Heroes of the Squared Circle 18: Anger, Frustration, and Pain
Title: Anger, Frustration, and Pain
Relationship: Clark/Bruce
Characters: Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Harvey Dent, Big Barda, Scott Free, Jack Napier, Oliver Queen, Lex Luthor, Dick Grayson, Selina Kyle, Waylon Jones
Continuity: Heroes of the Squared Circle, a DC/pro wrestling fusion ( click for notes and all chapters).
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: PG
Word Count 3300
Summary: As the invasion drags on, Bruce starts to get restless.
Wrestling is my greatest release. It's been such a blessing for me. I can step into the ring and let it all go--all my anger, all my frustration, all my pain. Whoosh! Everything just comes out of me. It's a beautiful feeling, a gift. --Eddie Guerrero
"I'm tired of this," gritted Bruce as they left yet another meeting, this one to design their Jumbotron presentations. "When do we get to wrestle again?"
Harvey clapped him on the back. "Relax, Bruce. Come on, what's to complain about? We show up, act ominous, collect a nice paycheck--all without risking injury in the ring! Sweet deal, as far as I'm concerned."
"You don't understand," snarled Bruce. "Wrestling is more than a paycheck, it's--" He threw up his hands in frustration. "It's the chance to create a story where the world makes sense, to carve it out with my body and my will. If I don't get in the ring now and then, I just feel like I'm going to--to fall apart or something. Explode. Disappear."
"You talk about wrestling like most men talk about sex, darling," said Selina, trailing a playful hand down his back. Bruce batted it away.
"It's much more important than that," he said, and stalked out.
Selina watched him go and sighed. "The boy's got issues," she said as they entered the common room in the Green Bay auditorium.
"So, were you and he ever, you know--" Barda raised her eyebrows expressively, and Clark found himself watching for Selina's reaction. "--together?"
"Are you kidding me? Not that I didn't try," Selina said. "But no, not Bruce Wayne. If it isn't happening in the ring he doesn't care about it."
"Sex in the ring." Barda grinned at Scott, who turned red to the roots of his hair. "Sounds fun."
"This is a travesty!" A new, shriller voice rang out. "An outrage!" Clark looked up to see Jack Napier charging into the room, bristling with fury, even his floppy hair seeming to stand on end.
"What's the trouble, Gentleman Jack?" Oliver Queen looked up from his coffee at the agitated Napier.
"Luthor's making me the Red Hood!" Napier wailed, jittering around the room.
"Oh." Queen took a slurp of his coffee. "Sucks to be you, man."
"Isn't there already a Red Hood?" Clark asked Scott in an undertone; Napier heard him and rounded on him.
"There've been twenty Red Hoods, you imbecile!" He was incandescent with anger, rage stretching his narrow, mobile face into a rictus mask. "It's a monster gimmick wearing a red helmet, any fool could play it. Luthor just rotates whoever he doesn't have a use for into the role to stomp around and lose to whatever face needs to win a match against a bully." He clutched at his hair. "Red Hood isn't funny! Red Hood isn't even allowed to talk! He's burying me, and I don't even know why. How am I ever going to make the audience laugh if I'm stuck under a stupid helmet?"
"Just be glad you've still got a job, Jack," said Queen, finishing his coffee, and Napier's anger collapsed in on itself.
"You're right," he groaned. "I have to just--just deal with it," he said. "I'll prove I'm a good worker--again--and he'll give me a better gimmick, I know it. One that plays to my strengths. I'll be the best comedy heel the wrestling world has ever seen."
Clark, who had seen some of Gentleman Jack Napier's work on the mic since their last encounter, said "Have you...considered pitching a non-comedy gimmick?"
"Are you kidding? It's my destiny, it's my avocation, it's my dream!" Napier's eyes were alight as if he could hear the approving laughter of an invisible crowd. "Someday I'll make them all laugh. You'll see. I'll show them all."
"Hey, Dick's match is starting!" called Diana Prince, and nearly everyone dropped what they were doing to look at the monitor.
In his new costume--sequined green shorts and all--Dick Grayson was running to the ring to confront Killer Croc. He vaulted over the top rope effortlessly, and the wrestlers murmured their approval.
"Nice entrance," said Jonathan Crane, looking up from the noose he was carefully adjusting around his neck like a tie. "The kid knows his stuff."
Croc kicked him and Dick collapsed onto the mat as if hit by a hammer. The camera cut to the audience, where a girl was peeking through her fingers, her mouth shaped into a horrified "O."
Diana snickered. "What a showman."
"Well, he's got years of practice in taking bumps," Oliver Queen said.
Bruce was frowning at the television. "He takes a hit better than I've ever seen," he said, "But his ring psychology could use some work. Well, look at him," he said a little defensively as some of the wrestlers glared at him. "Croc kicked his arm and he practically made the audience believe it was broken. But now it's two minutes later and he isn't selling the injury, there's clearly nothing wrong with his arm. He lives in the moment and doesn't use what's gone before to tell a story." He shook his head. "And his offense isn't aggressive enough. He can take it, but he can't dish it out as convincingly. He's got more raw potential than just about any rookie I've seen, but he's still pretty raw as a wrestler."
"He'll never be more than mid-card anyway," said Hal Jordan. This time Bruce joined in the people glaring, and Hal shrugged. "He doesn't have the build. No one will ever believe someone as short and scrawny as him can beat the big guys. Unless he fills out and bulks up a bit, he's going to end up just a very good jobber."
"That's Lex's opinion," said Bruce, "And it's one of his biggest weaknesses as a promoter, that he pushes big brawny guys at the expense of the smaller ones."
"He's getting a push now, isn't he?" said Jordan, gesturing at the screen. "The crowd loves him."
Bruce grimaced. "Lex tends to promote smaller wrestlers too quickly, he over-exposes them and then the crowd stops forgiving them their rookie mistakes and gets tired of them. Then he takes that as 'proof' that audiences don't like little guys and goes right back to muscled monsters." On the screen, Dick executed a moonsault off the top ropes, adding a half-twist that made the audience gasp. "I'm telling you that the kid has the potential to be one of the greatest technical wrestlers ever, if Lex doesn't waste it or burn him out. He just needs some seasoning. Maybe a little time away from the spotlight, in a smaller promotion…"
Dick ducked a flurry of punches from Croc, but the last one connected with his jaw and he went down in a heap. Croc pinned him, the bell rang, and Dick Grayson's debut match was at an end.
Bruce looked away from the screen, where Croc was retreating up the ramp to resounding boos, and met Clark's eyes. "Ready to go out there and be rabble-rousing rebels who don't get to wrestle again?"
The knot of wrestlers was breaking up now that Dick was done, drifting off to their own pursuits once more. "I'm sure we'll be having actual matches soon," Clark said as they left the room.
Bruce's posture was tense and prickly. "I hope so," he muttered.
They arrived at the emergency door and waited for their cue. Elsewhere in the auditorium Harvey, Selina, Barda and Scott were ready to come down through the crowd to the ring and interfere with Oliver Queen's match with the Scarecrow. The crowd was a dim roar beyond the door, and the only light was the faint red glow of the emergency exit sign. Clark could barely make out the curve of Bruce's face in the darkness.
"Well," he said, "When we're full-time and official, I hope I'll get to be in an angle with you again."
"Are you kidding?" Bruce's voice was closer than he had expected. "Why do you think I'm relapsing back to full-blown heel?"
"You don't have to. I could take a heel turn," Clark said.
Bruce snorted. "You? You'd hate being a heel, Clark. You're a natural-born babyface, and there are all too few of them."
Clark couldn't help sighing a little. "Heels are where all the drama is, though. All the best wrestlers are heels. Faces are a dime a dozen."
"Not the real ones." Bruce's voice was nearly at his ear now; Clark could feel his body near him in the dark. "Not the ones who mean it." Clark heard him take a breath as though he was going to say something else--
And then they heard Scarecrow's line that was their cue to enter the arena.
Bruce exhaled sharply, almost a sigh. "Ready?"
It was pitch-black, but they didn't need to see each other anymore to bump fists lightly.
The crowd started murmuring as they entered, a ripple of sound and attention that spread out from where they were across the audience. Clark could see Scott and Barda and Harvey and Selina making their way down the aisle to confront Scarecrow as well. Kids craned their necks or were lifted by parents to stare at them as they passed. Clark couldn't help smiling back at one especially adorable, wide-eyed toddler, and Bruce shot him a sardonic look: you could be a heel? Right.
Clark had his face arranged back into a glower by the time they approached the ring.
A security guard jumped to block their way, his arms outstretched dramatically. "Stop right there," he warned.
Clark crossed his arms and glared like a good invader; Bruce echoed his motion. "Out of our way," Bruce said, low and dangerous.
The guard swallowed hard but didn't move.
Clark was pretty sure this guy didn't know how to take a bump, so he stuck with the tried-and-true: he reached out and shoved the guard, sending him staggering backwards. Beyond him, he could see that the other JLI members were already in the ring, and everyone was waiting for Bruce and Clark to get there. "All right," he said to the guard as he righted himself, pitched low under the crowd noise, "That's good enough, now let us by."
"The hell I will!" the guard said, and surged forward.
Clark put his shoulder down and clipped him lightly as he came forward; the guard made a growling noise and pulled out a prop stungun. Clark shook his head: You think a little shock's going to stop me? and started to push past him again.
"Hold it!" The guard's wrist was suddenly caught in Bruce's grip, and the stungun clattered to the ground. "Get to the ring," Bruce said to Clark; he let go of the guard as Clark hurried past and followed.
Selina gave him a quick, questioning look as they jumped into the ring, but Clark shook his head as Bruce charged into his latest monologue about upholding the rights of the little guy against bullies like the Scarecrow. The audience cheered a bit weakly--they were attacking the loathed Scarecrow now, but no one had forgotten that they'd been attacking Green Lantern and Green Arrow just last week. Green Arrow was still collapsed in a corner where Crane's "fear toxin" had left him vulnerable, and the crowd was worried about him.
"We attack everyone, we're just crazy that way," Bruce had explained with a grin. "The smarks know what's up."
Big Barda feinted at Scarecrow, and Crane flinched and scrambled out of the ring to the jeers of the audience. Bruce went over to where Queen was cowering in the corner of the ring and bent over him, leaning close and patting his shoulder.
The audience went very still, and the rest of the JLI exchanged glances. This wasn't how the ending of the run-in had been booked--they were supposed to ignore Green Arrow and let him slip from the ring and stagger away, leaving the match a "smudge" with no clear winner.
Bruce was helping a still-shaky Green Arrow get to his feet, his arm wrapped around his back. A few uncertain cheers went up as Bruce gestured to the referee to start the count-out against the Scarecrow that would cede the match to Green Arrow by default. As the referee began the count, throwing his hands up dramatically with each number, Bruce propped Queen up, murmuring in his ear with a concerned expression.
At the count of seven, Bruce shot Clark a look that Clark knew well by now: I'm about to go off-script and you need to respond.
Oh boy, thought Clark, and realized that the thought was not exasperated but gleeful.
At the count of nine, Bruce abruptly shoved Queen so his face whacked into Bruce's knee, then flipped him onto his back with a resounding slam. Queen flopped like a rag doll and then lay still. As the crowd gasped, Bruce stood over him and laughed.
Clark jumped forward and grabbed Bruce by the shoulder, spinning him around. Bruce threw his arms out in hyper-exaggerated confusion: What? We're on the same side, man!
"What was all that about being against bullies?" Clark yelled. "What do you call this?" He gestured at Green Arrow's crumpled body, and Queen twitched obligingly for the cameras.
"I call this vengeance!" Bruce shoved him in the chest, and Clark staggered back, his arms flailing. Barda caught and steadied him, Scott at her side, and now it was Clark, Barda and Scott on one side of the ring and Harvey, Selina and Bruce on the other. For a long moment they glared at each other.
Then Bruce composed himself with a visible effort and nodded. "I'm sorry," he said. "You're right." He stepped forward (over Green Arrow's prone body) and extended his hand.
Clark took it without hesitation. The crowd gasped and tensed, but the handshake stayed friendly: now wasn't the time for Bruce's betrayal.
They left the ring together, with Clark sparing one apologetic look back at the crumpled Green Arrow.
: : :
"What the hell was that?" Bruce was yelling at Lex Luthor, ignoring the icy look in his boss's eyes. "Those aren't toys and this isn't a game, Luthor! Someone could have been hurt!"
"You're one to speak," said Luthor. "The guard threatened to sue over the sprained wrist you gave him."
"He was going to tase Clark, because you didn't bother to inform him we were working for you!"
Luthor lifted his lip. "Mall cops aren't generally known for their acting abilities. They sold it better because they thought you were legit. Aren't you the one always yelping about authenticity?"
"Not if it might get someone hurt," Bruce snarled.
"Wait, is that guy going to sue Bruce?" Clark asked, hoping to break the tension between them. "Because despite his gimmick I'm not sure he can afford a gigantic lawsuit."
Luthor shot him a dangerous, measuring look. Then he visibly relaxed, tugging his lapels into place. "Of course not, you idiot. He was going to sue the DCW. But I convinced him not to. I can be quite persuasive. "
"Money can't make every problem just disappear, Luthor," said Bruce.
"Well," said Luthor with a thin smile, "We'll just have to agree to disagree on that, Mr. Wayne." He frowned sharply. "And what the hell were you up to out there, going rogue like that? Faceplanting Queen was not part of the plan."
"I thought I sold it pretty well," said Oliver.
"Not the point, Queen," said Luthor, not looking at him.
"Hey, every wrestler has some freedom to improvise in the ring," said Bruce with a shrug. "I didn't change the result of the match, I didn't even change how it ended. You still got your smudge ending with no clear winner or loser, the crowd got to see Queen's face hit the mat--sure, he's a babyface, but everyone likes to see Green Arrow take a beating now and then."
"Hey," Queen protested, but there was no real heat in it.
"Plus we foreshadowed the eventual splintering of our little clique. That's not going rogue, that's good storytelling."
"Foreshadowed? More like forced," Luthor said. "We'll have to move forward on that storyline faster now."
Bruce shrugged. "You know it's time."
Luthor's lips thinned, but he didn't argue. "I'll have the bookers get to work on it. They should have a scenario to run by me soon." He pointed at Bruce. "And no altering this one on the fly."
"I won't change the results," Bruce said. "But if it needs alterations in the ring, I'm going to make them. Luthor, my instincts are good and you know it. It's why you hired me."
"Don't make me doubt the wisdom of that decision," Luthor bit out, then turned to Mercy. "Tell Grant and Mark to have a basic script for the end of the JLI angle on my desk by tomorrow morning."
: : :
Clark opened his hotel room door after a quick evening workout in the hotel gym to find Bruce using the back of his chair for push-ups. "Thanks for following my lead tonight," Bruce said as he walked in.
Clark tossed his bag in the corner, running a hand through his shower-damp hair. He should probably tell Bruce to stop breaking into his room, but the truth was he rather liked it. "It was a logical choice."
"It was," Bruce said at the apex of a push-up.
"That's not why you did it, though," said Clark.
Bruce lifted an eyebrow. "It's not?"
"Nope." Clark dropped onto the bed. "You just wanted to kick someone's ass."
Bruce stopped abruptly at the bottom of a push-up, his face hidden by the back of the chair, and held that position so long Clark could see the muscles of his shoulders start to shake. Then he pushed himself abruptly to his feet and collapsed into the other chair. Propping his chin on his hand, he looked at Clark for a while. "That obvious, huh?"
"Not at all," Clark said. He yawned and yanked down the sheets, crawling under in his sweatsuit. "Only to me."
"Only to you," Bruce said, still looking at him.
"You've got everyone mostly-convinced you're some kind of ice-cold intellectual wrestler who only cares about storylines and technique," Clark said. "But you're not. Part of what you love about wrestling is you get to beat people up without hurting anyone."
"Hm," said Bruce. "Interesting armchair analysis."
"You're the one in the armchair," said Clark. He yawned again and let his eyes close. "I'm in bed."
"That you are," said Bruce.
"Sorry," Clark mumbled. "Can't stay awake to talk strategy tonight. Stay as long as you like, though."
He heard Bruce laugh, an abrupt snort. "Luthor nearly got you tased tonight, and your biggest concern was that I might get sued," he said. "Such a babyface."
"Hey," said Clark, already half-asleep. "There's no reason to be insulting."
"True enough," said Bruce. If he said anything more, Clark missed it as sleep took him.
: : :
In the morning he woke to find Bruce still in the armchair, long legs stretched out in front of him, the sliver of sunlight through the drapes tentatively touching his sleeping face.
---
( Chapter 19: Sanity Clause)
Relationship: Clark/Bruce
Characters: Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Harvey Dent, Big Barda, Scott Free, Jack Napier, Oliver Queen, Lex Luthor, Dick Grayson, Selina Kyle, Waylon Jones
Continuity: Heroes of the Squared Circle, a DC/pro wrestling fusion ( click for notes and all chapters).
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: PG
Word Count 3300
Summary: As the invasion drags on, Bruce starts to get restless.
Wrestling is my greatest release. It's been such a blessing for me. I can step into the ring and let it all go--all my anger, all my frustration, all my pain. Whoosh! Everything just comes out of me. It's a beautiful feeling, a gift. --Eddie Guerrero
"I'm tired of this," gritted Bruce as they left yet another meeting, this one to design their Jumbotron presentations. "When do we get to wrestle again?"
Harvey clapped him on the back. "Relax, Bruce. Come on, what's to complain about? We show up, act ominous, collect a nice paycheck--all without risking injury in the ring! Sweet deal, as far as I'm concerned."
"You don't understand," snarled Bruce. "Wrestling is more than a paycheck, it's--" He threw up his hands in frustration. "It's the chance to create a story where the world makes sense, to carve it out with my body and my will. If I don't get in the ring now and then, I just feel like I'm going to--to fall apart or something. Explode. Disappear."
"You talk about wrestling like most men talk about sex, darling," said Selina, trailing a playful hand down his back. Bruce batted it away.
"It's much more important than that," he said, and stalked out.
Selina watched him go and sighed. "The boy's got issues," she said as they entered the common room in the Green Bay auditorium.
"So, were you and he ever, you know--" Barda raised her eyebrows expressively, and Clark found himself watching for Selina's reaction. "--together?"
"Are you kidding me? Not that I didn't try," Selina said. "But no, not Bruce Wayne. If it isn't happening in the ring he doesn't care about it."
"Sex in the ring." Barda grinned at Scott, who turned red to the roots of his hair. "Sounds fun."
"This is a travesty!" A new, shriller voice rang out. "An outrage!" Clark looked up to see Jack Napier charging into the room, bristling with fury, even his floppy hair seeming to stand on end.
"What's the trouble, Gentleman Jack?" Oliver Queen looked up from his coffee at the agitated Napier.
"Luthor's making me the Red Hood!" Napier wailed, jittering around the room.
"Oh." Queen took a slurp of his coffee. "Sucks to be you, man."
"Isn't there already a Red Hood?" Clark asked Scott in an undertone; Napier heard him and rounded on him.
"There've been twenty Red Hoods, you imbecile!" He was incandescent with anger, rage stretching his narrow, mobile face into a rictus mask. "It's a monster gimmick wearing a red helmet, any fool could play it. Luthor just rotates whoever he doesn't have a use for into the role to stomp around and lose to whatever face needs to win a match against a bully." He clutched at his hair. "Red Hood isn't funny! Red Hood isn't even allowed to talk! He's burying me, and I don't even know why. How am I ever going to make the audience laugh if I'm stuck under a stupid helmet?"
"Just be glad you've still got a job, Jack," said Queen, finishing his coffee, and Napier's anger collapsed in on itself.
"You're right," he groaned. "I have to just--just deal with it," he said. "I'll prove I'm a good worker--again--and he'll give me a better gimmick, I know it. One that plays to my strengths. I'll be the best comedy heel the wrestling world has ever seen."
Clark, who had seen some of Gentleman Jack Napier's work on the mic since their last encounter, said "Have you...considered pitching a non-comedy gimmick?"
"Are you kidding? It's my destiny, it's my avocation, it's my dream!" Napier's eyes were alight as if he could hear the approving laughter of an invisible crowd. "Someday I'll make them all laugh. You'll see. I'll show them all."
"Hey, Dick's match is starting!" called Diana Prince, and nearly everyone dropped what they were doing to look at the monitor.
In his new costume--sequined green shorts and all--Dick Grayson was running to the ring to confront Killer Croc. He vaulted over the top rope effortlessly, and the wrestlers murmured their approval.
"Nice entrance," said Jonathan Crane, looking up from the noose he was carefully adjusting around his neck like a tie. "The kid knows his stuff."
Croc kicked him and Dick collapsed onto the mat as if hit by a hammer. The camera cut to the audience, where a girl was peeking through her fingers, her mouth shaped into a horrified "O."
Diana snickered. "What a showman."
"Well, he's got years of practice in taking bumps," Oliver Queen said.
Bruce was frowning at the television. "He takes a hit better than I've ever seen," he said, "But his ring psychology could use some work. Well, look at him," he said a little defensively as some of the wrestlers glared at him. "Croc kicked his arm and he practically made the audience believe it was broken. But now it's two minutes later and he isn't selling the injury, there's clearly nothing wrong with his arm. He lives in the moment and doesn't use what's gone before to tell a story." He shook his head. "And his offense isn't aggressive enough. He can take it, but he can't dish it out as convincingly. He's got more raw potential than just about any rookie I've seen, but he's still pretty raw as a wrestler."
"He'll never be more than mid-card anyway," said Hal Jordan. This time Bruce joined in the people glaring, and Hal shrugged. "He doesn't have the build. No one will ever believe someone as short and scrawny as him can beat the big guys. Unless he fills out and bulks up a bit, he's going to end up just a very good jobber."
"That's Lex's opinion," said Bruce, "And it's one of his biggest weaknesses as a promoter, that he pushes big brawny guys at the expense of the smaller ones."
"He's getting a push now, isn't he?" said Jordan, gesturing at the screen. "The crowd loves him."
Bruce grimaced. "Lex tends to promote smaller wrestlers too quickly, he over-exposes them and then the crowd stops forgiving them their rookie mistakes and gets tired of them. Then he takes that as 'proof' that audiences don't like little guys and goes right back to muscled monsters." On the screen, Dick executed a moonsault off the top ropes, adding a half-twist that made the audience gasp. "I'm telling you that the kid has the potential to be one of the greatest technical wrestlers ever, if Lex doesn't waste it or burn him out. He just needs some seasoning. Maybe a little time away from the spotlight, in a smaller promotion…"
Dick ducked a flurry of punches from Croc, but the last one connected with his jaw and he went down in a heap. Croc pinned him, the bell rang, and Dick Grayson's debut match was at an end.
Bruce looked away from the screen, where Croc was retreating up the ramp to resounding boos, and met Clark's eyes. "Ready to go out there and be rabble-rousing rebels who don't get to wrestle again?"
The knot of wrestlers was breaking up now that Dick was done, drifting off to their own pursuits once more. "I'm sure we'll be having actual matches soon," Clark said as they left the room.
Bruce's posture was tense and prickly. "I hope so," he muttered.
They arrived at the emergency door and waited for their cue. Elsewhere in the auditorium Harvey, Selina, Barda and Scott were ready to come down through the crowd to the ring and interfere with Oliver Queen's match with the Scarecrow. The crowd was a dim roar beyond the door, and the only light was the faint red glow of the emergency exit sign. Clark could barely make out the curve of Bruce's face in the darkness.
"Well," he said, "When we're full-time and official, I hope I'll get to be in an angle with you again."
"Are you kidding?" Bruce's voice was closer than he had expected. "Why do you think I'm relapsing back to full-blown heel?"
"You don't have to. I could take a heel turn," Clark said.
Bruce snorted. "You? You'd hate being a heel, Clark. You're a natural-born babyface, and there are all too few of them."
Clark couldn't help sighing a little. "Heels are where all the drama is, though. All the best wrestlers are heels. Faces are a dime a dozen."
"Not the real ones." Bruce's voice was nearly at his ear now; Clark could feel his body near him in the dark. "Not the ones who mean it." Clark heard him take a breath as though he was going to say something else--
And then they heard Scarecrow's line that was their cue to enter the arena.
Bruce exhaled sharply, almost a sigh. "Ready?"
It was pitch-black, but they didn't need to see each other anymore to bump fists lightly.
The crowd started murmuring as they entered, a ripple of sound and attention that spread out from where they were across the audience. Clark could see Scott and Barda and Harvey and Selina making their way down the aisle to confront Scarecrow as well. Kids craned their necks or were lifted by parents to stare at them as they passed. Clark couldn't help smiling back at one especially adorable, wide-eyed toddler, and Bruce shot him a sardonic look: you could be a heel? Right.
Clark had his face arranged back into a glower by the time they approached the ring.
A security guard jumped to block their way, his arms outstretched dramatically. "Stop right there," he warned.
Clark crossed his arms and glared like a good invader; Bruce echoed his motion. "Out of our way," Bruce said, low and dangerous.
The guard swallowed hard but didn't move.
Clark was pretty sure this guy didn't know how to take a bump, so he stuck with the tried-and-true: he reached out and shoved the guard, sending him staggering backwards. Beyond him, he could see that the other JLI members were already in the ring, and everyone was waiting for Bruce and Clark to get there. "All right," he said to the guard as he righted himself, pitched low under the crowd noise, "That's good enough, now let us by."
"The hell I will!" the guard said, and surged forward.
Clark put his shoulder down and clipped him lightly as he came forward; the guard made a growling noise and pulled out a prop stungun. Clark shook his head: You think a little shock's going to stop me? and started to push past him again.
"Hold it!" The guard's wrist was suddenly caught in Bruce's grip, and the stungun clattered to the ground. "Get to the ring," Bruce said to Clark; he let go of the guard as Clark hurried past and followed.
Selina gave him a quick, questioning look as they jumped into the ring, but Clark shook his head as Bruce charged into his latest monologue about upholding the rights of the little guy against bullies like the Scarecrow. The audience cheered a bit weakly--they were attacking the loathed Scarecrow now, but no one had forgotten that they'd been attacking Green Lantern and Green Arrow just last week. Green Arrow was still collapsed in a corner where Crane's "fear toxin" had left him vulnerable, and the crowd was worried about him.
"We attack everyone, we're just crazy that way," Bruce had explained with a grin. "The smarks know what's up."
Big Barda feinted at Scarecrow, and Crane flinched and scrambled out of the ring to the jeers of the audience. Bruce went over to where Queen was cowering in the corner of the ring and bent over him, leaning close and patting his shoulder.
The audience went very still, and the rest of the JLI exchanged glances. This wasn't how the ending of the run-in had been booked--they were supposed to ignore Green Arrow and let him slip from the ring and stagger away, leaving the match a "smudge" with no clear winner.
Bruce was helping a still-shaky Green Arrow get to his feet, his arm wrapped around his back. A few uncertain cheers went up as Bruce gestured to the referee to start the count-out against the Scarecrow that would cede the match to Green Arrow by default. As the referee began the count, throwing his hands up dramatically with each number, Bruce propped Queen up, murmuring in his ear with a concerned expression.
At the count of seven, Bruce shot Clark a look that Clark knew well by now: I'm about to go off-script and you need to respond.
Oh boy, thought Clark, and realized that the thought was not exasperated but gleeful.
At the count of nine, Bruce abruptly shoved Queen so his face whacked into Bruce's knee, then flipped him onto his back with a resounding slam. Queen flopped like a rag doll and then lay still. As the crowd gasped, Bruce stood over him and laughed.
Clark jumped forward and grabbed Bruce by the shoulder, spinning him around. Bruce threw his arms out in hyper-exaggerated confusion: What? We're on the same side, man!
"What was all that about being against bullies?" Clark yelled. "What do you call this?" He gestured at Green Arrow's crumpled body, and Queen twitched obligingly for the cameras.
"I call this vengeance!" Bruce shoved him in the chest, and Clark staggered back, his arms flailing. Barda caught and steadied him, Scott at her side, and now it was Clark, Barda and Scott on one side of the ring and Harvey, Selina and Bruce on the other. For a long moment they glared at each other.
Then Bruce composed himself with a visible effort and nodded. "I'm sorry," he said. "You're right." He stepped forward (over Green Arrow's prone body) and extended his hand.
Clark took it without hesitation. The crowd gasped and tensed, but the handshake stayed friendly: now wasn't the time for Bruce's betrayal.
They left the ring together, with Clark sparing one apologetic look back at the crumpled Green Arrow.
: : :
"What the hell was that?" Bruce was yelling at Lex Luthor, ignoring the icy look in his boss's eyes. "Those aren't toys and this isn't a game, Luthor! Someone could have been hurt!"
"You're one to speak," said Luthor. "The guard threatened to sue over the sprained wrist you gave him."
"He was going to tase Clark, because you didn't bother to inform him we were working for you!"
Luthor lifted his lip. "Mall cops aren't generally known for their acting abilities. They sold it better because they thought you were legit. Aren't you the one always yelping about authenticity?"
"Not if it might get someone hurt," Bruce snarled.
"Wait, is that guy going to sue Bruce?" Clark asked, hoping to break the tension between them. "Because despite his gimmick I'm not sure he can afford a gigantic lawsuit."
Luthor shot him a dangerous, measuring look. Then he visibly relaxed, tugging his lapels into place. "Of course not, you idiot. He was going to sue the DCW. But I convinced him not to. I can be quite persuasive. "
"Money can't make every problem just disappear, Luthor," said Bruce.
"Well," said Luthor with a thin smile, "We'll just have to agree to disagree on that, Mr. Wayne." He frowned sharply. "And what the hell were you up to out there, going rogue like that? Faceplanting Queen was not part of the plan."
"I thought I sold it pretty well," said Oliver.
"Not the point, Queen," said Luthor, not looking at him.
"Hey, every wrestler has some freedom to improvise in the ring," said Bruce with a shrug. "I didn't change the result of the match, I didn't even change how it ended. You still got your smudge ending with no clear winner or loser, the crowd got to see Queen's face hit the mat--sure, he's a babyface, but everyone likes to see Green Arrow take a beating now and then."
"Hey," Queen protested, but there was no real heat in it.
"Plus we foreshadowed the eventual splintering of our little clique. That's not going rogue, that's good storytelling."
"Foreshadowed? More like forced," Luthor said. "We'll have to move forward on that storyline faster now."
Bruce shrugged. "You know it's time."
Luthor's lips thinned, but he didn't argue. "I'll have the bookers get to work on it. They should have a scenario to run by me soon." He pointed at Bruce. "And no altering this one on the fly."
"I won't change the results," Bruce said. "But if it needs alterations in the ring, I'm going to make them. Luthor, my instincts are good and you know it. It's why you hired me."
"Don't make me doubt the wisdom of that decision," Luthor bit out, then turned to Mercy. "Tell Grant and Mark to have a basic script for the end of the JLI angle on my desk by tomorrow morning."
: : :
Clark opened his hotel room door after a quick evening workout in the hotel gym to find Bruce using the back of his chair for push-ups. "Thanks for following my lead tonight," Bruce said as he walked in.
Clark tossed his bag in the corner, running a hand through his shower-damp hair. He should probably tell Bruce to stop breaking into his room, but the truth was he rather liked it. "It was a logical choice."
"It was," Bruce said at the apex of a push-up.
"That's not why you did it, though," said Clark.
Bruce lifted an eyebrow. "It's not?"
"Nope." Clark dropped onto the bed. "You just wanted to kick someone's ass."
Bruce stopped abruptly at the bottom of a push-up, his face hidden by the back of the chair, and held that position so long Clark could see the muscles of his shoulders start to shake. Then he pushed himself abruptly to his feet and collapsed into the other chair. Propping his chin on his hand, he looked at Clark for a while. "That obvious, huh?"
"Not at all," Clark said. He yawned and yanked down the sheets, crawling under in his sweatsuit. "Only to me."
"Only to you," Bruce said, still looking at him.
"You've got everyone mostly-convinced you're some kind of ice-cold intellectual wrestler who only cares about storylines and technique," Clark said. "But you're not. Part of what you love about wrestling is you get to beat people up without hurting anyone."
"Hm," said Bruce. "Interesting armchair analysis."
"You're the one in the armchair," said Clark. He yawned again and let his eyes close. "I'm in bed."
"That you are," said Bruce.
"Sorry," Clark mumbled. "Can't stay awake to talk strategy tonight. Stay as long as you like, though."
He heard Bruce laugh, an abrupt snort. "Luthor nearly got you tased tonight, and your biggest concern was that I might get sued," he said. "Such a babyface."
"Hey," said Clark, already half-asleep. "There's no reason to be insulting."
"True enough," said Bruce. If he said anything more, Clark missed it as sleep took him.
: : :
In the morning he woke to find Bruce still in the armchair, long legs stretched out in front of him, the sliver of sunlight through the drapes tentatively touching his sleeping face.
---
( Chapter 19: Sanity Clause)