Ficlet: Lost Together
Title: Lost Together
Pairing/Characters: Clark/Bruce
Rating: PG
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Fandom: DC Comics
Summary: Clark convinced Bruce to go on a vacation and to leave his cell phone behind, so it's his fault that they're completely lost, of course.
Word Count: 860
Notes: For ilovetobefree's birthday, in honor of friendship and happy memories!
"We can't be lost." Bruce Wayne peered out the windshield of their rented car at the road sign standing at the junction of two potholed roads. Beyond them on all sides, golden, tree-lined fields meandered into the distance under a gem-bright sky. "I do not accept this."
"I think we're lost," said Clark Kent, trying to refold his map.
"Two of the most powerful beings in the world cannot be wandering around lost in the Czech Republic," said Bruce. "This is all your fault. Yes, your fault!" he went on indignantly at Clark's hurt look. "You're the one who insisted we not rent cell phones."
"Green Lantern can find us in an instant if it's an emergency. It's not a vacation if you're checking your phone every five minutes," said Clark.
"I often go for fifteen," Bruce said. "All right," he amended at Clark's expression. "Ten."
"I kind of like it," said Clark. "Even being lost."
"We are not lost." Bruce said with confidence, taking the right-hand turn.
"Well, where are we?"
"We are...following this road and eventually we will end up somewhere."
"My hero," murmured Clark. "Let's pull over and have lunch."
"What, here?" Bruce gestured out at the empty fields.
"Why not?"
Bruce had no answer to that, so they pulled over into the shade of a small grove of trees at the edge of a field of oats.
"Besides, it's not like you've left work behind entirely anyway," Clark said as he pulled a large picnic basket out of the trunk. "I still can't believe you pulled that stunt in Kutná Hora." He shook his head, remembering. "First you drag me off to some church decorated with human bones--"
"--It's symbolic." Bruce hoisted the bottle of cola from its bag and grabbed a couple of paper cups, sitting down cross-legged on the grass. "An ossuary is a memento mori and a reminder that all beings are fundamentally equal. We're all just bones in the end, Clark."
"Cheerful," said Clark, but he was hiding a smile. Bruce had dragged him all over the church, analyzing the previous owners of the bones and their causes of death: "Oh, a chandelier made of tibias--I see this one belonged to a syphilitic ironmonger in the late fifteenth century, and this one was a childless woman, probably a nun, sometime in the sixteenth. And this pair of femurs is--" Clark remembered how Bruce's eyes had sharpened, "--how interesting. These are no more than a few years old."
Of course, from then it had turned into a Mystery and a Case which had ended with a gibbering curator babbling a confession to local police in between panicked tales of being hunted through the graveyard by two accusing demons with black wings and glowing red eyes. Bruce had been adorably smug about that one.
"Anyway," said Clark as Bruce unscrewed the lid from the cola. "I'm just saying it's impossible to keep you from working for a full week."
"That's not work," said Bruce. "That's Justice." He poured two fizzing cups. "And what about you, huh? You heard that cat stuck in a tree from two miles away and you insisted on going out of our way so you could 'just happen to drive by' and help get it down."
Clark had the decency to blush a little. "That's not work, that's helping out. Besides," he added hastily, "We scored a picnic lunch from it, right?" He opened the lid of the picnic basket. "Oh dear, we shouldn't have let her give us so much food, we'll never eat it all."
But Bruce had already grabbed a sandwich of chicken schnitzel and seemed determined to prove him wrong. "Pass me one of those plum pastries," he said with his mouth full, and for a while they didn't speak. The sun gleamed on the fields and a breeze stirred the trees above them. Off in the distance a hay baler made its slow way across the field, a smudge of golden dust lifting lazily behind it.
Clark shaded his eyes with a hand. "Hey, I think that's a John Deere," he said. "Looks like an 8 Series 458 Silage Special."
Bruce snorted. "Farm boy."
"City slicker."
Bruce lay down, patting his stomach, and put his head on Clark's lap. "You're right."
"About you being a city slicker?"
"No, about it being kind of nice, just the two of us for a little while. No cell phones." He yawned, looking up at Clark's face. "Even being lost."
"I thought you said we weren't lost?" Clark teased.
"Not in any way that matters," Bruce mumbled, closing his eyes. "Not as long as we're together."
Clark ran a hand through his dark hair, marveling as always at how soft it was, softer than he had ever expected, ever dreamed. There was a bird singing in a tree nearby; that and the low hum of the distant baler were the only sounds. Soon they were joined by quiet snoring.
Clark Kent sat and listened to the world turning around them, the chaos of their lives fading out for a moment into peace and quiet and an utterly blue sky.
Pairing/Characters: Clark/Bruce
Rating: PG
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Fandom: DC Comics
Summary: Clark convinced Bruce to go on a vacation and to leave his cell phone behind, so it's his fault that they're completely lost, of course.
Word Count: 860
Notes: For ilovetobefree's birthday, in honor of friendship and happy memories!
"We can't be lost." Bruce Wayne peered out the windshield of their rented car at the road sign standing at the junction of two potholed roads. Beyond them on all sides, golden, tree-lined fields meandered into the distance under a gem-bright sky. "I do not accept this."
"I think we're lost," said Clark Kent, trying to refold his map.
"Two of the most powerful beings in the world cannot be wandering around lost in the Czech Republic," said Bruce. "This is all your fault. Yes, your fault!" he went on indignantly at Clark's hurt look. "You're the one who insisted we not rent cell phones."
"Green Lantern can find us in an instant if it's an emergency. It's not a vacation if you're checking your phone every five minutes," said Clark.
"I often go for fifteen," Bruce said. "All right," he amended at Clark's expression. "Ten."
"I kind of like it," said Clark. "Even being lost."
"We are not lost." Bruce said with confidence, taking the right-hand turn.
"Well, where are we?"
"We are...following this road and eventually we will end up somewhere."
"My hero," murmured Clark. "Let's pull over and have lunch."
"What, here?" Bruce gestured out at the empty fields.
"Why not?"
Bruce had no answer to that, so they pulled over into the shade of a small grove of trees at the edge of a field of oats.
"Besides, it's not like you've left work behind entirely anyway," Clark said as he pulled a large picnic basket out of the trunk. "I still can't believe you pulled that stunt in Kutná Hora." He shook his head, remembering. "First you drag me off to some church decorated with human bones--"
"--It's symbolic." Bruce hoisted the bottle of cola from its bag and grabbed a couple of paper cups, sitting down cross-legged on the grass. "An ossuary is a memento mori and a reminder that all beings are fundamentally equal. We're all just bones in the end, Clark."
"Cheerful," said Clark, but he was hiding a smile. Bruce had dragged him all over the church, analyzing the previous owners of the bones and their causes of death: "Oh, a chandelier made of tibias--I see this one belonged to a syphilitic ironmonger in the late fifteenth century, and this one was a childless woman, probably a nun, sometime in the sixteenth. And this pair of femurs is--" Clark remembered how Bruce's eyes had sharpened, "--how interesting. These are no more than a few years old."
Of course, from then it had turned into a Mystery and a Case which had ended with a gibbering curator babbling a confession to local police in between panicked tales of being hunted through the graveyard by two accusing demons with black wings and glowing red eyes. Bruce had been adorably smug about that one.
"Anyway," said Clark as Bruce unscrewed the lid from the cola. "I'm just saying it's impossible to keep you from working for a full week."
"That's not work," said Bruce. "That's Justice." He poured two fizzing cups. "And what about you, huh? You heard that cat stuck in a tree from two miles away and you insisted on going out of our way so you could 'just happen to drive by' and help get it down."
Clark had the decency to blush a little. "That's not work, that's helping out. Besides," he added hastily, "We scored a picnic lunch from it, right?" He opened the lid of the picnic basket. "Oh dear, we shouldn't have let her give us so much food, we'll never eat it all."
But Bruce had already grabbed a sandwich of chicken schnitzel and seemed determined to prove him wrong. "Pass me one of those plum pastries," he said with his mouth full, and for a while they didn't speak. The sun gleamed on the fields and a breeze stirred the trees above them. Off in the distance a hay baler made its slow way across the field, a smudge of golden dust lifting lazily behind it.
Clark shaded his eyes with a hand. "Hey, I think that's a John Deere," he said. "Looks like an 8 Series 458 Silage Special."
Bruce snorted. "Farm boy."
"City slicker."
Bruce lay down, patting his stomach, and put his head on Clark's lap. "You're right."
"About you being a city slicker?"
"No, about it being kind of nice, just the two of us for a little while. No cell phones." He yawned, looking up at Clark's face. "Even being lost."
"I thought you said we weren't lost?" Clark teased.
"Not in any way that matters," Bruce mumbled, closing his eyes. "Not as long as we're together."
Clark ran a hand through his dark hair, marveling as always at how soft it was, softer than he had ever expected, ever dreamed. There was a bird singing in a tree nearby; that and the low hum of the distant baler were the only sounds. Soon they were joined by quiet snoring.
Clark Kent sat and listened to the world turning around them, the chaos of their lives fading out for a moment into peace and quiet and an utterly blue sky.