moment. Then suddenly he smiled at Clark, his face transformed into something lovely and bright and, for the first time, hauntingly familiar. As Clark caught his breath, it dissolved into blue light and was gone.
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Dilectus meus mihi, et ego illi: My beloved is mine, and I am his. (Song of Solomon 2:16)