FIC: True Faces
Title: True Faces
Pairing/Characters: Clark/Bruce, Steve/Diana
Rating: PG
Warnings: None needed
Continuity: Early comics; Dick has just started working with the Teen Titans.
Word Count: 2400Summary: Diana and Steve are invited to a friend's house for a relaxing day of riding horses, having a picnic, averting the end of the world as we know it...the usual.
Notes: For bradygirl_12 's birthday! Hope it was a great day!
The road was lined with huge spreading walnuts, statuesque with the growth of centuries. Their brilliant golden leaves framed the autumnal blue sky above. “It’s the next drive to your left,” Diana said, touching Steve’s arm lightly.
Steve Trevor turned in to the drive, then had to stop and wait as huge wrought-iron gates swung open slowly at their approach. He caught sight of the elaborate “W” on the gates and whistled softly. “You’ve made some interesting friends, Princess.”
“Bruce and I met at a fundraiser a few years back and hit it off immediately,” said Diana. “He was kind enough to invite us both here for a picnic to celebrate my birthday, so no cracks about the idle rich,” she added with a smile.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Steve moved the car forward through the massive gates. “So are you and Mr. Wayne also friends in your...night jobs?” He kept his tone light and teasing and wasn’t surprised when she merely grinned mischievously at him.
“You know that’s classified information.” She squeezed his arm gently and her tone became more serious. “He trusts you enough to have you over, which is rare enough already.”
“Understood, angel. I promise not to pry.”
Steve recognized one man standing on the front stairs waiting for them from the tabloids: Bruce Wayne, wearing a black turtleneck and beige slacks. The other, a man in a Metropolis sweatshirt with glasses and unruly black hair, looked vaguely familiar, but Steve couldn’t place him until Diana said “And this is Clark Kent. He works at the Daily Planet.”
“Clark Kent? I read your expose of waste in military spending last year,” Steve said, clasping his hand. Kent looked slightly uneasy, so Steve hastened to add, “Great stuff, very valuable.”
“Thank you so much, Major,” said Kent.
“Please, call me Steve.”
“Only if you call me Clark.”
“I always answer to ‘My Lord,’” Bruce added idly, and Clark laughed and punched him lightly on the shoulder. Diana reached out and rumpled Bruce’s carefully-arranged hair, making him grumble with an undertone of good humor. “Alfred has the baskets packed,” he said, combing a hand through his hair, “so let’s hit the stables. The horses are saddled and ready for us.”
The stables smelled of hay and sweat. From the stalls there was a stamping, and Diana ran to look, as eager as a little girl. “Oh, she’s lovely,” she exclaimed, gazing at a chestnut mare. “What’s her name?”
“That one is Terpsichore,” said Bruce, and Diana shot him a delighted look.
“Is she mine?”
“Of course, if you want her. Didn’t you have horses on Paradise Island?” he added with a smile at her glee.
“We had some, but mostly we rode kangaroos,” Diana said, making Clark snort with laughter. “What? They were very sweet.”
“It’s just, after such an unusual mount, surely horses seem rather dull,” he said, checking the straps on another chestnut-colored horse, this one a stallion.
Bruce had slipped Diana a sugar cube, and she held out her hand for Terpsichore to lip the treat from, laughing as the mare snorted and looked for more. “Dull to you, perhaps. Oh, you beautiful thing,” she cooed to the horse, who stamped and nodded as if in agreement.
“Steve, do you have much experience with horses?” Bruce asked.
“I’m no expert, but I’ve ridden a few times.”
Bruce nodded. “I think Vagabond is a good choice,” he said, pointing Steve to another stall. Vagabond turned out to be a golden palomino with a streaming pale mane and tail.
“He matches you,” Diana pointed out as Steve swung into the saddle. “Two golden-haired beauties.”
Steve patted Vagabond’s neck, feeling the power in his stride. “I’m afraid you outshine Terpsichore, Princess.”
Diana snorted disdainfully. “Impossible,” she announced, leaping into the saddle lightly. She made an impressive sight, with her hair unbound around her shoulders, the sunlight blazing it into a dark halo. Even dressed in a flannel shirt and jeans, there was no mistaking her for a mortal woman.
Bruce clucked to his own horse--a dapple gray whose colors seemed to shift between silver and shadow in different lights--and led the little party out into the fields.
The sun was dazzling, the air crisp and clear. Despite her professed inexperience, Diana rode with grace and confidence, and the mare cantered happily under her, as if aware of the honor of bearing a goddess. The four of them traveled along trails strewn with red and gold leaves, with the only sound the mourning doves in the trees and the soft clopping of their horses’ hooves. Conversation flowed comfortably and easily along mundane lines--admiring the scenery, discussing the weather, sharing memories of horse rides from childhood. Bruce and Clark were adept at making sure the conversation never excluded Steve, and by the time they reached the the sunny field Bruce had chosen for their picnic Steve felt entirely at ease.
Diana picked out a spot under a towering oak tree, and Clark spread out a checkered picnic cloth in the sun-dappled shade. Bruce dug into the picnic baskets, pulling out bottles of root beer and ginger ale, then small containers filled with salads and cubed fruit. “Oh good, Alfred remembered the watermelon,” he said as he tossed a bottle of ginger ale unerringly at Clark without looking. Steve watched him frowning over a slightly crushed cupcake and couldn’t help but reflect that this was a very different Bruce Wayne than the one that usually made the society pages. There were no quips, no flirting, no thoughtless comments, just a quiet competence and scowling friendliness--if such an oxymoron made sense.
Steve suspected enough about his host to understand that Bruce’s behavior was a high compliment indeed.
They sat and ate together, the horses stamping and cropping grass companionably nearby. A chipmunk appeared at the base of the tree, bright eyes inquisitive, and Diana held out a bit of bread to it. Within a few moments it was perched boldly on her hand, munching happily on a carrot and giving the men a dubious stare. She laughed and ran a finger down its back and it chirruped cheerfully, then ran off again.
“I’m sorry Dick couldn’t be here today,” Diana said, idly teasing Steve’s nose with a long blade of grass.
“He sends his regrets,” said Bruce. “He had some urgent business he needed to take care of on the West Coast.”
Clark and Diana shared a quick and meaningful look. “I hope he’s not working himself too hard,” Diana said. “His ward, Dick Grayson,” she said to Steve. “He’s been taking on an...extra leadership role at work lately.”
“Lots of overtime,” Clark said.
“He’s more than up to it,” Bruce said. “I’ve heard good things about his work. He’s ready for the next level.”
Clark started to say something, but then suddenly the mood shifted: all three of them sat up a little straighter, Bruce’s eyes narrowed, Clark’s fist clenched, and Diana frowned. They looked at each other for just an instant, then Bruce turned to Steve.
“Forgive me, I’m being a terrible host, but I have to be going,” he said. He was already standing, hurrying to his horse, Clark right behind him. “If you’d take the picnic back to Alfred, I’d appreciate it. Please stay at the Manor as long as you like, Alfred will make you up a room.” He didn’t wait to hear Steve’s response, but kicked his horse into a gallop immediately, Clark right behind him. Again, there were no ridiculous excuses about forgotten dates or polo matches, saving Steve from having to pretend he didn’t know perfectly well what business was calling them away.
Steve looked away from their headlong flight to see Wonder Woman standing where Diana had been, unhooking her lasso. “Emergency, angel?”
Diana nodded, her face grim. “Of the worst kind. Stay here. We’ll be back when we can.” He nodded, and she bent to capture his mouth in a passionate, urgent kiss that startled him more than his host’s departure had.
Diana only kissed him goodbye like that when she thought she might not be coming back.
She was gone before he could say anything. Just as well, Steve thought. He wasn’t sure what he would have said anyway.
The field was empty and silent. Even the birds seemed to have hushed. Steve gathered up the abandoned picnic and walked Vagabond and Terpsichore back to the stables.
He found Bruce and Clark’s horses there as well, still lathered with sweat. Steve unsaddled and brushed down all four of them, knowing only a grave emergency could have made men like Wayne and Kent neglect their horses.
Alfred Pennyworth was waiting for him at the front door. He looked as impassive and unruffled as when they had left in the morning, but Steve could see tell-tale signs of strain, the look of a civilian who cared deeply about a combatant.
He saw that look in the mirror all too often.
“Master Bruce has invited you to spend the night, Mister Trevor,” said Alfred. “You are welcome to stay.”
“How’s about we keep each other company?” said Steve, and the barest smile flickered across Alfred’s face.
“Your company would be welcome. It is sometimes difficult to await Master Bruce’s return,” he said softly.
They washed the dishes together and Alfred showed Steve the library. Steve turned on the television but there was no news of any conflict. Diana could be on another planet, in another dimension, traveling through time...there were so many possible scenarios. But right now the news was all vapid and light, and Steve wanted to throw a book at the chuckling, bantering hosts as they talked about the weather.
At his growl, Alfred cast him a sympathetic look from the desk where he was sorting bills and paperwork. “If you can sleep, sir, that might be best.”
Steve didn’t see how he could, but he let Alfred show him to his room and fuss over him, turning down the sheets and presenting him with a cup of warm milk mixed with brandy. Steve suspected Alfred would far rather be coddling Bruce or one of the boys, but he let himself be a stand-in.
He hadn’t expected to fall asleep, his head full of visions of Diana, her proud body broken, her glorious hair tumbled in the dust and her brilliant eyes glazed. But eventually he fell into a fitful sleep, tossing and turning.
He came awake to feel Diana slipping between the sheets next to him, her body smooth and bare. He couldn’t see her face, but she kissed him lightly. “All safe,” she whispered. He put his arms around her and she hissed slightly. “I might have a few broken bones,” she said, her voice as cool as moonlight.
“Angel, you should--”
“--Shhh.” She put a finger to his lips. “I’ll be fine. I would rather be with you.”
He couldn’t bring himself to argue with that, so he arranged himself carefully next to her, touching her gently. She sighed and relaxed slowly in his arms, her breath slowing.
He listened to her sleeping for some time, her hair brushing his lips, feeling thankful.
In the morning he woke up alone and felt a brief moment of panic. He heard a discreet throat-clearing at the door. “Yes?”
“Miss Diana is downstairs having breakfast,” said Alfred from the hall. “She asked me to tell you.”
Steve was already throwing on his robe. His eye fell on dark red smudges on the pristine sheet and he shivered briefly, then hurried down the stairs.
Diana, Bruce and Clark were already sitting around the table, stacks of pancakes in front of them. “There are you, dear,” said Diana, her smile dazzling. “Let me give you some of mine. Alfred said he’d make some more for us.”
Steve sat down, his eyes on his companions’ faces rather than the food. Bruce was eating gingerly around a split lip, and Clark had not one but two black eyes and was eating with his left hand, his right heavily bandaged. Diana had fared little better: there was a scabbed cut running across her forehead, and there were black and blue marks on her throat as if someone had throttled her. Steve felt anger rise up in him, and bit down hard on it. Considering the three smiling faces around the table, whoever had hurt his angel had not gotten away with it.
“Good night’s work?” he asked, sitting down.
“All is well,” Diana said serenely.
“Although some people might need to learn more about thinking first and not charging into things like an idiot,” Bruce said acidly, with a glare at Clark.
Clark just laughed and grabbed the maple syrup. “And some people need to stop being massive control freaks who can’t accept a minor change in plans,” he said, the smile taking some of the mocking edge off his words.
“Minor change!” Bruce actually sputtered, putting down his glass of orange juice with a thump. “That was not a minor change!”
“They do like to bicker,” Diana said sotto voce to Steve, making Clark blush and both of them glare at her, united for the moment.
“I’m glad you’re back safe and sound, angel,” Steve said.
Diana’s smile included all of them in its radiance. “As am I,” she said simply.
“So, if anyone were to ask how my visit went...” Steve said cautiously, letting it trail off as he eyed their battered faces.
“Oh,” said Bruce, “Clark lost control of his horse and it threw him. He’s not as good a rider as he thinks.”
Clark looked somewhat annoyed at this slander. “And you tripped while trying to help me up and fell on your face, right?”
“That sounds reasonable,” Bruce said placidly. “You’d better eat some of those pancakes before Clark steals them like he did mine,” he added, prompting outraged denial from Clark.
Steve dug into his pancakes. The dining room was filled with the light and laughter of friends, and Steve let both wash over him, happy to be let into their tight circle and glimpse their true faces for a sunlit moment.
Pairing/Characters: Clark/Bruce, Steve/Diana
Rating: PG
Warnings: None needed
Continuity: Early comics; Dick has just started working with the Teen Titans.
Word Count: 2400Summary: Diana and Steve are invited to a friend's house for a relaxing day of riding horses, having a picnic, averting the end of the world as we know it...the usual.
Notes: For bradygirl_12 's birthday! Hope it was a great day!
The road was lined with huge spreading walnuts, statuesque with the growth of centuries. Their brilliant golden leaves framed the autumnal blue sky above. “It’s the next drive to your left,” Diana said, touching Steve’s arm lightly.
Steve Trevor turned in to the drive, then had to stop and wait as huge wrought-iron gates swung open slowly at their approach. He caught sight of the elaborate “W” on the gates and whistled softly. “You’ve made some interesting friends, Princess.”
“Bruce and I met at a fundraiser a few years back and hit it off immediately,” said Diana. “He was kind enough to invite us both here for a picnic to celebrate my birthday, so no cracks about the idle rich,” she added with a smile.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Steve moved the car forward through the massive gates. “So are you and Mr. Wayne also friends in your...night jobs?” He kept his tone light and teasing and wasn’t surprised when she merely grinned mischievously at him.
“You know that’s classified information.” She squeezed his arm gently and her tone became more serious. “He trusts you enough to have you over, which is rare enough already.”
“Understood, angel. I promise not to pry.”
Steve recognized one man standing on the front stairs waiting for them from the tabloids: Bruce Wayne, wearing a black turtleneck and beige slacks. The other, a man in a Metropolis sweatshirt with glasses and unruly black hair, looked vaguely familiar, but Steve couldn’t place him until Diana said “And this is Clark Kent. He works at the Daily Planet.”
“Clark Kent? I read your expose of waste in military spending last year,” Steve said, clasping his hand. Kent looked slightly uneasy, so Steve hastened to add, “Great stuff, very valuable.”
“Thank you so much, Major,” said Kent.
“Please, call me Steve.”
“Only if you call me Clark.”
“I always answer to ‘My Lord,’” Bruce added idly, and Clark laughed and punched him lightly on the shoulder. Diana reached out and rumpled Bruce’s carefully-arranged hair, making him grumble with an undertone of good humor. “Alfred has the baskets packed,” he said, combing a hand through his hair, “so let’s hit the stables. The horses are saddled and ready for us.”
The stables smelled of hay and sweat. From the stalls there was a stamping, and Diana ran to look, as eager as a little girl. “Oh, she’s lovely,” she exclaimed, gazing at a chestnut mare. “What’s her name?”
“That one is Terpsichore,” said Bruce, and Diana shot him a delighted look.
“Is she mine?”
“Of course, if you want her. Didn’t you have horses on Paradise Island?” he added with a smile at her glee.
“We had some, but mostly we rode kangaroos,” Diana said, making Clark snort with laughter. “What? They were very sweet.”
“It’s just, after such an unusual mount, surely horses seem rather dull,” he said, checking the straps on another chestnut-colored horse, this one a stallion.
Bruce had slipped Diana a sugar cube, and she held out her hand for Terpsichore to lip the treat from, laughing as the mare snorted and looked for more. “Dull to you, perhaps. Oh, you beautiful thing,” she cooed to the horse, who stamped and nodded as if in agreement.
“Steve, do you have much experience with horses?” Bruce asked.
“I’m no expert, but I’ve ridden a few times.”
Bruce nodded. “I think Vagabond is a good choice,” he said, pointing Steve to another stall. Vagabond turned out to be a golden palomino with a streaming pale mane and tail.
“He matches you,” Diana pointed out as Steve swung into the saddle. “Two golden-haired beauties.”
Steve patted Vagabond’s neck, feeling the power in his stride. “I’m afraid you outshine Terpsichore, Princess.”
Diana snorted disdainfully. “Impossible,” she announced, leaping into the saddle lightly. She made an impressive sight, with her hair unbound around her shoulders, the sunlight blazing it into a dark halo. Even dressed in a flannel shirt and jeans, there was no mistaking her for a mortal woman.
Bruce clucked to his own horse--a dapple gray whose colors seemed to shift between silver and shadow in different lights--and led the little party out into the fields.
The sun was dazzling, the air crisp and clear. Despite her professed inexperience, Diana rode with grace and confidence, and the mare cantered happily under her, as if aware of the honor of bearing a goddess. The four of them traveled along trails strewn with red and gold leaves, with the only sound the mourning doves in the trees and the soft clopping of their horses’ hooves. Conversation flowed comfortably and easily along mundane lines--admiring the scenery, discussing the weather, sharing memories of horse rides from childhood. Bruce and Clark were adept at making sure the conversation never excluded Steve, and by the time they reached the the sunny field Bruce had chosen for their picnic Steve felt entirely at ease.
Diana picked out a spot under a towering oak tree, and Clark spread out a checkered picnic cloth in the sun-dappled shade. Bruce dug into the picnic baskets, pulling out bottles of root beer and ginger ale, then small containers filled with salads and cubed fruit. “Oh good, Alfred remembered the watermelon,” he said as he tossed a bottle of ginger ale unerringly at Clark without looking. Steve watched him frowning over a slightly crushed cupcake and couldn’t help but reflect that this was a very different Bruce Wayne than the one that usually made the society pages. There were no quips, no flirting, no thoughtless comments, just a quiet competence and scowling friendliness--if such an oxymoron made sense.
Steve suspected enough about his host to understand that Bruce’s behavior was a high compliment indeed.
They sat and ate together, the horses stamping and cropping grass companionably nearby. A chipmunk appeared at the base of the tree, bright eyes inquisitive, and Diana held out a bit of bread to it. Within a few moments it was perched boldly on her hand, munching happily on a carrot and giving the men a dubious stare. She laughed and ran a finger down its back and it chirruped cheerfully, then ran off again.
“I’m sorry Dick couldn’t be here today,” Diana said, idly teasing Steve’s nose with a long blade of grass.
“He sends his regrets,” said Bruce. “He had some urgent business he needed to take care of on the West Coast.”
Clark and Diana shared a quick and meaningful look. “I hope he’s not working himself too hard,” Diana said. “His ward, Dick Grayson,” she said to Steve. “He’s been taking on an...extra leadership role at work lately.”
“Lots of overtime,” Clark said.
“He’s more than up to it,” Bruce said. “I’ve heard good things about his work. He’s ready for the next level.”
Clark started to say something, but then suddenly the mood shifted: all three of them sat up a little straighter, Bruce’s eyes narrowed, Clark’s fist clenched, and Diana frowned. They looked at each other for just an instant, then Bruce turned to Steve.
“Forgive me, I’m being a terrible host, but I have to be going,” he said. He was already standing, hurrying to his horse, Clark right behind him. “If you’d take the picnic back to Alfred, I’d appreciate it. Please stay at the Manor as long as you like, Alfred will make you up a room.” He didn’t wait to hear Steve’s response, but kicked his horse into a gallop immediately, Clark right behind him. Again, there were no ridiculous excuses about forgotten dates or polo matches, saving Steve from having to pretend he didn’t know perfectly well what business was calling them away.
Steve looked away from their headlong flight to see Wonder Woman standing where Diana had been, unhooking her lasso. “Emergency, angel?”
Diana nodded, her face grim. “Of the worst kind. Stay here. We’ll be back when we can.” He nodded, and she bent to capture his mouth in a passionate, urgent kiss that startled him more than his host’s departure had.
Diana only kissed him goodbye like that when she thought she might not be coming back.
She was gone before he could say anything. Just as well, Steve thought. He wasn’t sure what he would have said anyway.
The field was empty and silent. Even the birds seemed to have hushed. Steve gathered up the abandoned picnic and walked Vagabond and Terpsichore back to the stables.
He found Bruce and Clark’s horses there as well, still lathered with sweat. Steve unsaddled and brushed down all four of them, knowing only a grave emergency could have made men like Wayne and Kent neglect their horses.
Alfred Pennyworth was waiting for him at the front door. He looked as impassive and unruffled as when they had left in the morning, but Steve could see tell-tale signs of strain, the look of a civilian who cared deeply about a combatant.
He saw that look in the mirror all too often.
“Master Bruce has invited you to spend the night, Mister Trevor,” said Alfred. “You are welcome to stay.”
“How’s about we keep each other company?” said Steve, and the barest smile flickered across Alfred’s face.
“Your company would be welcome. It is sometimes difficult to await Master Bruce’s return,” he said softly.
They washed the dishes together and Alfred showed Steve the library. Steve turned on the television but there was no news of any conflict. Diana could be on another planet, in another dimension, traveling through time...there were so many possible scenarios. But right now the news was all vapid and light, and Steve wanted to throw a book at the chuckling, bantering hosts as they talked about the weather.
At his growl, Alfred cast him a sympathetic look from the desk where he was sorting bills and paperwork. “If you can sleep, sir, that might be best.”
Steve didn’t see how he could, but he let Alfred show him to his room and fuss over him, turning down the sheets and presenting him with a cup of warm milk mixed with brandy. Steve suspected Alfred would far rather be coddling Bruce or one of the boys, but he let himself be a stand-in.
He hadn’t expected to fall asleep, his head full of visions of Diana, her proud body broken, her glorious hair tumbled in the dust and her brilliant eyes glazed. But eventually he fell into a fitful sleep, tossing and turning.
He came awake to feel Diana slipping between the sheets next to him, her body smooth and bare. He couldn’t see her face, but she kissed him lightly. “All safe,” she whispered. He put his arms around her and she hissed slightly. “I might have a few broken bones,” she said, her voice as cool as moonlight.
“Angel, you should--”
“--Shhh.” She put a finger to his lips. “I’ll be fine. I would rather be with you.”
He couldn’t bring himself to argue with that, so he arranged himself carefully next to her, touching her gently. She sighed and relaxed slowly in his arms, her breath slowing.
He listened to her sleeping for some time, her hair brushing his lips, feeling thankful.
In the morning he woke up alone and felt a brief moment of panic. He heard a discreet throat-clearing at the door. “Yes?”
“Miss Diana is downstairs having breakfast,” said Alfred from the hall. “She asked me to tell you.”
Steve was already throwing on his robe. His eye fell on dark red smudges on the pristine sheet and he shivered briefly, then hurried down the stairs.
Diana, Bruce and Clark were already sitting around the table, stacks of pancakes in front of them. “There are you, dear,” said Diana, her smile dazzling. “Let me give you some of mine. Alfred said he’d make some more for us.”
Steve sat down, his eyes on his companions’ faces rather than the food. Bruce was eating gingerly around a split lip, and Clark had not one but two black eyes and was eating with his left hand, his right heavily bandaged. Diana had fared little better: there was a scabbed cut running across her forehead, and there were black and blue marks on her throat as if someone had throttled her. Steve felt anger rise up in him, and bit down hard on it. Considering the three smiling faces around the table, whoever had hurt his angel had not gotten away with it.
“Good night’s work?” he asked, sitting down.
“All is well,” Diana said serenely.
“Although some people might need to learn more about thinking first and not charging into things like an idiot,” Bruce said acidly, with a glare at Clark.
Clark just laughed and grabbed the maple syrup. “And some people need to stop being massive control freaks who can’t accept a minor change in plans,” he said, the smile taking some of the mocking edge off his words.
“Minor change!” Bruce actually sputtered, putting down his glass of orange juice with a thump. “That was not a minor change!”
“They do like to bicker,” Diana said sotto voce to Steve, making Clark blush and both of them glare at her, united for the moment.
“I’m glad you’re back safe and sound, angel,” Steve said.
Diana’s smile included all of them in its radiance. “As am I,” she said simply.
“So, if anyone were to ask how my visit went...” Steve said cautiously, letting it trail off as he eyed their battered faces.
“Oh,” said Bruce, “Clark lost control of his horse and it threw him. He’s not as good a rider as he thinks.”
Clark looked somewhat annoyed at this slander. “And you tripped while trying to help me up and fell on your face, right?”
“That sounds reasonable,” Bruce said placidly. “You’d better eat some of those pancakes before Clark steals them like he did mine,” he added, prompting outraged denial from Clark.
Steve dug into his pancakes. The dining room was filled with the light and laughter of friends, and Steve let both wash over him, happy to be let into their tight circle and glimpse their true faces for a sunlit moment.