Fic: The Greatest Gift I Can Give You | DCU/SR/BB | Clark/Bruce| PG-13 | 2/8
Title: The Greatest Gift I Can Give You - Part 2
Fandom: DCU (Superman Returns/Batman Begins)
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3,139 (this section)
Summary: (this section) Having received no response from Lois about Jason, Clark and Bruce head to the circus by themselves. When Clark is called away to deal with an emergency, the worst happens.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own it all. I own nothing. Darnit.
Author's Notes: Written for The Greatest Gift: A Superman/Batman Fanzine.
Index Post
Part 2
Clark can't help just wanting to lie in bed, sprawled out lazily next to Bruce with the October sunlight pouring in the window over them. He doesn't want to think about the circus they're scheduled to go see in a few hours, despite his own excitement about his first real visit to the Big Top. He certainly doesn't want to think about the lack of any contact he's had from either Lois or Richard, or about the fact that this whole thing is turning out almost exactly as he thought it might. Slipping his arms around Bruce's sleeping form, he nuzzles into his neck, trying to let the scents of expensive cologne, sweat, and sex overpower his own melancholy at once again losing to Lois's stubbornness and, well, spite.
It doesn't work.
Instead, he feels worse for ruining such a perfect afternoon with his own issues, and when Bruce begins to stir, his brief nap falling away and his arm curling protectively over Clark's back, the taller man can't help a tiny, involuntary whimper.
“Hey, shhh...” Bruce soothes sleepily as he pulls his lover more tightly to him, waking more fully as he registers Clark's slight tremble. The last few days have been more and more of the same, Clark distressed over not hearing from Richard or Lois. Now that the circus is only a few hours away, he knows it's futile to even think there might be a chance.
He knows Clark's heart is slowly breaking into a million pieces, and all he wants to do is try to find a way to fix it.
Reaching up to stroke the Kryptonian's dark hair back from his face and let the sun shine more fully upon him, he soothes again, “I'm here, Clark. I know.”
Clark wishes he could melt into Bruce, draw upon the other man's strength of spirit to face this. But all he can do is cling tighter, wishing things had turned out differently. If only Lois hadn't... No. No use thinking like that. If Lois hadn't sent him packing, he wouldn't have met Bruce. Wouldn't have found his equal, and in many ways, his better. There have been times that he thought he might have easily traded his relationship with Bruce for the chance to raise Jason, but now... now he can't even fathom it. He knows it's selfish, but he wants both. He wants so desperately to be the father to Jason he's dreamed of being ever since Lois whispered in his ear that the little boy was his own, wants so much to share with him this life he's building with Bruce.
A tiny ray of bittersweet light works its way through his sullen mood.
Bruce would make an excellent father, too.
After a few more minutes of lying there tangled together, lost in their respective reveries, the two men stir, Bruce murmuring gently, “Come on, we've got places to be.”
“I know. I know,” Clark sighs, rising and following his lover toward the bathroom to grab a shower.
Bruce turns on him when they reach the doorway. “Do you not want to go?” he asks carefully. “We don't have to.”
Clark's smile is painful. “I want to go. You want to go. And you know there's nothing I can deny you. I just...” He takes in a deep breath. “Just wish Jason was here with us to enjoy it, too.”
Leaning up, Bruce takes his face in his hands and presses a kiss to his forehead. “I know. I'm sorry, Clark.”
Arms snake around Bruce's middle, pulling him close. “I'm sorry, too.”
* * * * *
Inside the enormous tent, the crowd is loud and raucous, excitement spreading in waves as the Master of Ceremonies takes the center ring for the first time to welcome them all to Haly's Circus. A cheering roar rises up with the welcome and the introduction of the first act, a troupe of performing elephants and their handlers. The effect is simply infectious, and despite all efforts to resist, Clark can't contain his grin when the trumpeting of the animals precedes their promenade into the ring.
Beside him, Bruce's laughter is warm and genuine, and Clark can tell his lover is reacting to his losing battle against the joy of the circus. After all, they both know Bruce is the master brooder between them. Clark has no chance of burying his excitement beneath his sorrow that his son can't be there.
“Admit it, you're a sucker for the theatrical,” Bruce says after Clark's grin turns into a deep laugh at the elephants' performance.
The Kryptonian sighs, his smile softening. “Yeah... I suppose so.” He turns on Bruce, pointing out, “But so are you!”
His partner harrumphs, not hiding his own smirk at all. Leaning close, he whispers, “At least I don't go around in blue spandex and a red speedo.”
Clark gasps in mock offense. “I'll have you know those are shorts, and they keep things in place. And! It's not spandex, it's a Kryptonian fabric similar to milliskin, and I need it to stay aerodynamic. You have any idea what high wind speed would do to normal clothes?”
“Riiiiight...” Bruce smiles, settling close against his lover with his arms crossed. It's a familiar teasing argument that's been ongoing since almost the moment they met, and it never fails to help bring Clark out of his funk over the way things have gone for him. “Tell that to the fashion police.”
“And your costume is any better?” Clark murmurs, eyes on the elephants again. “I'm not the one wearing chest-sculpted body armor.”
“Hmph. That's functional. Besides, things could be worse. There could be nipple forms on the chest plate.”
Clark cringes at the image. “Ugh. I can't imagine anyone crazy enough to wear something like that.”
Just then, the clowns make their grand appearance from the sides of the expansive tent. The two men share a look, then abruptly burst out into hearty laughter as the universe seems determined to give them perfect timing. Of course, knowing the Joker is crazy enough to wear a costume that ridiculous if he so desires is besides the point.
Still guffawing, Bruce doubles over, clutching his side, Clark's chuckles fading beside him. After he finally manages to get himself under control, breathing deeply, he notices the other man has gone stone still, his face turned away from the center ring and his eyes focused far away from behind his glasses.
Bruce is on instant alert, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. “What is it?”
Clark's brow furrows.
“What!?” he insists again.
A sigh. “I've got to go. There's...” His face twists for a moment. “An explosion at a chemical plant in New York. Big one.”
“Damn. All right,” Bruce sighs as well, knowing there's no saving their time together if disaster's struck. He reaches for his coat. “Let's go.”
Clark shakes his head, grabbing the other man's arm lightly, “No, you stay here. This is strictly rescue and recover. I've got this.”
Eying him, Bruce asks, “You sure?”
“Definitely,” the taller man smiles faintly. His eyes move back over the elephants in the center ring, standing on their hind legs. “No reason to ruin this for both of us.”
Finally, Bruce relents, returning his lover's small smile, “Fine. Go save some people. I'll keep your seat warm.”
Clark grins more broadly as he stands, leaning down to plant a ghost of a kiss on Bruce's cheek. “Thanks.”
* * * * *
The fire is worse than Clark originally thought, multi-colored plumes rising from the twisted, torn buildings and storage silos. The smoke is sickly-tinted swirling to black, thick and choking, and he counts himself lucky the chemicals can't affect him, that he can still see beyond the flames and billowing clouds. Inside... the scene is enough to turn his stomach. More bodies than he cares to count yet, more victims fatally injured and dying, more choking to death or burned beyond recognition than he's prepared for.
But he can't reach them in time to help more than a few without stopping the fire first. He knows the only solution is to take away either the fuel source or the oxygen; blowing will only spread the chemicals and the toxic smoke. Making a wide pass around the sprawling complex, he focuses his breath on freezing what he can at the far edges of the blast area, creating a fire wall of sorts, while he considers his options.
Time is running out, and he can hear heart beats slowing and stopping.
A split second decision and he launches himself into the smoke clouds. Purple and blue surrounds him, wisps of pink and green trailing plumes of toxicity. He can't see anything without focusing through the clouds, and when he manages to make his way to the center of the blaze, the green, blue, and white flames licking his suit and skin, he starts to breathe in.
It takes half a minute, sucking in the smoke, the flames, the chemicals dancing through the air, and slowly, the chaos is drawn in. He feels his lungs filling at last, the deadly clouds compressing in his chest into a liquid form.
And then, there's nothing left. No fire, no smoke, no chemicals. An odd sort of quiet falls around him as everything seems to slow to a stop, shock freezing the world for the briefest of moments.
Feeling the angry weight in his chest, Clark shoots off into the sky, as high up as he can reach, the atmosphere giving way to the darkness of space in only a moment as he passes through the life preserving gases. A moment's hesitation as he glances back at the world far below him, the three sister cities, Gotham, Metropolis, and New York, shining brightly at him as night encroaches, and he turns away, opening his mouth and letting the burned toxic sludge escape him into the black of night. He breathes out forcefully, expelling the remnants of the smoke, chemicals mixing to sickly shades of green and purple. The taste is horrendous, but he has no time to be disgusted - lives are still at stake.
Finally empty, he manages to resist taking another breath in the empty of space, knowing he can't, until he's falling back to the Earth, the gloriously fresh atmosphere rushing past him and flowing into his lungs to displace any leftover garbage. Two more rapid breaths, and the ground is rising to meet him, the burned out chemical plant directly below.
The agonized cries of the injured meet him, hearts still slowing, some in cardiac distress, and he zeros in on the worst, immediately diving to pull apart wrenched metal to reach them. It's a hard task with so much damage, but he works quickly, sweeping aside what little fire suppressant foam managed to be deployed in the blast and bulldozing through charred, twisted debris.
He can hardly manage to look at some of the victims, his stomach turning again with the stench of burned flesh and the sight of blackened skin cracking open over the pink of raw fascia and muscle, lips pulled back over teeth, and eyelids burned away. But he keeps going, seeking out the injured, pulling them gently from the debris and whispering soothing words to calm those that can still hear him as he deposits them with the paramedics.
To preserve his sanity, he focuses part of his mind elsewhere, away from the tragedy. It's a common ritual for him, a learned defense mechanism to keep him from getting too emotionally invested, one that's kept him from losing his mind with grief at the disasters he's attended.
The sound of a circus calliope meets his ears from a city away, the laughter of a crowd at a troupe of clowns, and he's calmed, knowing Bruce is - or should be - enjoying the circus. He lifts a jagged steel beam, digging into the debris for another victim, hearing the person's heartbeat still steady beneath a whimpering cry. From Gotham, he hears the Master of Ceremonies begin to announce the next act.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is the event you've all been waiting for! Touring with the renowned shows of Europe, they delighted crowds in Italy, France, Belgium, Spain, and Germany! Their reputation earned them a performance for the Queen of England, where they...”
Another victim extricated from the rubble, charred skin cracking in Clark's gentle grip, the painful cry of the woman dying on her lips with a gasp of shock, and the Kryptonian lifts her out.
“Considered circus royalty in their own right, the family you are about to meet will astound you with their acrobatic skill, working with no net! Prepare to be amazed by the incredible, the world-famous, the Flying Graysons!!!”
Clark's heart skips a beat at the announcement of the event he and Bruce have really been waiting for. When the rescue workers and victims can't see him, he allows himself a tiny smile, wishing he could see it for himself. Powers or not, the Flying Graysons can really fly.
* * * * *
Bruce is finally starting to enjoy the circus again while he waits for Clark to return, snacking on peanuts and popcorn as the clowns finish their third intermission performance. This time they're packing themselves into a tiny car - the usual antics ensuing, of course - as the ring is being reset for the next act.
Finally, the main event is announced, and Bruce lets his pulse quicken a little in anticipation.
The MC stands proudly in the center ring, the lights focused on him, and the rest of the tent darkened. “Ladies and Gentlemen, this is the event you've all been waiting for! Touring with the renowned shows of Europe, they delighted crowds in Italy, France, Belgium, Spain, and Germany! Their reputation earned them a performance for the Queen of England, where they gave a heart-stopping show and won the hearts of the British Royal Family. They've traveled the world, at last joining with members of the former Broad Top Circus to bring their incredible talents to America. Considered circus royalty in their own right, the family you are about to meet will astound you with their acrobatic skill, working with no net! Prepare to be amazed by the incredible, the world-famous, the Flying Graysons!!!”
Bruce's heart flutters even faster at the introduction and the resulting wild cheer from the thick crowd. He and Clark having waited for weeks to see this show, looking forward to seeing the human family that soars above the ground with no safety, no net to catch them should they fall. The human family that flies.
And they don't fall. Not a single incident, ever.
In spite of himself, Bruce has been impressed by their record and reputation, wanting to learn more about their aerial techniques, hoping to adapt some of them for his own use in his nighttime activities.
When the lights finally shift, the bright spotlights swinging up to the little platform high above the ground, the cheers of the crowd double, the billionaire gladly adding his voice to the others, clapping madly and whistling as the famous family is revealed, slipping off their costume robes to reveal brightly colored spandex in red, green, and yellow. The man and woman wave, grinning broadly down at the spectators, and between them, a little raven-haired boy, no older than ten, stands proudly, his smile lighting up the entire tent from where Bruce is sitting.
For a moment, the Bat takes a vacation, and Bruce can't help his own grin. He's reminded instantly of Clark, of the thousand-watt smile that graces his face at the drop of a hat, often regardless of the Kryptonian's melancholy over not having his son with him. He thinks then of Clark's little boy, the smiling face he's seen only in pictures, the child likely very much like this one if he takes after his father, and who would fit with him and Clark much as this littlest Flying Grayson fits in with his own parents. A family of fliers.
His heart aches for Clark in that instant, and he knows undoubtedly that he has to do something to remedy the situation, to end the stalemate between Clark and Lois. Jason needs Clark just like this young Flying Grayson needs his own family. And Clark needs Jason just as these aerialist parents needs their aerialist son. It's a simple decision, one that Bruce makes gladly. Anything to see that grin on Clark's face completely unburdened...
But the show is proceeding, and Bruce brings his focus back to the shining family high above the crowd, the father swinging out and back, then out again to catch another trapeze bar. The mother swings out behind him, back and forth again, finally letting go of the bar to soar and flip, the ground far beneath her as she twists in the air. Hands reach, the father swings into distance, and they clasp arms, the catch perfect.
The crowd's cheer is an immense roar, Bruce taking mental note of the mother's positions as she flew. And they're swinging together, the mother and father, back and forth, building up momentum just as the raven-haired boy is grasping his trapeze bar and bending his knees to leap from the platform. The motion is fluid as the couple glide through the air, the trapeze wires taut and straight. The boy is poised to spring, and-
A tremble travels down the length of the wires, shuddering, and Bruce knows there should be a sound, but it's lost in the crowd's cheer. He sees the sudden panic on the parents' faces as the wires jerk suddenly, and it's like a horror movie in slow motion, the trapeze coming loose, the wires flailing in open air, the acrobats falling.
Screams from the crowd drown out everything, and there's no sound to accompany the tragedy that follows, only the terror, the panic of the crowd and the other performers as the ring is rushed. Bruce takes it all in with his own mute shock, the absurdity of the aerialists being surrounded and hidden from view by the clowns and on-hand paramedics, the utter disbelief on the faces of circus patrons, a man a few rows down shielding his dark-haired toddler from the scene below them, parents herding their children toward the exits...
The youngest Flying Grayson still perched high up in the air, his face marred by utter horror and sudden, streaming tears, his body shaking with the trapeze bar still clutched tightly in one hand...
A group of men on the opposite side of the tent smiling at the chaos.
Bruce's hands clench into fists at his sides as the Bat comes fully awake.
* * * * *
Fandom: DCU (Superman Returns/Batman Begins)
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3,139 (this section)
Summary: (this section) Having received no response from Lois about Jason, Clark and Bruce head to the circus by themselves. When Clark is called away to deal with an emergency, the worst happens.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own it all. I own nothing. Darnit.
Author's Notes: Written for The Greatest Gift: A Superman/Batman Fanzine.
Index Post
Part 2
Clark can't help just wanting to lie in bed, sprawled out lazily next to Bruce with the October sunlight pouring in the window over them. He doesn't want to think about the circus they're scheduled to go see in a few hours, despite his own excitement about his first real visit to the Big Top. He certainly doesn't want to think about the lack of any contact he's had from either Lois or Richard, or about the fact that this whole thing is turning out almost exactly as he thought it might. Slipping his arms around Bruce's sleeping form, he nuzzles into his neck, trying to let the scents of expensive cologne, sweat, and sex overpower his own melancholy at once again losing to Lois's stubbornness and, well, spite.
It doesn't work.
Instead, he feels worse for ruining such a perfect afternoon with his own issues, and when Bruce begins to stir, his brief nap falling away and his arm curling protectively over Clark's back, the taller man can't help a tiny, involuntary whimper.
“Hey, shhh...” Bruce soothes sleepily as he pulls his lover more tightly to him, waking more fully as he registers Clark's slight tremble. The last few days have been more and more of the same, Clark distressed over not hearing from Richard or Lois. Now that the circus is only a few hours away, he knows it's futile to even think there might be a chance.
He knows Clark's heart is slowly breaking into a million pieces, and all he wants to do is try to find a way to fix it.
Reaching up to stroke the Kryptonian's dark hair back from his face and let the sun shine more fully upon him, he soothes again, “I'm here, Clark. I know.”
Clark wishes he could melt into Bruce, draw upon the other man's strength of spirit to face this. But all he can do is cling tighter, wishing things had turned out differently. If only Lois hadn't... No. No use thinking like that. If Lois hadn't sent him packing, he wouldn't have met Bruce. Wouldn't have found his equal, and in many ways, his better. There have been times that he thought he might have easily traded his relationship with Bruce for the chance to raise Jason, but now... now he can't even fathom it. He knows it's selfish, but he wants both. He wants so desperately to be the father to Jason he's dreamed of being ever since Lois whispered in his ear that the little boy was his own, wants so much to share with him this life he's building with Bruce.
A tiny ray of bittersweet light works its way through his sullen mood.
Bruce would make an excellent father, too.
After a few more minutes of lying there tangled together, lost in their respective reveries, the two men stir, Bruce murmuring gently, “Come on, we've got places to be.”
“I know. I know,” Clark sighs, rising and following his lover toward the bathroom to grab a shower.
Bruce turns on him when they reach the doorway. “Do you not want to go?” he asks carefully. “We don't have to.”
Clark's smile is painful. “I want to go. You want to go. And you know there's nothing I can deny you. I just...” He takes in a deep breath. “Just wish Jason was here with us to enjoy it, too.”
Leaning up, Bruce takes his face in his hands and presses a kiss to his forehead. “I know. I'm sorry, Clark.”
Arms snake around Bruce's middle, pulling him close. “I'm sorry, too.”
* * * * *
Inside the enormous tent, the crowd is loud and raucous, excitement spreading in waves as the Master of Ceremonies takes the center ring for the first time to welcome them all to Haly's Circus. A cheering roar rises up with the welcome and the introduction of the first act, a troupe of performing elephants and their handlers. The effect is simply infectious, and despite all efforts to resist, Clark can't contain his grin when the trumpeting of the animals precedes their promenade into the ring.
Beside him, Bruce's laughter is warm and genuine, and Clark can tell his lover is reacting to his losing battle against the joy of the circus. After all, they both know Bruce is the master brooder between them. Clark has no chance of burying his excitement beneath his sorrow that his son can't be there.
“Admit it, you're a sucker for the theatrical,” Bruce says after Clark's grin turns into a deep laugh at the elephants' performance.
The Kryptonian sighs, his smile softening. “Yeah... I suppose so.” He turns on Bruce, pointing out, “But so are you!”
His partner harrumphs, not hiding his own smirk at all. Leaning close, he whispers, “At least I don't go around in blue spandex and a red speedo.”
Clark gasps in mock offense. “I'll have you know those are shorts, and they keep things in place. And! It's not spandex, it's a Kryptonian fabric similar to milliskin, and I need it to stay aerodynamic. You have any idea what high wind speed would do to normal clothes?”
“Riiiiight...” Bruce smiles, settling close against his lover with his arms crossed. It's a familiar teasing argument that's been ongoing since almost the moment they met, and it never fails to help bring Clark out of his funk over the way things have gone for him. “Tell that to the fashion police.”
“And your costume is any better?” Clark murmurs, eyes on the elephants again. “I'm not the one wearing chest-sculpted body armor.”
“Hmph. That's functional. Besides, things could be worse. There could be nipple forms on the chest plate.”
Clark cringes at the image. “Ugh. I can't imagine anyone crazy enough to wear something like that.”
Just then, the clowns make their grand appearance from the sides of the expansive tent. The two men share a look, then abruptly burst out into hearty laughter as the universe seems determined to give them perfect timing. Of course, knowing the Joker is crazy enough to wear a costume that ridiculous if he so desires is besides the point.
Still guffawing, Bruce doubles over, clutching his side, Clark's chuckles fading beside him. After he finally manages to get himself under control, breathing deeply, he notices the other man has gone stone still, his face turned away from the center ring and his eyes focused far away from behind his glasses.
Bruce is on instant alert, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. “What is it?”
Clark's brow furrows.
“What!?” he insists again.
A sigh. “I've got to go. There's...” His face twists for a moment. “An explosion at a chemical plant in New York. Big one.”
“Damn. All right,” Bruce sighs as well, knowing there's no saving their time together if disaster's struck. He reaches for his coat. “Let's go.”
Clark shakes his head, grabbing the other man's arm lightly, “No, you stay here. This is strictly rescue and recover. I've got this.”
Eying him, Bruce asks, “You sure?”
“Definitely,” the taller man smiles faintly. His eyes move back over the elephants in the center ring, standing on their hind legs. “No reason to ruin this for both of us.”
Finally, Bruce relents, returning his lover's small smile, “Fine. Go save some people. I'll keep your seat warm.”
Clark grins more broadly as he stands, leaning down to plant a ghost of a kiss on Bruce's cheek. “Thanks.”
* * * * *
The fire is worse than Clark originally thought, multi-colored plumes rising from the twisted, torn buildings and storage silos. The smoke is sickly-tinted swirling to black, thick and choking, and he counts himself lucky the chemicals can't affect him, that he can still see beyond the flames and billowing clouds. Inside... the scene is enough to turn his stomach. More bodies than he cares to count yet, more victims fatally injured and dying, more choking to death or burned beyond recognition than he's prepared for.
But he can't reach them in time to help more than a few without stopping the fire first. He knows the only solution is to take away either the fuel source or the oxygen; blowing will only spread the chemicals and the toxic smoke. Making a wide pass around the sprawling complex, he focuses his breath on freezing what he can at the far edges of the blast area, creating a fire wall of sorts, while he considers his options.
Time is running out, and he can hear heart beats slowing and stopping.
A split second decision and he launches himself into the smoke clouds. Purple and blue surrounds him, wisps of pink and green trailing plumes of toxicity. He can't see anything without focusing through the clouds, and when he manages to make his way to the center of the blaze, the green, blue, and white flames licking his suit and skin, he starts to breathe in.
It takes half a minute, sucking in the smoke, the flames, the chemicals dancing through the air, and slowly, the chaos is drawn in. He feels his lungs filling at last, the deadly clouds compressing in his chest into a liquid form.
And then, there's nothing left. No fire, no smoke, no chemicals. An odd sort of quiet falls around him as everything seems to slow to a stop, shock freezing the world for the briefest of moments.
Feeling the angry weight in his chest, Clark shoots off into the sky, as high up as he can reach, the atmosphere giving way to the darkness of space in only a moment as he passes through the life preserving gases. A moment's hesitation as he glances back at the world far below him, the three sister cities, Gotham, Metropolis, and New York, shining brightly at him as night encroaches, and he turns away, opening his mouth and letting the burned toxic sludge escape him into the black of night. He breathes out forcefully, expelling the remnants of the smoke, chemicals mixing to sickly shades of green and purple. The taste is horrendous, but he has no time to be disgusted - lives are still at stake.
Finally empty, he manages to resist taking another breath in the empty of space, knowing he can't, until he's falling back to the Earth, the gloriously fresh atmosphere rushing past him and flowing into his lungs to displace any leftover garbage. Two more rapid breaths, and the ground is rising to meet him, the burned out chemical plant directly below.
The agonized cries of the injured meet him, hearts still slowing, some in cardiac distress, and he zeros in on the worst, immediately diving to pull apart wrenched metal to reach them. It's a hard task with so much damage, but he works quickly, sweeping aside what little fire suppressant foam managed to be deployed in the blast and bulldozing through charred, twisted debris.
He can hardly manage to look at some of the victims, his stomach turning again with the stench of burned flesh and the sight of blackened skin cracking open over the pink of raw fascia and muscle, lips pulled back over teeth, and eyelids burned away. But he keeps going, seeking out the injured, pulling them gently from the debris and whispering soothing words to calm those that can still hear him as he deposits them with the paramedics.
To preserve his sanity, he focuses part of his mind elsewhere, away from the tragedy. It's a common ritual for him, a learned defense mechanism to keep him from getting too emotionally invested, one that's kept him from losing his mind with grief at the disasters he's attended.
The sound of a circus calliope meets his ears from a city away, the laughter of a crowd at a troupe of clowns, and he's calmed, knowing Bruce is - or should be - enjoying the circus. He lifts a jagged steel beam, digging into the debris for another victim, hearing the person's heartbeat still steady beneath a whimpering cry. From Gotham, he hears the Master of Ceremonies begin to announce the next act.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is the event you've all been waiting for! Touring with the renowned shows of Europe, they delighted crowds in Italy, France, Belgium, Spain, and Germany! Their reputation earned them a performance for the Queen of England, where they...”
Another victim extricated from the rubble, charred skin cracking in Clark's gentle grip, the painful cry of the woman dying on her lips with a gasp of shock, and the Kryptonian lifts her out.
“Considered circus royalty in their own right, the family you are about to meet will astound you with their acrobatic skill, working with no net! Prepare to be amazed by the incredible, the world-famous, the Flying Graysons!!!”
Clark's heart skips a beat at the announcement of the event he and Bruce have really been waiting for. When the rescue workers and victims can't see him, he allows himself a tiny smile, wishing he could see it for himself. Powers or not, the Flying Graysons can really fly.
* * * * *
Bruce is finally starting to enjoy the circus again while he waits for Clark to return, snacking on peanuts and popcorn as the clowns finish their third intermission performance. This time they're packing themselves into a tiny car - the usual antics ensuing, of course - as the ring is being reset for the next act.
Finally, the main event is announced, and Bruce lets his pulse quicken a little in anticipation.
The MC stands proudly in the center ring, the lights focused on him, and the rest of the tent darkened. “Ladies and Gentlemen, this is the event you've all been waiting for! Touring with the renowned shows of Europe, they delighted crowds in Italy, France, Belgium, Spain, and Germany! Their reputation earned them a performance for the Queen of England, where they gave a heart-stopping show and won the hearts of the British Royal Family. They've traveled the world, at last joining with members of the former Broad Top Circus to bring their incredible talents to America. Considered circus royalty in their own right, the family you are about to meet will astound you with their acrobatic skill, working with no net! Prepare to be amazed by the incredible, the world-famous, the Flying Graysons!!!”
Bruce's heart flutters even faster at the introduction and the resulting wild cheer from the thick crowd. He and Clark having waited for weeks to see this show, looking forward to seeing the human family that soars above the ground with no safety, no net to catch them should they fall. The human family that flies.
And they don't fall. Not a single incident, ever.
In spite of himself, Bruce has been impressed by their record and reputation, wanting to learn more about their aerial techniques, hoping to adapt some of them for his own use in his nighttime activities.
When the lights finally shift, the bright spotlights swinging up to the little platform high above the ground, the cheers of the crowd double, the billionaire gladly adding his voice to the others, clapping madly and whistling as the famous family is revealed, slipping off their costume robes to reveal brightly colored spandex in red, green, and yellow. The man and woman wave, grinning broadly down at the spectators, and between them, a little raven-haired boy, no older than ten, stands proudly, his smile lighting up the entire tent from where Bruce is sitting.
For a moment, the Bat takes a vacation, and Bruce can't help his own grin. He's reminded instantly of Clark, of the thousand-watt smile that graces his face at the drop of a hat, often regardless of the Kryptonian's melancholy over not having his son with him. He thinks then of Clark's little boy, the smiling face he's seen only in pictures, the child likely very much like this one if he takes after his father, and who would fit with him and Clark much as this littlest Flying Grayson fits in with his own parents. A family of fliers.
His heart aches for Clark in that instant, and he knows undoubtedly that he has to do something to remedy the situation, to end the stalemate between Clark and Lois. Jason needs Clark just like this young Flying Grayson needs his own family. And Clark needs Jason just as these aerialist parents needs their aerialist son. It's a simple decision, one that Bruce makes gladly. Anything to see that grin on Clark's face completely unburdened...
But the show is proceeding, and Bruce brings his focus back to the shining family high above the crowd, the father swinging out and back, then out again to catch another trapeze bar. The mother swings out behind him, back and forth again, finally letting go of the bar to soar and flip, the ground far beneath her as she twists in the air. Hands reach, the father swings into distance, and they clasp arms, the catch perfect.
The crowd's cheer is an immense roar, Bruce taking mental note of the mother's positions as she flew. And they're swinging together, the mother and father, back and forth, building up momentum just as the raven-haired boy is grasping his trapeze bar and bending his knees to leap from the platform. The motion is fluid as the couple glide through the air, the trapeze wires taut and straight. The boy is poised to spring, and-
A tremble travels down the length of the wires, shuddering, and Bruce knows there should be a sound, but it's lost in the crowd's cheer. He sees the sudden panic on the parents' faces as the wires jerk suddenly, and it's like a horror movie in slow motion, the trapeze coming loose, the wires flailing in open air, the acrobats falling.
Screams from the crowd drown out everything, and there's no sound to accompany the tragedy that follows, only the terror, the panic of the crowd and the other performers as the ring is rushed. Bruce takes it all in with his own mute shock, the absurdity of the aerialists being surrounded and hidden from view by the clowns and on-hand paramedics, the utter disbelief on the faces of circus patrons, a man a few rows down shielding his dark-haired toddler from the scene below them, parents herding their children toward the exits...
The youngest Flying Grayson still perched high up in the air, his face marred by utter horror and sudden, streaming tears, his body shaking with the trapeze bar still clutched tightly in one hand...
A group of men on the opposite side of the tent smiling at the chaos.
Bruce's hands clench into fists at his sides as the Bat comes fully awake.
* * * * *