Fic: The Greatest Gift I Can Give You | DCU/SR/BB | Clark/Bruce | PG-13 | 3/8
Title: The Greatest Gift I Can Give You - Part 3
Fandom: DCU (Superman Returns/Batman Begins)
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4,029 (this section)
Summary: (this section) Things happen quickly after the disaster at the circus, a certain little acrobat helps the Batman serve up some justice, and Bruce has a major epiphany.
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 3
After more than two hours of rescue operations at the chemical plant, Clark is finally able to make it back to the circus, knowing already that something has gone terribly wrong. Speeding through a shadow behind one of the large tents, he changes back into his jeans and green plaid flannel, fixing his glasses into place and mussing his hair a little as he emerges.
The scene in front of the main tent is still one of chaos.
Emergency vehicles are parked at odd angles, their lights blaring red, yellow, and blue, and police cars sit with their doors open, the officers taking statements from circus performers and staff, everyone milling aimlessly in shock. At the edge of it all, Bruce seems to be moving among the shadows, taking it all in with the cool detachment of the Batman despite his lack of cape and cowl. No one seems to notice him, sleek and dark in his gray wool coat and slicked hair, even as Clark catches his attention and moves to intercept him off to one side.
“Bruce... what happened?” Clark asks, his voice low as he lightly catches the other man's elbow. “I... couldn't get all the details from just listening, it was... too confused.” About the only thing he did know was that the acrobats, the Flying Graysons... something horrible had happened to them.
“They fell,” the Bat says in an even tone. “Someone tampered with the trapeze, and it came loose during the beginning of the act. Both of the parents...” He presses his lips together and flares his nostrils with an angry breath. “The two acrobats... they didn't have a chance. There was no net.”
Clark's eyes are like saucers as he finally understands the full weight of the incident. “No...” he shakes his head in disbelief, trying to brush off the image forming in his mind's eye.
“I... we all saw it happen. The cables came loose, and the trapeze just dropped.” Turning away, he focuses on the back of an ambulance. “The kid saw his parents murdered, Clark.”
The taller man follows Bruce's pained gaze to see a little boy wrapped up in a fire blanket, sitting on the back step of the ambulance. The bright yellow of his costume peeks up and out from the protection of the dull gray blanket, but the color seems lost, somehow, beneath his bowed head and thick, black hair laying heavily over his forehead. Clark can barely see his eyes, streaming with tears that seem to have been falling for a long time, his small frame shivering and shaking with sobs.
Instantly he feels a pull toward the child, who looks not too many years older than his own son, and he can't help a pang of heartsickness as he's reminded of the loss of his father when he was a teenager. The pain you feel when there's nothing you can do...
But then the little boy sniffles hard, reaching up and dragging his bright green sleeve across his nose, and Clark sees Jason for an instant, his heart clenching tight in his chest.
The moment passes, and he shoves his selfish thoughts aside, looking again to Bruce. He imagines his lover must feel infinitely worse, watching the tiny acrobat.
Gently encircling the other man with an arm, Clark rests his cheek on Bruce's hair. “I'm sorry, Bruce. I'm sorry I wasn't here. I...” But he really doesn't know what to say as Bruce barely leans into him. How do you comfort someone seeing his own tragedy all over again?
The Bat tenses then, pulling away, and looks at him, his eyes cold and dark. “I'll find out who did this. I'll find justice for that little boy.”
“Okay,” Clark nods. He looks back at the boy in the ambulance. “What's his name?”
“Dick... Dick Grayson. He's... the only one left.”
Clark is sure he hears Bruce's voice choke a bit, and his brow furrows as it hits him. “Does... does he... have anyone?”
A head shake. “No one, as far as I can tell. It was just him and his parents. No one here has any legal claim to him in the event of their deaths. They were all just friends of the family from what I've heard.” He pauses, his focus seeming far away. “Social services has been called to take care of him.”
Clark knows from the heavy pounding of Bruce's heart and the disgusted tone of his voice that his partner is contemplating something big. “Bruce... What are you thinking?”
The Bat gives him another hard glare as he shoves his hands down into his coat pockets. “I'm thinking Dick Grayson could use a friend right about now. Someone that's been there. Someone that understands.”
“All right,” the Kryptonian smiles faintly, softly with a slight nod of agreement, refusing to let his thoughts of his own son cloud his feelings about Bruce's apparent plans; he'll gladly support whatever his partner has in mind, to any extent that goes. “I'll go let Alfred know, and have him hold dinner if you want to stay a while longer.”
Bruce shakes his head. “Already called him. He's bringing the car down.” He turns back to step out of the shadows toward the lost little boy in the ambulance, but Clark lays a hand on his shoulder to stop him, somewhat unsure now of the other man's intent.
“They won't let you just take him, Bruce,” the taller man says carefully, his voice soft and low.
“I know that,” Bruce says with a hint of defensiveness, turning back to face Clark again. “I only want to talk to him for now.” He scowls, “I'm just gonna need one hell of a stiff drink afterwards.”
* * * * *
The paperwork is driving Bruce insane. Not that he wasn't a little bit off before, but filling out everything in triplicate is driving him way past Batty and on into Joker territory. And that's just irritating.
He would have gladly let his lawyers handle it all, arranging for Dick to be placed in his care as his legal ward, but something's been making him want to lay his eyes on every page, on every line of legal jargon, on every single word. Something in him has been terrified from the outset that the process might go wrong, that... that he won't be able to protect that lost little boy from the bastards that killed his parents.
No matter that he's already on the trail of one Tony Zucco, mob boss and extortionist, for the hit on the Flying Graysons. No matter that he's already way ahead of the cops.
All he wants is to spare Dick some of the pain and loneliness he suffered after his own parents were lost. To keep him safe and give him something positive in his life, to shake off the shadows that just don't belong over a child that... brilliant. Dick is of the light, just like Clark, and if Bruce can keep him out of those shadows he knows all too well himself, then that's what he'll do.
Surprisingly, it didn't taken much more than to lay eyes on the little acrobat and see the horror and rage in his face to plant the seed of possibility. Talking to him after Clark arrived that night had cemented it, and he knows that in some way he needs to be there for Dick just as much as he wants to.
Talking to him at the funeral... seeing that bright little boy darkened by pain and rage...
If he's being honest with himself now, though, he might admit that part of him has been watching Dick from the perspective of a hurt, frightened child, suddenly lost and alone, watching a killer evade justice as his parents are buried in the cold dirt. Wishing he'd had the kind of support when he was there that he can offer now.
But he's not. So he won't.
Reaching around to rub his neck in frustration as he wearily reads the same paragraph he's been staring at for twenty minutes, he barely notices when the door to his study opens and Alfred comes in.
“Sir? It's four AM. I rather thought you'd either be out still or in bed by now.”
Bruce lifts his head, blinking heavily as he refocuses on the pajama-clad older man in his heavy robe. “Hmm? Oh.” He chuckles tiredly, “Catching up on paperwork, Alfred.”
“You do know you have a board meeting at ten in the morning?” The butler's tone is cautionary, yet teasing; he's been trying to get Bruce to sleep more regular hours for the last four years, with little luck.
“Right. Of course,” the exhausted billionaire sighs in return. Glancing down at the stack of papers scattered loosely over his desk, he shakes his head. Maybe it's the sleep deprivation on top of the mild paranoia driving him nuts, and not the incessant forms. He really could take care of all this in a flash otherwise - three years at Princeton and four heading up Wayne Enterprises had seen to that skill set. But his vision is practically swimming with legalese involving 'guardianship' and 'the minor child' and 'home study' - one he's not looking forward to - and it's all he can do to keep his eyelids from simply falling closed. Damn him for always being right, he thinks, utterly annoyed, before looking back up. “I'll head up in a few minutes. Thank you.”
“Welcome, sir,” comes the butler's barely concealed, satisfied smirk. “And if I might be so bold, you ought to let Master Clark have a look at all that. He can read a might faster than you, you know, and might be able to help you get it all squared away a little more quickly, so you can get some decent rest for a change.”
Another chuckle at the older man's teasing, this one even more betraying of his exhaustion. “You make a good point. I'll consider it.”
“Very well, sir. Good night, Master Bruce.”
Bruce smiles faintly, “Good night, Alfred.”
* * * * *
The bed is more comfortable than he remembers it being when Bruce finally drops into it, pulling the covers roughly over him. Beside him, the furnace that is Clark is warming, and he snuggles closer to that warmth almost involuntarily, letting out a rumbled sigh when one heavy arm wraps around him to pull him closer.
A sleepy voice murmurs, “'Bout time you came to bed. Woulda' thought you'd gone out if I hadn't heard you cursing over that paperwork.”
“Hmph, 'm surprised you're not out tending to a tsunami or a train derailment somewhere.” Not quite warm enough yet, he slips an arm around Clark's naked waist, nuzzling into his lover's neck.
“It's a quiet night. Thought I'd catch what sleep I could.”
“Nice philosophy,” comes the Bat's drowsing reply.
Clark's voice is falling away as well, “Even better now you're here...”
With silence descending and minds drifting at last toward the darkness of sleep, the two heroes relax into one another, burdens slipping away for a long while, until Clark's quiet voice breaks the spell, “Things are gonna be a lot different, now.”
“Hmm?” is all Bruce can manage in response.
“Around here, I mean. The Manor. You.” Clark's arm squeezes him tighter, hand moving up Bruce's bare back.
Silence returns for a moment. Then, “What do you mean? How do you figure I'll be different?”
A sigh. “You've... been different... ever since the circus. More focused. More serious. Maybe even happier. More...”
Completely awake again, Bruce has a pretty fair idea where Clark is headed with this. “More... paternal?” he ventures.
“Um... yeah. That, I suppose.” The hesitation is clear in his voice, and it irritates the Bat, despite knowing the assessment is one hundred percent true.
“That bother you?”
“Huh? No... I think it's wonderful. I...” Clark backpedals. “It's just... I-”
“You're jealous, then,” Bruce cuts him off, drawing far enough back from his embrace to look at him. The Kryptonian's face is pale in the faint moonlight coming in the window, and he looks like he's been slapped. A pang of guilt hits Bruce square in the chest at the sight, and he murmurs, “Sorry. That was stupid,” laying his head back down on the pillow and closing his eyes. In the week since the circus, they've talked endlessly about the possibility of Dick coming to live at the Manor, of Bruce eventually adopting him, adding the child to their lives, and the billionaire knows better than to accuse Clark of jealousy; the other man has been more than happy with Bruce's decision, enthusiastically agreeing and looking forward to the presence of the little boy.
Bruce hears Clark's heavy sigh, then feels his lover's warm hand come up to stroke the side of his face. “No... you... you're probably right. I guess... it's just hard watching you get to... to...” He trails off with an exasperated huff, to the Bat's surprise.
Opening his eyes again to meet Clark's with an intense gaze, Bruce sighs. “You know you're just as much a part of this as I am.”
“I... I know...” There's that hesitation again, and the billionaire can no longer deny the obvious, the pain weighing his lover down that he isn't even allowed to see his own son. He can't believe he's been so selfish and wrapped up in preparation to take Dick in that he's ignored his partner's grief.
“I'm sorry,” he sighs, reaching up to cover Clark's hand with his own. “You have no idea how badly I want to fix everything for you, make Lois see reason. If you'd let me I'd sic my lawyers on her, make her-”
Clark's fingers slipping from beneath his to cover his lips stop him from completing the thought. “No. You know that wouldn't do anyone any good.” Clark smiles faintly. “But I appreciate the offer.”
Bruce returns the little smile behind the fingers, and Clark lets them slip away, replacing them with his lips, pressing close. Arms wrap around waists and broad shoulders again with the kiss, Bruce promising himself he'll find a way to reunite Clark with his son, even if he has to fly to Metropolis and cause a scene in the middle of the Daily Planet bullpen to do it. He won't see Clark this melancholy any more. Not as long as there's breath in his body to fight it. Clark deserves better.
After a while they break apart slowly, and the Kryptonian smiles again more fully. “You're gonna have to make this place a little more interesting, if you expect a ten-year-old to be able to live here, you know.”
Bruce's brow furrows at the sudden teasing remark; it seems everyone is bound and determined to gang up on him tonight. “I managed here just fine as a ten-year-old.”
Clark smirks in the early November moonlight, daring him to prove it.
“Hmph. For your information, I'm having a trapeze installed in the gym next week.”
“Uh... wow,” Clark breathes, his eyebrows getting lost beneath his mop of hair.
Bruce realizes after a moment that he's stunned his lover speechless with the gratuitous show of wealth designed with only Dick's happiness in mind, and he can't resist a smirk of his own before continuing. “Of course, that's just the tip of the iceberg. I'm putting in a bowling alley and a full arcade for Christmas, and the petting zoo will be ready in March. Have a whole set of water slides scheduled to be added to the pool area by June, too,” he adds, deadpan.
The look of shock on Clark's face grows for a moment as his jaw drops open and eyes turn to saucers, until his mouth snaps shut and he furrows his brow, quirking his lips. “Guess I'm not the only smart ass around here,” he teases back.
“Not remotely,” Bruce chuckles lightly. “But I'm serious about the trapeze. That's his life, and I'm not about to take it away from him.”
With that, Clark smiles, and it's the most open and honest thing Bruce thinks he's seen all night, warming the Bat all the way to the core. If he has anything to say about it, Clark will be grinning ear to ear non-stop by New Year's.
* * * * *
The circus has been closed almost two weeks when Bruce manages to track Zucco and his men back to the main tent. From the heavy shadows outside the center ring, he watches them trying to shake down the new owner of the show, demanding protection money, threatening a repeat of the 'accident' that took the lives of the Graysons. He can't believe they're really that stupid. Can't believe they would dare to come back here. But then, that's the criminal mentality for you.
The new owner, a spindly man that Bruce recognizes as one of the clowns, refuses to pay Zucco a single red cent, and it's only when the man retrieves a cell phone from his pants pocket that the flash of an aluminum baseball bat pulled from a trench coat signals the start of the fight.
But it's not from Bruce or even the circus owner that the action comes, and he hesitates only a second when the small body he didn't even know was there launches itself from another shadow at the squat man wielding the bat. Green spandex-clad legs kick out and catch the weapon, knocking it away as an anguished cry of, “No!!” fills the tent.
Angry shouts erupt from Zucco and his men, with, “Get him!” and, “What the hell!?” and, “Club the little brat!”
Bruce is on the squat man in an instant as the spindly man bolts for the exit - presumably to call the police - and the Bat's sudden presence gives the thugs real cause for concern as he punches and blocks, kicks and defends, keeping an eye on the small boy as he makes his way to one side of the melee, the tiny frame flipping and weaving to evade another of Zucco's goons. He barely has any time to be surprised and alarmed that the kid managed to get away from the foster facility only to come back here and land himself in the middle of what's sure to be a brutal fight, when he hears Dick's proclamation above the din of the battle.
“No! I won't let you hurt anyone else! You're murderers!” And then he's shouting incoherently, and his voice becomes muffled.
Knocking out the last of the thugs with a backhanded fist to the throat, Bruce is finally able to turn his full attention to the boy.
“Watch it, Batman,” Zucco warns him, the greasy-looking, plump mob boss catching Dick around the throat with a knife, point pressed into the kid's neck as he squeezes him around the middle, pinning his arms. “I'll gladly make an example outta' him, too.”
“You're outnumbered, Zucco,” Bruce shoots back, his voice hard, his instincts strong about the tightly coiled little boy, even as his mind screams in panic and terror at the sudden prospect of losing Dick, his paranoia coming fully awake. If he can't protect him from this, then...
The mob boss chokes out a laugh. “You've gotta be kidding me. You think you and this little circus rat are gonna stop me? In case you haven't noticed, I'm the one with a kni-”
But he's cut off when Dick squirms just right, slipping out of his grip, and a heavily armored boot slams into his hand, sending the knife flying. All Zucco can do is cry out in pain as he's suddenly pinned to the ground, a knee pressing down on his throat in turn. Bruce grins toothily over the greasy man, his terror fueled into rage, wanting sorely for the weasel to have nightmares about the Batman for the rest of his life. “I warned you, but you didn't listen. Too bad for you.”
Zucco tries to spit at him, but the Bat dodges the refuse easily, securing the man more tightly. “Good night, Zucco,” he says after a moment's struggle, and by the time his fist connects with the mob boss's face, sending him into unconsciousness, GCPD sirens begin to wail in the far distance.
Raising up from the limp form, Bruce is ready to slip back into the shadows and disappear, ready to leave the cleanup to Gordon's men, but the slight panic is already returning as his mind is on Dick again in an instant. The sound of the little boy's sniffles is loud in the suddenly silent tent, and whirling, he finds Dick sitting half-submerged in shadow, the near-rainbow of his costume shimmering in the low light as he sits on the raised circus ring.
A flash of memory catches him, and he sees himself, wearing the same outfit for a month after his parents were killed, operating under some desperate need to cling to that moment, to try and undo it by sheer force of will. He wonders if Dick has taken the leotard off long enough to get a bath.
“Are you okay?” he asks, moving slightly closer and letting his voice come up just slightly from the trained hoarse rumble he uses as the Batman.
Dick looks up at him suddenly, his eyes seeming to focus in from somewhere far away, and Bruce thinks he looks like a deer caught in headlights, stunned. It's damn near the same expression he's seen on Clark's face so often. Funny, that.
“I won't hurt you,” he continues when it looks clear the little boy isn't about to respond. Kneeling, he places a hand on Dick's shoulder.
“B-Batman...” the tiny acrobat finally manages, his bright blue eyes still clouded with tears. “I'm sorry... I know I shouldn't have come here, but... I heard them before. They... they killed my Mom and Dad... and they were... they were gonna...” His chest starts rising and falling with rapid breaths, and Bruce feels seriously out of his element and filled with the sense of kinship that's haunted him for two weeks all at once. Without another thought, he draws Dick up into a tight hug, the little boy clinging to him for dear life as he breaks down into sobs.
“It's okay,” he soothes, stroking Dick's thick, black hair with a gloved hand. “It's all right. They won't hurt anyone else. Shhh...” Holding him, he can't help but realize just how right Clark has been about this whole thing. What he wants more than anything is to be some kind of a father to Dick. Some part of him knows Clark has been a softening influence on him, though; six months ago, he might have laughed at himself.
It takes a long moment, but the boy's sobs quiet, and Bruce pulls back to look him square in the eyes, his heart breaking to have to do this. “Let the police take you back.” When Dick looks like he wants to protest loudly, the Bat continues quickly, “It won't be for long. I know for a fact that you're going home with Mister Wayne tomorrow, and I have it on good authority that he cares a lot about you.”
“But this is my home!” Dick cries out angrily, and Bruce's heart shatters a little more with the proclamation.
“I know. And Mister Wayne knows it, too. He just wants to make things good for you, or a little better, at least. Besides-” He can't believe he's about to say this. “I understand he's in need of some company around that huge house of his.”
The little boy shifts as if he's suddenly uncomfortable, then sighs and relaxes. “He does seem a little lonely, I guess.” He shrugs, “But he told me he lost his parents, too, so maybe that's it. I dunno. That Clark guy seems pretty cool, though, in a nerdy kind of way.”
Bruce is hard pressed to stop the slight smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth; Clark will probably never let him live this down.
* * * * *
Fandom: DCU (Superman Returns/Batman Begins)
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4,029 (this section)
Summary: (this section) Things happen quickly after the disaster at the circus, a certain little acrobat helps the Batman serve up some justice, and Bruce has a major epiphany.
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 3
After more than two hours of rescue operations at the chemical plant, Clark is finally able to make it back to the circus, knowing already that something has gone terribly wrong. Speeding through a shadow behind one of the large tents, he changes back into his jeans and green plaid flannel, fixing his glasses into place and mussing his hair a little as he emerges.
The scene in front of the main tent is still one of chaos.
Emergency vehicles are parked at odd angles, their lights blaring red, yellow, and blue, and police cars sit with their doors open, the officers taking statements from circus performers and staff, everyone milling aimlessly in shock. At the edge of it all, Bruce seems to be moving among the shadows, taking it all in with the cool detachment of the Batman despite his lack of cape and cowl. No one seems to notice him, sleek and dark in his gray wool coat and slicked hair, even as Clark catches his attention and moves to intercept him off to one side.
“Bruce... what happened?” Clark asks, his voice low as he lightly catches the other man's elbow. “I... couldn't get all the details from just listening, it was... too confused.” About the only thing he did know was that the acrobats, the Flying Graysons... something horrible had happened to them.
“They fell,” the Bat says in an even tone. “Someone tampered with the trapeze, and it came loose during the beginning of the act. Both of the parents...” He presses his lips together and flares his nostrils with an angry breath. “The two acrobats... they didn't have a chance. There was no net.”
Clark's eyes are like saucers as he finally understands the full weight of the incident. “No...” he shakes his head in disbelief, trying to brush off the image forming in his mind's eye.
“I... we all saw it happen. The cables came loose, and the trapeze just dropped.” Turning away, he focuses on the back of an ambulance. “The kid saw his parents murdered, Clark.”
The taller man follows Bruce's pained gaze to see a little boy wrapped up in a fire blanket, sitting on the back step of the ambulance. The bright yellow of his costume peeks up and out from the protection of the dull gray blanket, but the color seems lost, somehow, beneath his bowed head and thick, black hair laying heavily over his forehead. Clark can barely see his eyes, streaming with tears that seem to have been falling for a long time, his small frame shivering and shaking with sobs.
Instantly he feels a pull toward the child, who looks not too many years older than his own son, and he can't help a pang of heartsickness as he's reminded of the loss of his father when he was a teenager. The pain you feel when there's nothing you can do...
But then the little boy sniffles hard, reaching up and dragging his bright green sleeve across his nose, and Clark sees Jason for an instant, his heart clenching tight in his chest.
The moment passes, and he shoves his selfish thoughts aside, looking again to Bruce. He imagines his lover must feel infinitely worse, watching the tiny acrobat.
Gently encircling the other man with an arm, Clark rests his cheek on Bruce's hair. “I'm sorry, Bruce. I'm sorry I wasn't here. I...” But he really doesn't know what to say as Bruce barely leans into him. How do you comfort someone seeing his own tragedy all over again?
The Bat tenses then, pulling away, and looks at him, his eyes cold and dark. “I'll find out who did this. I'll find justice for that little boy.”
“Okay,” Clark nods. He looks back at the boy in the ambulance. “What's his name?”
“Dick... Dick Grayson. He's... the only one left.”
Clark is sure he hears Bruce's voice choke a bit, and his brow furrows as it hits him. “Does... does he... have anyone?”
A head shake. “No one, as far as I can tell. It was just him and his parents. No one here has any legal claim to him in the event of their deaths. They were all just friends of the family from what I've heard.” He pauses, his focus seeming far away. “Social services has been called to take care of him.”
Clark knows from the heavy pounding of Bruce's heart and the disgusted tone of his voice that his partner is contemplating something big. “Bruce... What are you thinking?”
The Bat gives him another hard glare as he shoves his hands down into his coat pockets. “I'm thinking Dick Grayson could use a friend right about now. Someone that's been there. Someone that understands.”
“All right,” the Kryptonian smiles faintly, softly with a slight nod of agreement, refusing to let his thoughts of his own son cloud his feelings about Bruce's apparent plans; he'll gladly support whatever his partner has in mind, to any extent that goes. “I'll go let Alfred know, and have him hold dinner if you want to stay a while longer.”
Bruce shakes his head. “Already called him. He's bringing the car down.” He turns back to step out of the shadows toward the lost little boy in the ambulance, but Clark lays a hand on his shoulder to stop him, somewhat unsure now of the other man's intent.
“They won't let you just take him, Bruce,” the taller man says carefully, his voice soft and low.
“I know that,” Bruce says with a hint of defensiveness, turning back to face Clark again. “I only want to talk to him for now.” He scowls, “I'm just gonna need one hell of a stiff drink afterwards.”
* * * * *
The paperwork is driving Bruce insane. Not that he wasn't a little bit off before, but filling out everything in triplicate is driving him way past Batty and on into Joker territory. And that's just irritating.
He would have gladly let his lawyers handle it all, arranging for Dick to be placed in his care as his legal ward, but something's been making him want to lay his eyes on every page, on every line of legal jargon, on every single word. Something in him has been terrified from the outset that the process might go wrong, that... that he won't be able to protect that lost little boy from the bastards that killed his parents.
No matter that he's already on the trail of one Tony Zucco, mob boss and extortionist, for the hit on the Flying Graysons. No matter that he's already way ahead of the cops.
All he wants is to spare Dick some of the pain and loneliness he suffered after his own parents were lost. To keep him safe and give him something positive in his life, to shake off the shadows that just don't belong over a child that... brilliant. Dick is of the light, just like Clark, and if Bruce can keep him out of those shadows he knows all too well himself, then that's what he'll do.
Surprisingly, it didn't taken much more than to lay eyes on the little acrobat and see the horror and rage in his face to plant the seed of possibility. Talking to him after Clark arrived that night had cemented it, and he knows that in some way he needs to be there for Dick just as much as he wants to.
Talking to him at the funeral... seeing that bright little boy darkened by pain and rage...
If he's being honest with himself now, though, he might admit that part of him has been watching Dick from the perspective of a hurt, frightened child, suddenly lost and alone, watching a killer evade justice as his parents are buried in the cold dirt. Wishing he'd had the kind of support when he was there that he can offer now.
But he's not. So he won't.
Reaching around to rub his neck in frustration as he wearily reads the same paragraph he's been staring at for twenty minutes, he barely notices when the door to his study opens and Alfred comes in.
“Sir? It's four AM. I rather thought you'd either be out still or in bed by now.”
Bruce lifts his head, blinking heavily as he refocuses on the pajama-clad older man in his heavy robe. “Hmm? Oh.” He chuckles tiredly, “Catching up on paperwork, Alfred.”
“You do know you have a board meeting at ten in the morning?” The butler's tone is cautionary, yet teasing; he's been trying to get Bruce to sleep more regular hours for the last four years, with little luck.
“Right. Of course,” the exhausted billionaire sighs in return. Glancing down at the stack of papers scattered loosely over his desk, he shakes his head. Maybe it's the sleep deprivation on top of the mild paranoia driving him nuts, and not the incessant forms. He really could take care of all this in a flash otherwise - three years at Princeton and four heading up Wayne Enterprises had seen to that skill set. But his vision is practically swimming with legalese involving 'guardianship' and 'the minor child' and 'home study' - one he's not looking forward to - and it's all he can do to keep his eyelids from simply falling closed. Damn him for always being right, he thinks, utterly annoyed, before looking back up. “I'll head up in a few minutes. Thank you.”
“Welcome, sir,” comes the butler's barely concealed, satisfied smirk. “And if I might be so bold, you ought to let Master Clark have a look at all that. He can read a might faster than you, you know, and might be able to help you get it all squared away a little more quickly, so you can get some decent rest for a change.”
Another chuckle at the older man's teasing, this one even more betraying of his exhaustion. “You make a good point. I'll consider it.”
“Very well, sir. Good night, Master Bruce.”
Bruce smiles faintly, “Good night, Alfred.”
* * * * *
The bed is more comfortable than he remembers it being when Bruce finally drops into it, pulling the covers roughly over him. Beside him, the furnace that is Clark is warming, and he snuggles closer to that warmth almost involuntarily, letting out a rumbled sigh when one heavy arm wraps around him to pull him closer.
A sleepy voice murmurs, “'Bout time you came to bed. Woulda' thought you'd gone out if I hadn't heard you cursing over that paperwork.”
“Hmph, 'm surprised you're not out tending to a tsunami or a train derailment somewhere.” Not quite warm enough yet, he slips an arm around Clark's naked waist, nuzzling into his lover's neck.
“It's a quiet night. Thought I'd catch what sleep I could.”
“Nice philosophy,” comes the Bat's drowsing reply.
Clark's voice is falling away as well, “Even better now you're here...”
With silence descending and minds drifting at last toward the darkness of sleep, the two heroes relax into one another, burdens slipping away for a long while, until Clark's quiet voice breaks the spell, “Things are gonna be a lot different, now.”
“Hmm?” is all Bruce can manage in response.
“Around here, I mean. The Manor. You.” Clark's arm squeezes him tighter, hand moving up Bruce's bare back.
Silence returns for a moment. Then, “What do you mean? How do you figure I'll be different?”
A sigh. “You've... been different... ever since the circus. More focused. More serious. Maybe even happier. More...”
Completely awake again, Bruce has a pretty fair idea where Clark is headed with this. “More... paternal?” he ventures.
“Um... yeah. That, I suppose.” The hesitation is clear in his voice, and it irritates the Bat, despite knowing the assessment is one hundred percent true.
“That bother you?”
“Huh? No... I think it's wonderful. I...” Clark backpedals. “It's just... I-”
“You're jealous, then,” Bruce cuts him off, drawing far enough back from his embrace to look at him. The Kryptonian's face is pale in the faint moonlight coming in the window, and he looks like he's been slapped. A pang of guilt hits Bruce square in the chest at the sight, and he murmurs, “Sorry. That was stupid,” laying his head back down on the pillow and closing his eyes. In the week since the circus, they've talked endlessly about the possibility of Dick coming to live at the Manor, of Bruce eventually adopting him, adding the child to their lives, and the billionaire knows better than to accuse Clark of jealousy; the other man has been more than happy with Bruce's decision, enthusiastically agreeing and looking forward to the presence of the little boy.
Bruce hears Clark's heavy sigh, then feels his lover's warm hand come up to stroke the side of his face. “No... you... you're probably right. I guess... it's just hard watching you get to... to...” He trails off with an exasperated huff, to the Bat's surprise.
Opening his eyes again to meet Clark's with an intense gaze, Bruce sighs. “You know you're just as much a part of this as I am.”
“I... I know...” There's that hesitation again, and the billionaire can no longer deny the obvious, the pain weighing his lover down that he isn't even allowed to see his own son. He can't believe he's been so selfish and wrapped up in preparation to take Dick in that he's ignored his partner's grief.
“I'm sorry,” he sighs, reaching up to cover Clark's hand with his own. “You have no idea how badly I want to fix everything for you, make Lois see reason. If you'd let me I'd sic my lawyers on her, make her-”
Clark's fingers slipping from beneath his to cover his lips stop him from completing the thought. “No. You know that wouldn't do anyone any good.” Clark smiles faintly. “But I appreciate the offer.”
Bruce returns the little smile behind the fingers, and Clark lets them slip away, replacing them with his lips, pressing close. Arms wrap around waists and broad shoulders again with the kiss, Bruce promising himself he'll find a way to reunite Clark with his son, even if he has to fly to Metropolis and cause a scene in the middle of the Daily Planet bullpen to do it. He won't see Clark this melancholy any more. Not as long as there's breath in his body to fight it. Clark deserves better.
After a while they break apart slowly, and the Kryptonian smiles again more fully. “You're gonna have to make this place a little more interesting, if you expect a ten-year-old to be able to live here, you know.”
Bruce's brow furrows at the sudden teasing remark; it seems everyone is bound and determined to gang up on him tonight. “I managed here just fine as a ten-year-old.”
Clark smirks in the early November moonlight, daring him to prove it.
“Hmph. For your information, I'm having a trapeze installed in the gym next week.”
“Uh... wow,” Clark breathes, his eyebrows getting lost beneath his mop of hair.
Bruce realizes after a moment that he's stunned his lover speechless with the gratuitous show of wealth designed with only Dick's happiness in mind, and he can't resist a smirk of his own before continuing. “Of course, that's just the tip of the iceberg. I'm putting in a bowling alley and a full arcade for Christmas, and the petting zoo will be ready in March. Have a whole set of water slides scheduled to be added to the pool area by June, too,” he adds, deadpan.
The look of shock on Clark's face grows for a moment as his jaw drops open and eyes turn to saucers, until his mouth snaps shut and he furrows his brow, quirking his lips. “Guess I'm not the only smart ass around here,” he teases back.
“Not remotely,” Bruce chuckles lightly. “But I'm serious about the trapeze. That's his life, and I'm not about to take it away from him.”
With that, Clark smiles, and it's the most open and honest thing Bruce thinks he's seen all night, warming the Bat all the way to the core. If he has anything to say about it, Clark will be grinning ear to ear non-stop by New Year's.
* * * * *
The circus has been closed almost two weeks when Bruce manages to track Zucco and his men back to the main tent. From the heavy shadows outside the center ring, he watches them trying to shake down the new owner of the show, demanding protection money, threatening a repeat of the 'accident' that took the lives of the Graysons. He can't believe they're really that stupid. Can't believe they would dare to come back here. But then, that's the criminal mentality for you.
The new owner, a spindly man that Bruce recognizes as one of the clowns, refuses to pay Zucco a single red cent, and it's only when the man retrieves a cell phone from his pants pocket that the flash of an aluminum baseball bat pulled from a trench coat signals the start of the fight.
But it's not from Bruce or even the circus owner that the action comes, and he hesitates only a second when the small body he didn't even know was there launches itself from another shadow at the squat man wielding the bat. Green spandex-clad legs kick out and catch the weapon, knocking it away as an anguished cry of, “No!!” fills the tent.
Angry shouts erupt from Zucco and his men, with, “Get him!” and, “What the hell!?” and, “Club the little brat!”
Bruce is on the squat man in an instant as the spindly man bolts for the exit - presumably to call the police - and the Bat's sudden presence gives the thugs real cause for concern as he punches and blocks, kicks and defends, keeping an eye on the small boy as he makes his way to one side of the melee, the tiny frame flipping and weaving to evade another of Zucco's goons. He barely has any time to be surprised and alarmed that the kid managed to get away from the foster facility only to come back here and land himself in the middle of what's sure to be a brutal fight, when he hears Dick's proclamation above the din of the battle.
“No! I won't let you hurt anyone else! You're murderers!” And then he's shouting incoherently, and his voice becomes muffled.
Knocking out the last of the thugs with a backhanded fist to the throat, Bruce is finally able to turn his full attention to the boy.
“Watch it, Batman,” Zucco warns him, the greasy-looking, plump mob boss catching Dick around the throat with a knife, point pressed into the kid's neck as he squeezes him around the middle, pinning his arms. “I'll gladly make an example outta' him, too.”
“You're outnumbered, Zucco,” Bruce shoots back, his voice hard, his instincts strong about the tightly coiled little boy, even as his mind screams in panic and terror at the sudden prospect of losing Dick, his paranoia coming fully awake. If he can't protect him from this, then...
The mob boss chokes out a laugh. “You've gotta be kidding me. You think you and this little circus rat are gonna stop me? In case you haven't noticed, I'm the one with a kni-”
But he's cut off when Dick squirms just right, slipping out of his grip, and a heavily armored boot slams into his hand, sending the knife flying. All Zucco can do is cry out in pain as he's suddenly pinned to the ground, a knee pressing down on his throat in turn. Bruce grins toothily over the greasy man, his terror fueled into rage, wanting sorely for the weasel to have nightmares about the Batman for the rest of his life. “I warned you, but you didn't listen. Too bad for you.”
Zucco tries to spit at him, but the Bat dodges the refuse easily, securing the man more tightly. “Good night, Zucco,” he says after a moment's struggle, and by the time his fist connects with the mob boss's face, sending him into unconsciousness, GCPD sirens begin to wail in the far distance.
Raising up from the limp form, Bruce is ready to slip back into the shadows and disappear, ready to leave the cleanup to Gordon's men, but the slight panic is already returning as his mind is on Dick again in an instant. The sound of the little boy's sniffles is loud in the suddenly silent tent, and whirling, he finds Dick sitting half-submerged in shadow, the near-rainbow of his costume shimmering in the low light as he sits on the raised circus ring.
A flash of memory catches him, and he sees himself, wearing the same outfit for a month after his parents were killed, operating under some desperate need to cling to that moment, to try and undo it by sheer force of will. He wonders if Dick has taken the leotard off long enough to get a bath.
“Are you okay?” he asks, moving slightly closer and letting his voice come up just slightly from the trained hoarse rumble he uses as the Batman.
Dick looks up at him suddenly, his eyes seeming to focus in from somewhere far away, and Bruce thinks he looks like a deer caught in headlights, stunned. It's damn near the same expression he's seen on Clark's face so often. Funny, that.
“I won't hurt you,” he continues when it looks clear the little boy isn't about to respond. Kneeling, he places a hand on Dick's shoulder.
“B-Batman...” the tiny acrobat finally manages, his bright blue eyes still clouded with tears. “I'm sorry... I know I shouldn't have come here, but... I heard them before. They... they killed my Mom and Dad... and they were... they were gonna...” His chest starts rising and falling with rapid breaths, and Bruce feels seriously out of his element and filled with the sense of kinship that's haunted him for two weeks all at once. Without another thought, he draws Dick up into a tight hug, the little boy clinging to him for dear life as he breaks down into sobs.
“It's okay,” he soothes, stroking Dick's thick, black hair with a gloved hand. “It's all right. They won't hurt anyone else. Shhh...” Holding him, he can't help but realize just how right Clark has been about this whole thing. What he wants more than anything is to be some kind of a father to Dick. Some part of him knows Clark has been a softening influence on him, though; six months ago, he might have laughed at himself.
It takes a long moment, but the boy's sobs quiet, and Bruce pulls back to look him square in the eyes, his heart breaking to have to do this. “Let the police take you back.” When Dick looks like he wants to protest loudly, the Bat continues quickly, “It won't be for long. I know for a fact that you're going home with Mister Wayne tomorrow, and I have it on good authority that he cares a lot about you.”
“But this is my home!” Dick cries out angrily, and Bruce's heart shatters a little more with the proclamation.
“I know. And Mister Wayne knows it, too. He just wants to make things good for you, or a little better, at least. Besides-” He can't believe he's about to say this. “I understand he's in need of some company around that huge house of his.”
The little boy shifts as if he's suddenly uncomfortable, then sighs and relaxes. “He does seem a little lonely, I guess.” He shrugs, “But he told me he lost his parents, too, so maybe that's it. I dunno. That Clark guy seems pretty cool, though, in a nerdy kind of way.”
Bruce is hard pressed to stop the slight smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth; Clark will probably never let him live this down.
* * * * *