Heroes of the Squared Circle 63: Cages
Title: Cages
Relationship: Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent
Characters: Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Lex Luthor, Selina Kyle, Dick Grayson, Jean-Paul Valley
Continuity: Heroes of the Squared Circle, a DC/pro wrestling fusion.
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: PG
Word Count 4500
Summary: Catwoman is booked to win the Women's Championship, and the Dark Knight faces a challenge by Azrael, determined to prove himself worthy.
Vince [McMahon, promoter] likes to be in control so much that he hates even sneezing, because it’s an uncontrollable reflex. I’ve seen him cuss a blue streak after a healthy sneeze or two. He even gets POed when he yawns. --Steve Austin
Jean-Paul Valley looked directly into the camera, his ice-blue eyes intense. “Since coming back to the DCW, I know--I’ve lost my edge. I challenged Nightwing to a rematch, and I lost. I lost fair and square in the middle of the ring.” He shook his head, all grudging respect. “And I’ve just kept losing. I’ve been trying to figure out what went wrong, why I’m not the competitor I used to be. And it comes down to Batman. To the man who trusted me with his title, with his name, with his legacy. The man I let down.”
Jean-Paul took a deep breath. “Batman, if you’re listening--I want a chance to prove myself against you. A chance to earn back your respect. I want to meet you man to man next week. And I want to meet you in a steel cage, the most grueling and punishing match in the DCW.” The crowd popped like mad. “I want you to know I can take the pain. That I accept it in the name of my redemption.” His eyes gleamed, bright and frenetic. “What do you say, Dark Knight? Shall we face each other at last?”
For a long moment, there was no response. Then something thudded into the wall near Jean-Paul’s head. Jean-Paul pulled it out and the camera zoomed in close to show a little piece of metal shaped like a stylized bat. Written on it in neat black letters: I accept.
Lex Luthor’s purple tie was a tiny visual reminder of his days as an malign hooded mastermind. He didn’t bother to wear the full Evil Genius Gear anymore, but no one was likely to forget his role as he addressed the Injustice League, sitting around his office either cringing or looking sullen.
“Superman and Batman have been tag team champs for months, Wonder Woman’s been the women’s champion almost as long, and not one of you incompetents has been able to defeat Nightwing for the heavyweight championship! How hard can it be, you bunch of clowns?”
“Hey,” said the Joker. “There’s only one of us good enough to be a clown.”
“Cheetah,” said Luthor, ignoring him. “I’m putting you in a fatal four-way with Wonder Woman.”
Cheetah purred and looked at her nails. “Who are the other two?”
“Silver Banshee,” said Luthor, and the newest member of the Injustice League tossed her silvery hair back, smiling. “An excellent choice.”
“Of course I am.”
“And the fourth person...Catwoman. You’ll do.”
“I’ll do?” Catwoman snarled from her place near the door. “I’m better than any of them and you know it.”
“Well, here’s your chance to prove it. As long as Wonder Woman ends up losing the championship, I don’t really care which of my girls wins.”
Catwoman hissed. “I’m not ‘one of your girls,’ Lex. And I’m not a dog that will come to heel on your beck and call. I’ll be happy to beat Wonder Woman, but I’m in business for myself, not your silly League.”
The camera caught her as she left, then swiveled to catch Luthor’s glower and mutter: “We’ll have to take care of her, too.”
“I like it,” Bruce said, tossing his bat-shaped throwing star at the already-perforated common room couch. “I think I’ll call it a batarang.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” said Dick from an improbable perch on the back of a chair. “It doesn’t return.”
“Sure it does,” said Bruce, walking over to retrieve it. He held it up. “See?”
“Don’t use it too often,” warned Clark. “First, you’ll have to pay for wall repair. Second, if kids start chucking metal objects at each other because their favorite babyface does it, Lex will find himself with a lawsuit on his hands.”
Bruce bit his lip in concentration and threw it again. “Don’t try this at home, kids,” he intoned as it clattered across the floor.
“I don’t like this match,” Dick said in a low voice meant for just the three of them.
“The cage match with Jean-Paul? We’ve gone over it, it’ll be fine.”
“I don’t like the storyline,” said Dick. “I don’t like that he’s using you to get Jean-Paul over with the crowds. He’s making you a tool in Azrael’s redemption story.”
Bruce gave him a sharp look. “I’ve been a tool in a lot of stories, Dick. It’s what we do. If Azrael’s going to come back, he’s going to have to deal with the history between us.”
Dick muttered something that Clark couldn’t catch all of, but it sounded like it ended with “...didn’t need to come back.”
However, the conversation ended as Bruce and Clark were grabbed from behind.
“A title for Catwoman, a title for Catwoman!” Selina sang out, throwing her arms around Clark and Bruce from behind and swinging from their shoulders like a child. “Oh, I’m sitting in the catbird seat at last.”
“If Diana’s got to lose it, I’m glad it’s to you,” Clark said, and she stuck her tongue out at him.
“You freaking babyfaces can’t hold all the titles forever. For God’s sake, throw us poor heels a bone. Or a nice can of tuna, as the case may be. At least Bruce is happy for me, aren’t you, Bruce?” she asked, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing.
“Ecstatic,” Bruce said deadpan, but there was a smile lurking in his eyes.
“You sweetheart,” she said, and kissed his cheek while smiling impishly at Clark. Clark just raised an eyebrow; by now he’d gotten used to Selina teasing him by flirting with Bruce. “The only thing I’m worried about is Banshee.”
“She’s pretty green to be in a title match,” Clark agreed.
“Green? Siobhan’s viridian. I mean, she’s trying, and she’s eager to learn, but there’s no getting around the fact that she was hired for the cheesecake factor. There’s nothing wrong with having pretty women around, mind you!” she said. “But I’d like them to be a lot more comfortable in the ring before they’re thrown into a title match.”
“At least you’ve got Haly refereeing,” said Dick. “Pop will make sure everything runs smooth.”
“I hope so,” said Selina, but she still looked worried.
“I don’t need you guys to come in with me,” Dick Grayson said, looking left at Bruce and right at Clark in turn. “I can handle this.”
“We know you can,” said Clark, deciding it would be best not to mention Bruce’s worried conversation with him the night before.
“Re-negotiating contracts are always a tricky business,” Bruce had said.
Clark had sighed, watching him pace. “I know that, Bruce. I’ve re-negotiated mine a few times, in a few promotions.”
“Dick’s never had a contract run out while holding a title,” Bruce said. “And with Lord’s promotion just waiting to snap him up--” He had broken off, worrying at his lip, and didn’t finish the sentence.
Clark pulled himself back to the present, where Bruce was not biting his lip, but Clark could tell from the set of his mouth that it was a deliberate choice not to. “We just want to make sure you get a fair shake with Luthor,” said Bruce. “I mean--” He broke off and cleared his throat. “Not that anyone could take the place of your parents, but Clark and I are… We care about you a lot,” he said.
Clark was still blinking at the implication that he and Bruce were like Dick’s adopted parents when Dick knocked on Luthor’s door. If he was blushing a little when the door opened, he hoped Luthor wouldn’t notice.
“I trust that the figures are satisfactory to you and your...bodyguards?” Luthor said to Dick, lifting an eyebrow at Clark and Bruce.
DIck leaned forward. “The money’s more than satisfactory, Luthor. It always has been. But there are other considerations before I re-sign.”
Luthor made a graceful do go on gesture.
“I want control over the Grayson name,” said Dick. “No one can invoke it without my approval.”
Luthor sat back in his seat and steepled his fingers, looking at Dick. There was a long, awkward silence, in which Clark remembered vividly Jean-Paul Valley flinging the Grayson’s deaths in Dick’s face as a “cheap stunt.”
“That seems fair,” said Luthor, and Clark felt rather than heard Bruce’s slow exhalation.
“Thank you,” said Dick, sounding sincerely grateful. “That’s very kind of you.”
“It’s your family,” said Luthor. “Family is important.” He made a memo on his phone, and Clark relaxed. He hadn’t expected this part to go so well.
“And there’s one more thing,” Dick said, and Clark froze. There hadn’t been “one more thing” in their discussions of this meeting. “I’d like to have it as part of my contract that I get creative control over how I relinquish the title.” Luthor’s head came up. “I’ll drop it when you tell me to, but I want some input into how the storyline gets handled.”
Luthor smiled. “Of course you’ll have input when that happens, Dick.”
“I mean, I’d like it in writing. As part of my contract.” Dick cleared his throat. “That I have to agree to how it goes.”
“You want to be able to book your own title defenses? That’s absurd.”
“No, I don’t need to book them. I just want--well, something like veto power.”
“That’s not possible,” said Luthor.
“I’m not asking for control over all my storylines,” Dick said. “Just how I drop the strap.” Luthor was shaking his head slowly. “I’ve been a great champion, Luthor, and you know it. I never miss a show, I draw crowds, I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me. All I want is to be able to veto ideas on this one point.”
“Dick’s always put over anyone you’ve asked,” Clark spoke up. “You know he’s never disappointed, in the ring or out of it.”
“Giving him veto power over this one thing should be something you can do, Luthor,” said Bruce. “It’s not like you’ll be letting him write his own stories.”
Luthor stood. “I’ll have to think about it,” he said, but his voice was hard and distant. “You think about it too,” he said. “It would be a shame if we had to part ways because you refused to budge on this point.”
“Yes, it would,” said Dick, standing in turn.
Clark shot Bruce a look as they left, but Bruce’s face was opaque.
“Thanks for backing me up there,” said Dick as they headed toward the locker room.
Bruce grabbed his arm and steered him out of an emergency exit and into an alley. A stiff breeze rummaged through the litter on the ground, chill with the coming autumn. “You didn’t leave us much choice,” he snapped as the door closed behind them, “Springing it on us without warning like that.”
“Yeah, well.” Dick looked sheepish. “I was afraid you’d try to talk me out of it.”
“We would have,” said Clark. “You know wrestlers can’t get veto power over their storylines, Dick. It would undermine the whole thing--I mean, what if Billy Batson could veto any loss? Everything would unravel.”
“This one thing,” said Dick. He looked at Clark, imploring. “Just this one thing. Me, my family--we’ve worked so hard for Luthor. It’s a small thing to ask in return. I can’t bear to drop the title to--” He broke off and tried again. “I need to control who I drop the title to.”
“Dick, we understand,” said Bruce. “Really, we do. But I don’t think it’s something Luthor’s going to compromise on.” Clark saw him swallow. “I’m not sure I would, if I were a promoter.”
Dick looked at Bruce for a long moment. “Then I guess I’m glad I’m not working for you,” he said. Then he looked down, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Bruce. This means a lot to me, and I don’t know if I’m willing to compromise. My contract runs out in a month. We’ll see if Luthor or I budge first.”
He turned and went back into the building, leaving Clark and Bruce in the alley. The breeze picked up for a gust and a scattering of fallen leaves scurried past their feet. Clark shivered. “Luthor’s not going to budge on this.”
Bruce wrapped his arms around himself. “Dick won’t either,” he said.
“Siobhan seems to be doing fine,” said Clark later that week as he pulled on his tights, one eye on the monitor.
“Mm,” said Bruce as Wonder Woman got the Silver Banshee in a headlock and Siobhan screamed in agony. “She’s getting a lot better at selling, I’ll give her that. But she still shouldn’t be in a title match. Especially not a four-way match like this. There’s just way too much that can go wrong.” Cheetah flipped Banshee onto her back and pinned her, and the referee’s fist came down: one--two--
Cheetah dragged Wonder Woman off of Banshee, breaking the pin and Irish whipping her into the turnbuckle. Four-way matches, in which a victory could be won by pinning anyone in the match, were always chaotic affairs, and with the title on the line it was even more so: as the announcers loved to remind everyone, this meant that Wonder Woman could lose the title without ever actually being pinned herself. Having Catwoman pin Cheetah to win the title away from Wonder Woman was a classic way to set up an immediate feud between the two while leaving open the question of who was better for the time being.
Clark adjusted the chain that kept his cape fastened around his shoulders, making sure the clasp would give easily when he needed to remove it. He didn’t check it once, and it had led to an awkward and interminable moment where it looked like he was going to have to wrestle his own cape instead of his opponent. He always checked it now.
On the monitor, Cheetah delivered a dropkick to Wonder Woman, who was still reeling against the turnbuckle. Catwoman had been knocked out of the ring a little while ago; Clark could see her selling being unconscious on the floor while some of the smarkier fans leaned over the barricade, begging her to get up, to fight, to win.
Cheetah turned her back on the champion. She leaped at Silver Banshee, still lying “dazed” on the mat, and covered her, pinning her shoulders to the mat and hooking her leg. The crowd popped: was Cheetah actually going to win the title?
The ref pounded the mat: one--two--
Silver Banshee’s shoulders stayed on the mat. She didn’t kick out. If the ref’s hand hit the mat one more time, the title would go to Cheetah.
The ref’s fist hesitated in the air for a grotesque split-second too long, and Clark heard Bruce curse.
Banshee’s shoulder came up just before the fateful three-count that would declare Cheetah the winner--but it was obvious that Cheetah had grabbed her shoulder and lifted it.
Cheetah rolled off and started complaining furiously with the ref, pulling attention from Siobhan’s stricken face as the audience’s boos and jeers filled the air. Clark saw Selina, on the far edge of the screen, give up pretending to be out cold; clearly the situation called for a quick conclusion to the match.
Catwoman scrambled into the ring, where Cheetah still had her back turned to Silver Banshee to argue with the ref and Wonder Woman was sagging, dazed, against the turnbuckle. With a short, sharp cry, she delivered a beautiful enzuigiri kick to the side of Cheetah’s head, and Cheetah fell to her hands and knees, shaking her head. Without any pause, Catwoman pinned Silver Banshee, glaring up at the ref, and the ref counted one--two--three without any hesitation.
The bell rang and Catwoman was handed the beautiful platinum belt. She smiled and lifted it above her head, coyly checking the nails of her free hand. The camera caught a beautiful shot of her admiring her face in its polished surface: Selina Kyle, champion at last. The boos gave way to adulation for their favorite leather-clad women’s wrestler; in the arena the smarks were celebrating.
Backstage was chaos.
“God damn it, Haley!” Luthor was raging. “You’ve been in this business for decades, you know you can’t pause! It destroys the illusion! It destroys everything!”
“What,” said Conner, “Should he have just let Cheetah rob Selina of the title because Siobhan messed up?”
“Yes,” said Dick. “The referee has to be an impartial bystander in the eyes of the audience. If the ref hesitates in the count, it makes it obvious that it’s all an act.”
“The smoke blows away, the mirrors break,” said Bruce.
“He should have given the win to Cheetah,” said Clark as Luthor continued to castigate Pop Haley, who was gritting his teeth and enduring it. “They could have found a way to strip her of the title later, or just put her into a rematch with Catwoman at the next show.”
“She,” Luthor snarled, pointing at a pale and shaken Siobhan, “Is inexperienced. I take full responsibility for putting her in the ring. But you have been in this business as long as I have, and you should know better.” He pointed at two of the writers. “Chuck. Doug. I’ll need to cut a promo addressing this tomorrow. Come up with a storyline reason why Haley might have been corrupted by Silver Banshee. Haley, I’ll need you to cut a generic promo with me in my office. Just hang your head and say you don’t know what happened as I chew you out.”
“Yes sir,” said Haley.
“After that I think you’ll be taking some time off to think about the consequences of your actions.”
Haley was sweating. “Yes sir. I’m sorry, sir.”
“I am too, Jack,” said Luthor. “You’ve worked for my family for a long time. Let’s hope time hasn’t passed you by.” He turned to Selina, who had an arm around Siobhan. “Congratulations on your title, Ms Kyle,” he said. “I regret that it was won in such controversial circumstances. But I’m certain you’ll be a credit to it, just as Ms Prince was before.”
“We’d better get out to Gorilla position,” said Bruce to Clark. “My match is up next. Are you ready to emote worry and concern?”
“I am indeed,” said Clark.
The cage was a massive fence of chain links that surrounded the ring, locking the two wrestlers inside. A wrestler could win by pinfall, submission, or climbing the fence and getting both feet down on the other side.
Superman paced outside the cage as they padlocked the door, hands clasped behind his back, keeping an eye on the Dark Knight. Superman had voiced his doubts about this match many times to his tag team partner, but Batman had insisted on accepting the challenge. Batman gave Superman a long, level look as the door clanged shut behind him, then turned to face Azrael, already standing in the middle of the ring. Azrael extended his hand, and after a fraught moment, Batman stepped forward and took it. Their clasped hands radiated tension, but neither wrestler did anything underhanded, and they stepped away from each other without incident. The bell rang, and the two circled each other, sizing each other up, before Azrael lunged at the Dark Knight and grappled with him.
The match went out of the ring quickly as Azrael threw the Dark Knight against the chain links, hurling him with enough force to make the whole cage shake, then smashing him against it once again. There were welts on Batman’s back by the time he was able to break away, little bloody diamonds crisscrossing his shoulders. They battled around the cage, bashing each other up against it hard enough to make the people in the front row gasp and flinch away. Batman dragged Azrael into the ring for a dazzling sequence of quick mat work, holds and reverses, kicks and punches, until they finally broke away into a tense face off, staring at each other.
From the sidelines, Superman yelled encouragement.
This time, when the two clashed, Azrael got the upper hand and slammed Batman into the cage face-first, pressing him against it so his face was crushed against the links. “Batman!” cried Superman from the other side, reaching out as if he wished he could help his partner, his fingers briefly touching the Dark Knights’ through the fence, his face distressed--That will be in the gallery for this match, Clark thought with satisfaction. “Climb out!” he yelled.
Batman shook his head, the links scraping against his face at the motion. Azrael showed no inclination to try and take the coward’s way out either, and the battle raged on, two equally-matched gladiators each refusing to give an inch to the other.
It looked like the match could have gone on until both Batman and Azrael collapsed in exhaustion, but a sudden shriek from the audience heralded the beginning of the final act. Joker, Killer Croc, and the Cluemaster came running down the ramp, heading for the cage. Superman stood between them, and for a moment there was a dual standoff: Superman with the villains outside to cage back to back with Batman and Azrael inside the cage. Clark could feel the heat of Bruce’s back against his, slick with sweat, as they stood for an endless moment of tableau.
The three villains jumped forward and attacked Superman. He held them off for a moment, but with three against one, he soon buckled to his knees, raising his hands against a flurry of blows.
Inside the ring, Batman called out to him and started to climb the fence.
Azrael grabbed him by the foot and dragged him back down, and Batman turned on him in a fury. “He’s my partner!” the Dark Knight yelled. “I’ve got to help him!”
Azrael hesitated, his eyes locked on the Dark Knight’s. Then he stepped back, raising his hands. Letting the Dark Knight climb the cage.
Batman didn’t waste any time, hurling himself up the fence in a frenzy. From his huddled position on the floor, Clark could feel the steel rattling as he hoisted himself up. The three villains immediately abandoned Superman--although Joker got a solid last kick in for good measure--and raced up the cage on their own side to try and prevent the Dark Knight from getting out.
The crowd waited in breathless suspense as all four wrestlers clung to the fence, kicking and wrenching at the person on the other side. Finally, the heels managed to throw the Dark Knight off, and he plummeted backwards from the cage, falling onto the ropes, the breath knocked out of him--the crowd gasped in horror and Clark resisted the temptation to peek out and make sure he was all right.
The three heels descended the fence and fell on Batman, kicking and taunting. The bell rang--outside interference that helped Azrael meant an automatic win via disqualification for the Dark Knight. But what good was a win if he were beaten to a pulp by his enemies? The crowd shrieked its fury and concern.
And then Azrael fell on them like the wrath of God, hurling Joker bodily out of the ring and sending the other two staggering back for a moment.
He helped the Dark Knight to his feet, and for a moment the two of them clasped hands. Then they turned to fight their foes together.
By now Superman had struggled to his feet, and he began to make his way up the cage. At the top, he paused to look down on the battle raging beneath him.
Then Clark launched himself from the top of the cage into the ring, falling on Killer Croc and the Cluemaster as they stood unawares.
The crowd screamed approval. Azrael and the Dark Knight both hit the Joker with an uppercut simultaneously, and the three victorious wrestlers stood in the ring together.
Azrael had lost the match, but won the hearts of many in the crowd.
The next show was a busy one that left everyone buzzing. Catwoman defended her title against Wonder Woman in their rematch. It was a hard battle, but at the end Catwoman triumphed and retained her title, laughing merrily while she swung it around her head.
Superman and Batman started an angle with two new wrestlers, Zod and Non, billed as also being from Krypton. They brought with them a new female wrestler, Ursa, who taunted the World’s Finest team until suddenly a figure ran down the ramp to confront her: a young woman dressed in familiar red and blue, her blond hair streaming loose.
“Kal!” she cried out to Superman, who stared at her.
“Kara?”
She laughed and decked Ursa with a well-placed uppercut. Supergirl had arrived.
But the thing that got the most online buzz was the promo Azrael cut. “I’ve proven myself to the Dark Knight,” he said slowly, eyes blazing. “Now I only have one person left to prove myself to in order to complete my redemption.”
He pointed at the camera. “Nightwing! You claimed the mantle of the Bat should never have been mine. But I shall show you--and everyone--that I am worthy now!”
“Luthor’s going to put the strap on him.” Dick had the championship belt slung over his shoulder, his fingers tracing the engraved words unconsciously.
“You don’t know that for sure,” Clark said as he threw his gear into a suitcase. They were heading to Metropolis next, and he’d have a chance to stay in their apartment, on home turf for a few days. He could hardly wait.
“He is,” Dick said. “He thinks Jean-Paul’s the best thing since sliced bread, and he’s always thought of me as just a skinny kid who does flippy stuff.” He shook his head. “I asked him again for that contract stipulation, and he turned me down flat. I even leveled with him, asked him to just promise me that he wouldn’t make me drop it to Valley. Anyone but him. No go.”
“Dick,” said Bruce, and there was something close to panic in his eyes. “Don’t do anything rash.”
Dick sighed and looked at his mentor. “It’s not rash, Bruce. You know I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. This is just the final straw.
I called Max Lord this afternoon. When my contract with the DCW runs out next month, I’m going to sign with the Titans.”
Relationship: Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent
Characters: Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Lex Luthor, Selina Kyle, Dick Grayson, Jean-Paul Valley
Continuity: Heroes of the Squared Circle, a DC/pro wrestling fusion.
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: PG
Word Count 4500
Summary: Catwoman is booked to win the Women's Championship, and the Dark Knight faces a challenge by Azrael, determined to prove himself worthy.
Vince [McMahon, promoter] likes to be in control so much that he hates even sneezing, because it’s an uncontrollable reflex. I’ve seen him cuss a blue streak after a healthy sneeze or two. He even gets POed when he yawns. --Steve Austin
Jean-Paul Valley looked directly into the camera, his ice-blue eyes intense. “Since coming back to the DCW, I know--I’ve lost my edge. I challenged Nightwing to a rematch, and I lost. I lost fair and square in the middle of the ring.” He shook his head, all grudging respect. “And I’ve just kept losing. I’ve been trying to figure out what went wrong, why I’m not the competitor I used to be. And it comes down to Batman. To the man who trusted me with his title, with his name, with his legacy. The man I let down.”
Jean-Paul took a deep breath. “Batman, if you’re listening--I want a chance to prove myself against you. A chance to earn back your respect. I want to meet you man to man next week. And I want to meet you in a steel cage, the most grueling and punishing match in the DCW.” The crowd popped like mad. “I want you to know I can take the pain. That I accept it in the name of my redemption.” His eyes gleamed, bright and frenetic. “What do you say, Dark Knight? Shall we face each other at last?”
For a long moment, there was no response. Then something thudded into the wall near Jean-Paul’s head. Jean-Paul pulled it out and the camera zoomed in close to show a little piece of metal shaped like a stylized bat. Written on it in neat black letters: I accept.
Lex Luthor’s purple tie was a tiny visual reminder of his days as an malign hooded mastermind. He didn’t bother to wear the full Evil Genius Gear anymore, but no one was likely to forget his role as he addressed the Injustice League, sitting around his office either cringing or looking sullen.
“Superman and Batman have been tag team champs for months, Wonder Woman’s been the women’s champion almost as long, and not one of you incompetents has been able to defeat Nightwing for the heavyweight championship! How hard can it be, you bunch of clowns?”
“Hey,” said the Joker. “There’s only one of us good enough to be a clown.”
“Cheetah,” said Luthor, ignoring him. “I’m putting you in a fatal four-way with Wonder Woman.”
Cheetah purred and looked at her nails. “Who are the other two?”
“Silver Banshee,” said Luthor, and the newest member of the Injustice League tossed her silvery hair back, smiling. “An excellent choice.”
“Of course I am.”
“And the fourth person...Catwoman. You’ll do.”
“I’ll do?” Catwoman snarled from her place near the door. “I’m better than any of them and you know it.”
“Well, here’s your chance to prove it. As long as Wonder Woman ends up losing the championship, I don’t really care which of my girls wins.”
Catwoman hissed. “I’m not ‘one of your girls,’ Lex. And I’m not a dog that will come to heel on your beck and call. I’ll be happy to beat Wonder Woman, but I’m in business for myself, not your silly League.”
The camera caught her as she left, then swiveled to catch Luthor’s glower and mutter: “We’ll have to take care of her, too.”
“I like it,” Bruce said, tossing his bat-shaped throwing star at the already-perforated common room couch. “I think I’ll call it a batarang.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” said Dick from an improbable perch on the back of a chair. “It doesn’t return.”
“Sure it does,” said Bruce, walking over to retrieve it. He held it up. “See?”
“Don’t use it too often,” warned Clark. “First, you’ll have to pay for wall repair. Second, if kids start chucking metal objects at each other because their favorite babyface does it, Lex will find himself with a lawsuit on his hands.”
Bruce bit his lip in concentration and threw it again. “Don’t try this at home, kids,” he intoned as it clattered across the floor.
“I don’t like this match,” Dick said in a low voice meant for just the three of them.
“The cage match with Jean-Paul? We’ve gone over it, it’ll be fine.”
“I don’t like the storyline,” said Dick. “I don’t like that he’s using you to get Jean-Paul over with the crowds. He’s making you a tool in Azrael’s redemption story.”
Bruce gave him a sharp look. “I’ve been a tool in a lot of stories, Dick. It’s what we do. If Azrael’s going to come back, he’s going to have to deal with the history between us.”
Dick muttered something that Clark couldn’t catch all of, but it sounded like it ended with “...didn’t need to come back.”
However, the conversation ended as Bruce and Clark were grabbed from behind.
“A title for Catwoman, a title for Catwoman!” Selina sang out, throwing her arms around Clark and Bruce from behind and swinging from their shoulders like a child. “Oh, I’m sitting in the catbird seat at last.”
“If Diana’s got to lose it, I’m glad it’s to you,” Clark said, and she stuck her tongue out at him.
“You freaking babyfaces can’t hold all the titles forever. For God’s sake, throw us poor heels a bone. Or a nice can of tuna, as the case may be. At least Bruce is happy for me, aren’t you, Bruce?” she asked, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing.
“Ecstatic,” Bruce said deadpan, but there was a smile lurking in his eyes.
“You sweetheart,” she said, and kissed his cheek while smiling impishly at Clark. Clark just raised an eyebrow; by now he’d gotten used to Selina teasing him by flirting with Bruce. “The only thing I’m worried about is Banshee.”
“She’s pretty green to be in a title match,” Clark agreed.
“Green? Siobhan’s viridian. I mean, she’s trying, and she’s eager to learn, but there’s no getting around the fact that she was hired for the cheesecake factor. There’s nothing wrong with having pretty women around, mind you!” she said. “But I’d like them to be a lot more comfortable in the ring before they’re thrown into a title match.”
“At least you’ve got Haly refereeing,” said Dick. “Pop will make sure everything runs smooth.”
“I hope so,” said Selina, but she still looked worried.
“I don’t need you guys to come in with me,” Dick Grayson said, looking left at Bruce and right at Clark in turn. “I can handle this.”
“We know you can,” said Clark, deciding it would be best not to mention Bruce’s worried conversation with him the night before.
“Re-negotiating contracts are always a tricky business,” Bruce had said.
Clark had sighed, watching him pace. “I know that, Bruce. I’ve re-negotiated mine a few times, in a few promotions.”
“Dick’s never had a contract run out while holding a title,” Bruce said. “And with Lord’s promotion just waiting to snap him up--” He had broken off, worrying at his lip, and didn’t finish the sentence.
Clark pulled himself back to the present, where Bruce was not biting his lip, but Clark could tell from the set of his mouth that it was a deliberate choice not to. “We just want to make sure you get a fair shake with Luthor,” said Bruce. “I mean--” He broke off and cleared his throat. “Not that anyone could take the place of your parents, but Clark and I are… We care about you a lot,” he said.
Clark was still blinking at the implication that he and Bruce were like Dick’s adopted parents when Dick knocked on Luthor’s door. If he was blushing a little when the door opened, he hoped Luthor wouldn’t notice.
“I trust that the figures are satisfactory to you and your...bodyguards?” Luthor said to Dick, lifting an eyebrow at Clark and Bruce.
DIck leaned forward. “The money’s more than satisfactory, Luthor. It always has been. But there are other considerations before I re-sign.”
Luthor made a graceful do go on gesture.
“I want control over the Grayson name,” said Dick. “No one can invoke it without my approval.”
Luthor sat back in his seat and steepled his fingers, looking at Dick. There was a long, awkward silence, in which Clark remembered vividly Jean-Paul Valley flinging the Grayson’s deaths in Dick’s face as a “cheap stunt.”
“That seems fair,” said Luthor, and Clark felt rather than heard Bruce’s slow exhalation.
“Thank you,” said Dick, sounding sincerely grateful. “That’s very kind of you.”
“It’s your family,” said Luthor. “Family is important.” He made a memo on his phone, and Clark relaxed. He hadn’t expected this part to go so well.
“And there’s one more thing,” Dick said, and Clark froze. There hadn’t been “one more thing” in their discussions of this meeting. “I’d like to have it as part of my contract that I get creative control over how I relinquish the title.” Luthor’s head came up. “I’ll drop it when you tell me to, but I want some input into how the storyline gets handled.”
Luthor smiled. “Of course you’ll have input when that happens, Dick.”
“I mean, I’d like it in writing. As part of my contract.” Dick cleared his throat. “That I have to agree to how it goes.”
“You want to be able to book your own title defenses? That’s absurd.”
“No, I don’t need to book them. I just want--well, something like veto power.”
“That’s not possible,” said Luthor.
“I’m not asking for control over all my storylines,” Dick said. “Just how I drop the strap.” Luthor was shaking his head slowly. “I’ve been a great champion, Luthor, and you know it. I never miss a show, I draw crowds, I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me. All I want is to be able to veto ideas on this one point.”
“Dick’s always put over anyone you’ve asked,” Clark spoke up. “You know he’s never disappointed, in the ring or out of it.”
“Giving him veto power over this one thing should be something you can do, Luthor,” said Bruce. “It’s not like you’ll be letting him write his own stories.”
Luthor stood. “I’ll have to think about it,” he said, but his voice was hard and distant. “You think about it too,” he said. “It would be a shame if we had to part ways because you refused to budge on this point.”
“Yes, it would,” said Dick, standing in turn.
Clark shot Bruce a look as they left, but Bruce’s face was opaque.
“Thanks for backing me up there,” said Dick as they headed toward the locker room.
Bruce grabbed his arm and steered him out of an emergency exit and into an alley. A stiff breeze rummaged through the litter on the ground, chill with the coming autumn. “You didn’t leave us much choice,” he snapped as the door closed behind them, “Springing it on us without warning like that.”
“Yeah, well.” Dick looked sheepish. “I was afraid you’d try to talk me out of it.”
“We would have,” said Clark. “You know wrestlers can’t get veto power over their storylines, Dick. It would undermine the whole thing--I mean, what if Billy Batson could veto any loss? Everything would unravel.”
“This one thing,” said Dick. He looked at Clark, imploring. “Just this one thing. Me, my family--we’ve worked so hard for Luthor. It’s a small thing to ask in return. I can’t bear to drop the title to--” He broke off and tried again. “I need to control who I drop the title to.”
“Dick, we understand,” said Bruce. “Really, we do. But I don’t think it’s something Luthor’s going to compromise on.” Clark saw him swallow. “I’m not sure I would, if I were a promoter.”
Dick looked at Bruce for a long moment. “Then I guess I’m glad I’m not working for you,” he said. Then he looked down, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Bruce. This means a lot to me, and I don’t know if I’m willing to compromise. My contract runs out in a month. We’ll see if Luthor or I budge first.”
He turned and went back into the building, leaving Clark and Bruce in the alley. The breeze picked up for a gust and a scattering of fallen leaves scurried past their feet. Clark shivered. “Luthor’s not going to budge on this.”
Bruce wrapped his arms around himself. “Dick won’t either,” he said.
“Siobhan seems to be doing fine,” said Clark later that week as he pulled on his tights, one eye on the monitor.
“Mm,” said Bruce as Wonder Woman got the Silver Banshee in a headlock and Siobhan screamed in agony. “She’s getting a lot better at selling, I’ll give her that. But she still shouldn’t be in a title match. Especially not a four-way match like this. There’s just way too much that can go wrong.” Cheetah flipped Banshee onto her back and pinned her, and the referee’s fist came down: one--two--
Cheetah dragged Wonder Woman off of Banshee, breaking the pin and Irish whipping her into the turnbuckle. Four-way matches, in which a victory could be won by pinning anyone in the match, were always chaotic affairs, and with the title on the line it was even more so: as the announcers loved to remind everyone, this meant that Wonder Woman could lose the title without ever actually being pinned herself. Having Catwoman pin Cheetah to win the title away from Wonder Woman was a classic way to set up an immediate feud between the two while leaving open the question of who was better for the time being.
Clark adjusted the chain that kept his cape fastened around his shoulders, making sure the clasp would give easily when he needed to remove it. He didn’t check it once, and it had led to an awkward and interminable moment where it looked like he was going to have to wrestle his own cape instead of his opponent. He always checked it now.
On the monitor, Cheetah delivered a dropkick to Wonder Woman, who was still reeling against the turnbuckle. Catwoman had been knocked out of the ring a little while ago; Clark could see her selling being unconscious on the floor while some of the smarkier fans leaned over the barricade, begging her to get up, to fight, to win.
Cheetah turned her back on the champion. She leaped at Silver Banshee, still lying “dazed” on the mat, and covered her, pinning her shoulders to the mat and hooking her leg. The crowd popped: was Cheetah actually going to win the title?
The ref pounded the mat: one--two--
Silver Banshee’s shoulders stayed on the mat. She didn’t kick out. If the ref’s hand hit the mat one more time, the title would go to Cheetah.
The ref’s fist hesitated in the air for a grotesque split-second too long, and Clark heard Bruce curse.
Banshee’s shoulder came up just before the fateful three-count that would declare Cheetah the winner--but it was obvious that Cheetah had grabbed her shoulder and lifted it.
Cheetah rolled off and started complaining furiously with the ref, pulling attention from Siobhan’s stricken face as the audience’s boos and jeers filled the air. Clark saw Selina, on the far edge of the screen, give up pretending to be out cold; clearly the situation called for a quick conclusion to the match.
Catwoman scrambled into the ring, where Cheetah still had her back turned to Silver Banshee to argue with the ref and Wonder Woman was sagging, dazed, against the turnbuckle. With a short, sharp cry, she delivered a beautiful enzuigiri kick to the side of Cheetah’s head, and Cheetah fell to her hands and knees, shaking her head. Without any pause, Catwoman pinned Silver Banshee, glaring up at the ref, and the ref counted one--two--three without any hesitation.
The bell rang and Catwoman was handed the beautiful platinum belt. She smiled and lifted it above her head, coyly checking the nails of her free hand. The camera caught a beautiful shot of her admiring her face in its polished surface: Selina Kyle, champion at last. The boos gave way to adulation for their favorite leather-clad women’s wrestler; in the arena the smarks were celebrating.
Backstage was chaos.
“God damn it, Haley!” Luthor was raging. “You’ve been in this business for decades, you know you can’t pause! It destroys the illusion! It destroys everything!”
“What,” said Conner, “Should he have just let Cheetah rob Selina of the title because Siobhan messed up?”
“Yes,” said Dick. “The referee has to be an impartial bystander in the eyes of the audience. If the ref hesitates in the count, it makes it obvious that it’s all an act.”
“The smoke blows away, the mirrors break,” said Bruce.
“He should have given the win to Cheetah,” said Clark as Luthor continued to castigate Pop Haley, who was gritting his teeth and enduring it. “They could have found a way to strip her of the title later, or just put her into a rematch with Catwoman at the next show.”
“She,” Luthor snarled, pointing at a pale and shaken Siobhan, “Is inexperienced. I take full responsibility for putting her in the ring. But you have been in this business as long as I have, and you should know better.” He pointed at two of the writers. “Chuck. Doug. I’ll need to cut a promo addressing this tomorrow. Come up with a storyline reason why Haley might have been corrupted by Silver Banshee. Haley, I’ll need you to cut a generic promo with me in my office. Just hang your head and say you don’t know what happened as I chew you out.”
“Yes sir,” said Haley.
“After that I think you’ll be taking some time off to think about the consequences of your actions.”
Haley was sweating. “Yes sir. I’m sorry, sir.”
“I am too, Jack,” said Luthor. “You’ve worked for my family for a long time. Let’s hope time hasn’t passed you by.” He turned to Selina, who had an arm around Siobhan. “Congratulations on your title, Ms Kyle,” he said. “I regret that it was won in such controversial circumstances. But I’m certain you’ll be a credit to it, just as Ms Prince was before.”
“We’d better get out to Gorilla position,” said Bruce to Clark. “My match is up next. Are you ready to emote worry and concern?”
“I am indeed,” said Clark.
The cage was a massive fence of chain links that surrounded the ring, locking the two wrestlers inside. A wrestler could win by pinfall, submission, or climbing the fence and getting both feet down on the other side.
Superman paced outside the cage as they padlocked the door, hands clasped behind his back, keeping an eye on the Dark Knight. Superman had voiced his doubts about this match many times to his tag team partner, but Batman had insisted on accepting the challenge. Batman gave Superman a long, level look as the door clanged shut behind him, then turned to face Azrael, already standing in the middle of the ring. Azrael extended his hand, and after a fraught moment, Batman stepped forward and took it. Their clasped hands radiated tension, but neither wrestler did anything underhanded, and they stepped away from each other without incident. The bell rang, and the two circled each other, sizing each other up, before Azrael lunged at the Dark Knight and grappled with him.
The match went out of the ring quickly as Azrael threw the Dark Knight against the chain links, hurling him with enough force to make the whole cage shake, then smashing him against it once again. There were welts on Batman’s back by the time he was able to break away, little bloody diamonds crisscrossing his shoulders. They battled around the cage, bashing each other up against it hard enough to make the people in the front row gasp and flinch away. Batman dragged Azrael into the ring for a dazzling sequence of quick mat work, holds and reverses, kicks and punches, until they finally broke away into a tense face off, staring at each other.
From the sidelines, Superman yelled encouragement.
This time, when the two clashed, Azrael got the upper hand and slammed Batman into the cage face-first, pressing him against it so his face was crushed against the links. “Batman!” cried Superman from the other side, reaching out as if he wished he could help his partner, his fingers briefly touching the Dark Knights’ through the fence, his face distressed--That will be in the gallery for this match, Clark thought with satisfaction. “Climb out!” he yelled.
Batman shook his head, the links scraping against his face at the motion. Azrael showed no inclination to try and take the coward’s way out either, and the battle raged on, two equally-matched gladiators each refusing to give an inch to the other.
It looked like the match could have gone on until both Batman and Azrael collapsed in exhaustion, but a sudden shriek from the audience heralded the beginning of the final act. Joker, Killer Croc, and the Cluemaster came running down the ramp, heading for the cage. Superman stood between them, and for a moment there was a dual standoff: Superman with the villains outside to cage back to back with Batman and Azrael inside the cage. Clark could feel the heat of Bruce’s back against his, slick with sweat, as they stood for an endless moment of tableau.
The three villains jumped forward and attacked Superman. He held them off for a moment, but with three against one, he soon buckled to his knees, raising his hands against a flurry of blows.
Inside the ring, Batman called out to him and started to climb the fence.
Azrael grabbed him by the foot and dragged him back down, and Batman turned on him in a fury. “He’s my partner!” the Dark Knight yelled. “I’ve got to help him!”
Azrael hesitated, his eyes locked on the Dark Knight’s. Then he stepped back, raising his hands. Letting the Dark Knight climb the cage.
Batman didn’t waste any time, hurling himself up the fence in a frenzy. From his huddled position on the floor, Clark could feel the steel rattling as he hoisted himself up. The three villains immediately abandoned Superman--although Joker got a solid last kick in for good measure--and raced up the cage on their own side to try and prevent the Dark Knight from getting out.
The crowd waited in breathless suspense as all four wrestlers clung to the fence, kicking and wrenching at the person on the other side. Finally, the heels managed to throw the Dark Knight off, and he plummeted backwards from the cage, falling onto the ropes, the breath knocked out of him--the crowd gasped in horror and Clark resisted the temptation to peek out and make sure he was all right.
The three heels descended the fence and fell on Batman, kicking and taunting. The bell rang--outside interference that helped Azrael meant an automatic win via disqualification for the Dark Knight. But what good was a win if he were beaten to a pulp by his enemies? The crowd shrieked its fury and concern.
And then Azrael fell on them like the wrath of God, hurling Joker bodily out of the ring and sending the other two staggering back for a moment.
He helped the Dark Knight to his feet, and for a moment the two of them clasped hands. Then they turned to fight their foes together.
By now Superman had struggled to his feet, and he began to make his way up the cage. At the top, he paused to look down on the battle raging beneath him.
Then Clark launched himself from the top of the cage into the ring, falling on Killer Croc and the Cluemaster as they stood unawares.
The crowd screamed approval. Azrael and the Dark Knight both hit the Joker with an uppercut simultaneously, and the three victorious wrestlers stood in the ring together.
Azrael had lost the match, but won the hearts of many in the crowd.
The next show was a busy one that left everyone buzzing. Catwoman defended her title against Wonder Woman in their rematch. It was a hard battle, but at the end Catwoman triumphed and retained her title, laughing merrily while she swung it around her head.
Superman and Batman started an angle with two new wrestlers, Zod and Non, billed as also being from Krypton. They brought with them a new female wrestler, Ursa, who taunted the World’s Finest team until suddenly a figure ran down the ramp to confront her: a young woman dressed in familiar red and blue, her blond hair streaming loose.
“Kal!” she cried out to Superman, who stared at her.
“Kara?”
She laughed and decked Ursa with a well-placed uppercut. Supergirl had arrived.
But the thing that got the most online buzz was the promo Azrael cut. “I’ve proven myself to the Dark Knight,” he said slowly, eyes blazing. “Now I only have one person left to prove myself to in order to complete my redemption.”
He pointed at the camera. “Nightwing! You claimed the mantle of the Bat should never have been mine. But I shall show you--and everyone--that I am worthy now!”
“Luthor’s going to put the strap on him.” Dick had the championship belt slung over his shoulder, his fingers tracing the engraved words unconsciously.
“You don’t know that for sure,” Clark said as he threw his gear into a suitcase. They were heading to Metropolis next, and he’d have a chance to stay in their apartment, on home turf for a few days. He could hardly wait.
“He is,” Dick said. “He thinks Jean-Paul’s the best thing since sliced bread, and he’s always thought of me as just a skinny kid who does flippy stuff.” He shook his head. “I asked him again for that contract stipulation, and he turned me down flat. I even leveled with him, asked him to just promise me that he wouldn’t make me drop it to Valley. Anyone but him. No go.”
“Dick,” said Bruce, and there was something close to panic in his eyes. “Don’t do anything rash.”
Dick sighed and looked at his mentor. “It’s not rash, Bruce. You know I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. This is just the final straw.
I called Max Lord this afternoon. When my contract with the DCW runs out next month, I’m going to sign with the Titans.”