Fic: The Greatest Gift I Can Give You | DCU/SR/BB | Clark/Bruce | PG-13 | 4/8
Title: The Greatest Gift I Can Give You - Part 4
Fandom: DCU (Superman Returns/Batman Begins)
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4,894 (this section)
Summary: (this section) Clark and Bruce have a heart to heart in the Cave after the fight with Zucco. The next day, Dick finally arrives at the Manor.
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 4
Clark is just getting back to the Manor himself, surprisingly tired after a long night spent working an earthquake in Chile, when he finds Bruce just ahead of him on his way into the Cave. Thundering past the waterfall, the Tumbler growls its way to a stop, and Clark can't help a little smirk at the oddly angled vehicle that he's been more than amused to start calling “The Batmobile”. Needless to say, Bruce hasn't quite shared his enthusiasm, but teasing him about it has been half the fun.
Speeding through the Cave, the Kryptonian meets his partner as the Bat is stepping out of the car, stripping off his cowl in what Clark can clearly read as frustration. “What's wrong?” he asks immediately as he touches down next to his lover, knowing Bruce won't have a word of small talk if there's something bothering him. So much for teasing him about the Tumbler.
An irritated grumble meets him in return as the Bat makes his way to the changing area and shower he personally installed in the rebuild.
“That bad, huh?” Clark continues as he follows, stripping off his own suit along with Bruce in the cool, wet cavern air. Capes join gauntlets and belts on the narrow metal bench in front of the handful of stainless steel lockers and the special case for the Bat suit, pooling dark red, yellow, and black.
Shrugging off the heavy chest armor to hang it in the case, Bruce shakes his head, finally turning to catch Clark's gaze, his thick, dark hair sweat-damp and falling almost into his eyes. “He was there, Clark. Dick was there.”
For a moment, the Kryptonian is confused. “What?” he lifts his eyebrows in question as he sits on the bench to tug his boots off.
“I tracked Zucco back to the circus. Dick was there. Almost got himself killed.” Finishing the statement angrily, Bruce reaches down to yank his own boots off and toss them unceremoniously into the case, then leans heavily against it with his palms. “He went back to try to stop Zucco from hurting anyone else. He went back to stop Zucco,” he repeats, hanging his head low. “He's ten goddamn years old, Clark. Ten! And...”
Clark's heart wrenches in his chest at Bruce's raging shock. Rising to lay a hand on his partner's bare shoulder, he tries to soothe him, “But he's all right.”
“Of course he's not all right!” the Bat snaps, standing straight and pulling out of Clark's grasp. “He... he's just a kid! He's gonna grow up way too damn fast, and there's nothing I can do about it. I thought... I thought maybe I could help him... but... Dammit, he's got that same... fire... burning inside him. The same one I did.”
At this point, Clark figures it's best just to let Bruce get it all out; it's almost a rare occasion when the other man decides to let go like this. So he just presses his lips together in a sad smile and looks at him encouragingly, pleading silently for him to continue.
“And you know what the really shitty part is?” Bruce grumbles. At Clark's head shake, he grinds out, “The kid is a pretty damn good fighter, for a ten-year-old. Hell, I didn't even know he was there until he attacked one of Zucco's men.”
Impressed, Clark lets out a low whistle, his eyes wide. “That's... that's no easy accomplishment.”
“No kidding. And! He did it wearing that shiny spandex costume.”
The taller man grimaces, desperate to hide his sudden amusement at Bruce's obvious embarrassment. No way the Bat should have missed someone in bright, sparkling colors. “I guess it's a good thing he's on our side?” he ventures.
Bruce frowns, his body still tense, and after a momentary stare-down his shoulders relax, if only marginally. “And a good thing the Joker isn't that talented.”
“There's that,” Clark chuckles, reaching up then to cup Bruce's face in his palm, thumb running over his cheek.
Exhaling heavily, Bruce nuzzles a bit into the Kryptonian's hand, letting his eyes fall closed. “This is a lot more serious-” he cuts himself off, then starts again, “Dick is a lot more than just some kid that knows how to work a trapeze, Clark. He's a lot more than I think we're giving him credit for.” He opens his eyes again to meet Clark's in a hard gaze. “Dick is a smart kid. He's skilled, and he's damn mature for his age. He's gonna have us figured out in exactly two minutes when he sets foot inside the Manor.” When Clark opens his mouth to interrupt, Bruce cuts him off, “And then he'll be all over us to train him to fight crime like The Goddamn Batman does.”
At this, Clark drops his hand, his brow furrowing, and he sits hard on the metal bench, leaning his elbows on his knees, hands clasped. It's something he's thought a lot about, considering his own son. Jason will most likely develop some abilities as he grows up, and what then? If Lois lets him, will he come calling to have Clark train him up as a superhero? He remembers the little boy's smile the last time he saw him, all bright and happy and just ecstatic to have someone to hang around with in the bullpen while Mom and Dad were off tending to who-knows-what for the paper. He wonders what might have already changed...
As usual, he has to force himself to remember that this just isn't about him. This has nothing to do with him and Jason, and everything to do with Bruce, and the child that's about to make his grand entrance into their lives. He knows his partner's instincts are right about this; it probably won't take Dick any time at all to connect the dots and realize he's living with Batman and Superman. As he's reminded that Jason already knows his own secret, it takes him a moment to notice Bruce is scowling down at him, arms crossed over his chest.
“I know we haven't really discussed this part of the plan yet,” Bruce says calmly, softly, seeming to Clark to be the study in contrasts the Kryptonian has loved since they met. “I was hoping the identity issue would work itself out naturally... but this just puts a whole new twist on things.”
Nodding up at him, Clark grips the edge of the bench tightly, sitting up. “It does. But the fact that Dick is all of ten should make it easier for you to tell him 'no'.”
Still scowling, Bruce plops down next to Clark. “That's the thing... I... I don't know if I really want to tell him 'no', should he ask.”
Clark considers the statement a while, feeling a slight bit of panic squeezing his chest. “It's your decision, Bruce,” he says finally, carefully. “I'm... probably not the best person to consult for advice of this magnitude, anyway, considering I have absolutely no idea what to do if Jason were to ask me the same thing.”
“That's different,” the half-naked billionaire protests. “At least you would have a reason to say 'yes'; Jason'll probably wind up with half your powers and be nigh invulnerable. Dick... Dick is human. Just like me.” He frowns again, staring painfully up at the chest armor in the case. “Every night I go out, I know damn well it could be my last. What right have I got to put a kid in danger like that?”
Finally having heard enough of Bruce's agonizing over a decision that doesn't even need to be made yet, a decision that will take plenty of time to be made when it does come around, Clark grasps the other man's chin with his fingertips to turn him and capture his attention fully, then takes his lover's face in both hands, pulling him close this time. “Bruce,” he says, letting his voice drop into his more commanding register. “He's not even here yet. Let's just deal with one thing at a time, okay?”
Hesitantly, Bruce nods.
With a slight smile, Clark pulls his lover to him for a firm kiss, pressing close and hard, tasting the salty sweetness of sweat on Bruce's lips when the kiss deepens. He feels the other man relent beneath him, muscles easing, hears his heart slow and speed up appropriately, and it's good, a really good feeling.
When they break apart, the Kryptonian smiles again, leaning his forehead against Bruce's. “Now, Zucco's behind bars?”
“Check.”
“All the paperwork is done, and you've met with the required people? The social workers and the judge?”
“Thank God, check,” Bruce sighs.
“Then tomorrow's gonna be a big day, so, first item on the agenda: getting Dick moved in and acclimated to living here.”
“He doesn't have much to move in, but the acclimation... that's easier said than done.”
“Alfred would be shocked to hear you say that. He'll have Dick enthralled with sordid tales of Waynes long past over cookies and milk in no time.”
Finally, a real, if faint, smile emerges from beneath the Bat. “Damn right he will.”
“You know,” Clark muses with a smile, “you're adorable when you're being neurotic.”
“It's called brooding, wise-ass,” Bruce glowers back. “And it's not adorable.”
Clark can only grin at him.
* * * * *
This big day finds Bruce sitting nervously across from Dick in the back of his car, watching the little boy's guarded expression as they turn up the long drive toward the Manor. He can sense the excitement in his posture, though, Dick leaning forward fractionally to get a better look. Bruce's heart is pumping adrenaline in a futile exercise in anxiety as he studies him, waits to see what the next view will bring out in him.
Perched on the backward-facing seat, Dick is all too aware of the man's gaze on him. He knows Bruce is waiting to see how excited he'll be at the sight of the Manor. Joke's on him; Dick doesn't really care about the snooty mansion, as huge as it might be. No, after last night's... fight, then talking with The Batman, he has other things to wonder about. Nothing like meeting one of your two favorite superheroes to put things into perspective. And since Batman made sure Zucco and his jerks were put in jail, Dick feels like at least one huge weight has been lifted off him, anyway. He doesn't know what might have happened if the hero hadn't shown up when he did, but he does know he would have done everything he could to kick the crap out the guys that killed his Mom and Dad.
None of that can change the fact that his parents are gone, though; he isn't that stupid. Sure, he knows Bruce will probably try to find stuff to keep his mind off it, keep him occupied. Maybe even... if the guy is really as smart and as cool as Dick thinks he might be, and if what Batman told him about Bruce caring about him is true, then Bruce won't keep him away from the circus. He'll find a way to...
Thinking about the circus just makes him homesick all over again. The possibility that he might not get to go back at all has been killing him ever since those crazy child services people took him away and stuck him in a foster home. It's been the worst two weeks of his entire life. He can't stand even thinking it, that he might never see Keela the lion tamer or Zippy the head clown again. His whole life is the circus! The people there are practically his family, his aunts and uncles, and not being around them just makes him want to cry again.
But he can't cry again. Not anymore. Not after last night. And he can't be excited, either. He doesn't want to be. He doesn't know if his Mom and Dad would want him to be excited, but he just knows he can't. It's that combination that's kept him stoic for the drive from the heart of Gotham all the way out to Wayne Manor. As cool as it was that he got to meet the Batman, and as cool as it might be that he's going to live in a huge Manor, he can't let Bruce know what's going on in his head. Not yet.
It's just another performance.
And then, finally, the Manor comes into view, huge and imposing and looking like it's got about a million secrets to tell, and Dick can't keep his heart from practically skipping a beat...
Bruce doesn't have to wait any longer for a change in Dick's demeanor. Sparkling blue eyes widen as the house is revealed, mouth falling open in surprise for a moment, until the little boy seems to remember his planned detachment and closes himself off again. It's not fast enough though, and Bruce allows a tiny quirk of a smile to cross his face, sad and hopeful at the same time. Recognizing himself in the small boy for the thousandth time, all he can do is try to make the outcome better for him.
“You can be excited, you know. It's okay,” he says carefully. “It really is a pretty cool house.”
Dick's eyes flash toward him, the raging fire behind them unmasked so briefly that Bruce is almost unsure whether he saw it or not. “Yeah, I guess so,” the boy says as the car pulls up to the grand front entrance, stopping gently.
With a little chuckle, Bruce shakes his head, gesturing for him to go first when the driver comes around to open the door. “After you, Dick.”
The tiny acrobat stands stunned, though, as soon as his feet hit the ground and he looks up, taking in the entirety of the grand entrance, the marble columns and statuary looking more like a Greek temple than a house. He's tried so hard to keep his cool, to not let Bruce know what he was thinking, to not be excited, but all his careful control comes undone at the sight before him. This place... is just enormous! It finally sinks in that Bruce wasn't kidding about the house being a Manor, and he can't help but keep staring at it in utter awe.
From behind him, Bruce lays a hand on his shoulder. “Come on. Alfred will take your things up to your room, and I'll give you the tour.”
When Dick manages to shake off the shock, he looks to Bruce, eyes wide again and brow furrowed. “Tour? You're kidding, right?” He sweeps his gaze down the front expanse of the Manor. “That'll take an hour!” He can't imagine how many rooms this place must have...
“I've got time.”
Dick rolls his eyes, “Sure you do.”
Bruce can't stifle a laugh as it comes, and he catches the boy's disapproving look. “I've got all the time in the world.” Silently, he adds, Whatever it takes to make you feel at home.
Inside, Alfred greets them in the foyer, “Ah! Master Dick! It's a pleasure to finally meet you, young man.” He bends down slightly and offers his hand to shake.
Dick takes it, his face softening in the old butler's presence. He kinda figured from Bruce's description that the guy would be cool. “Good to meet you, too, Alfred.”
“Excellent well. Master Bruce, shall I show Master Dick to his bedroom?”
“Not yet. I'm giving him the tour first.”
An efficient nod. “Very well. I'll see to it his things are squared away.” Then Alfred's gone, taking their coats with him, and Dick wonders if the man used to be a ninja, he's so quick.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, Bruce looks to his small charge, now no longer able to hide his full, toothy smile. “All right then, what would you like to see first?”
Dick thinks for a minute, wondering just what could be exciting about this place, other than its apparent size. Then, “I dunno. What have you got around here that's as fun as the circus?”
Bruce's grin widens, “Well, I could show you around the main floor first, just so you can get your bearings, and then we can go downstairs and check out the gym.”
“You have a gym?” the boy asks, incredulous.
A quick nod, “Yep. Complete with all sorts of gymnastics equipment.”
“No way.”
“Yes, way,” Bruce laughs.
Dick's eyes are cerulean saucers now, and a brilliant grin breaches his sullen demeanor as he pumps a fist in front of him. “Yes!!” Even if he does have to stay in one place from now on, won't get to travel the world anymore, maybe it won't be quite so boring after all.
* * * * *
I can't believe how boring this is, Clark complains to himself as he takes notes at the last press conference of the foreign aid talks in downtown Gotham. He knows it could be worse, and it's certainly better than having another bombing plot to foil, but he just can't help being bored to tears at the false platitudes the US Secretary of State is giving the assembled group of foreign ambassadors. At least it'll make for a decent article to cap the series, he has to remind himself as he notes how insincere the dark-skinned woman seems. 'Secretary Mosely Makes Promises the US Can't Deliver.' Exactly.
Kind of like the promises he hasn't delivered on, either.
But the thought is so full of self-loathing that he can't entertain it for more than a moment. Bruce has been trying to get him to knock it off for months now, and he wonders why he's only just now getting the message.
Maybe it's because he's been listening to Jason.
Not on purpose, of course, but lately... he just can't seem to help it. Having overheard Lois's furious reaction to Jason's choice of costume for Halloween a week and a half ago definitely caught his attention. What irony that his son would pick Superman as a costume, knowing what the little boy knows?
“You take that off right now, Jason Samuel White!” Lois had fumed.
“But Mom!! I wanna be Superman! And I want Clark to know I wanna be Superman, too! I miss him!” Then there had been the sound of six-year-old feet stomping loudly up the stairs and the hard slam of a door. “Why did you have to make him go away!?” the little boy shouted angrily.
“Jason! That is-” she started, before Richard apparently stopped her.
“Lois! What the hell?” he said.
“Dammit, Richard. I will not have him dressing up as Superman for Halloween. Not now, not ever. Superman has no place in this house.” Her voice was cold and bitter, carrying just as much hate as it had when she'd told Clark to leave, and he couldn't help feeling stung by her venom.
“Clark is his father! How on Earth can you deny them that?”
“He gave up that right when he decided I didn't need to know,” she snapped.
“Oh, for the love of God, Lois, would you listen to yourself? You're acting like a completely spoiled...”
In the room upstairs, the sound of Jason's sobs finally canceled out everything else, shredding Clark's heart all over again.
Since then, he's caught snippets of conversation, Lois's disbelief that Jason outgrew another pair of pants, Jason playing with his Superman and Batman action figures - both of which he's sure Lois doesn't know about, but he suspects Richard bought for him - and more arguments. It seems like things are coming to a head in the Lane/White household, and it's making Clark nervous.
But he shakes off his sidetracked worry as the press conference comes to a close, turning his attention instead back to things at the Manor. Part of him has been focused on Dick's arrival for the last half hour, and he's been unable to feel anything but excitement for Bruce, imagining how his partner's excitement and nerves must be eating a hole in his stomach. He's listened to him giving the little boy his personalized tour of Wayne Manor, listened to the two getting better acquainted on Bruce's home turf. He can't wait to get back himself, hopefully in time to see Dick's reaction to the trapeze.
Stashing his notes in a jacket pocket and adjusting his glasses, he slips away from the gaggle of press to find a place to change. Thirty minute cab ride be damned.
* * * * *
Bruce is fighting to keep his demeanor subdued when they get to the gym, too excited and worried about what Dick will think of the trapeze. Hitting the switches by the entrance to the enormous room, he lights up everything but the newly installed apparatus at the far end of the gym, flooding it all with broad pools of light, not unlike the spotlights as the circus. Lucky for him that his original setup didn't need to be changed to give that effect.
Dick's reaction to the array of equipment comes in the form of a grin that seems to chase away every shadow in the room. “Wow!” the boy breathes, darting out toward some of the gymnastics apparatus. “This is awesome!”
Before Bruce can stop him, he's slipped off his shoes, dusted his hands in the bowl of chalk to one side, and is jumping up to grab the lowest in a set of uneven bars, swinging his legs into the air. “Whoa! Hold on! This is just the tour!” Bruce protests half-heartedly with a laugh, his planned scolding dying away with the joy of seeing Dick so eager to engage in something, seemingly unburdened for a precious moment. If he's this way with the bars, then maybe he'll be just as excited about the trapeze. Maybe.
Dick is already propelling himself up into a handstand, laughing and smiling. He pushes up to support himself with just one hand, head flung back to grin at Bruce, then grabs the bar fully again, and swings around, once, twice, three times. With a final swing and a burst of momentum, he releases the bar, tucking into a rolling flip, then straightens out just in time to land, snapping his feet together and standing straight, arms stretched up, victorious. He grins again, “I'd do more, but I need to get stretched out first. That's just a quick warm up.”
“No kidding,” Bruce smirks, coming forward to clasp him on the shoulder again. “I get the feeling you're gonna spend a lot of time down here.”
Dick gives his own wicked smile in return as they walk further into the immense gymnasium. With his heart a little lighter from his brief time on the bars, he can't help agreeing, “You bet. With this kind of equipment, I should be able to stay trained and all, even without-” But he can't seem to finish the sentence, thinking of the trapeze. He wants to get back on it so badly, he can still taste the scent of buttered popcorn in the air, can still feel the spotlights on him as he waves to the crowd. Falling quiet as he loses himself in his thoughts, he simply goes along with the tour through the huge room, Bruce respecting his reverie and pointing out various pieces of equipment along the way.
Bruce is eventually cut off, though, as another hand lands on Dick's opposite shoulder. “I hope I got here in time.”
The little boy looks up to see Bruce's friend smiling down at him, eyes wide behind thick-rimmed glasses that don't really seem to belong on his face. “Mister Clark!” he greets him, thoughts of longing for the circus slipping away momentarily. “You missed my flip from the uneven bars.”
“Oh, darn! Well, I hope I get to see you do it again,” Clark encourages, surprised and ecstatic that Dick seems so enthralled with the gym equipment. He's suddenly really glad he took the express route to get back to the Manor; nothing could compare to seeing their little acrobat's face so open and lit up for what he thinks might be the first time in weeks... well, almost nothing...
Dick grins widely, “I think I can arrange for a second show.”
And Clark is sure he means it in the purest sense, including his costume and lights and cotton candy and everything. “Great! I can't wait to see it.”
Clearing his throat, Bruce interrupts, looking devious. “Ahem. If you two are finished, we're here.”
Both Clark and Dick look with wide eyes at the Bat, his hand poised on a single switch in the middle of another wall-mounted control panel, and the reporter smiles crookedly. “Then I didn't miss it after all.”
“Huh? Miss what?” Dick questions, his eyebrow raised.
“This,” Bruce proclaims, flipping the switch.
With an electric hum, light floods the end of the gym, illuminating the set of trapeze bars high in the air and the platforms to either side, and instantly, the little acrobat's mouth is dropped open, his eyes so wide that Bruce wonders for a second if he's about to prolapse an eyeball. Which would be incredibly inconvenient, not to mention a painful way to ruin the moment.
Beside the little boy, Clark hears Dick's heart hammering furiously in his chest, his breathing quicken. “Dick?” he prompts.
When the boy remains silent, gaze transfixed on the trapeze so far above them, Bruce says, “This is all yours, Dick. What do you think?”
“I... Uh...” But Dick is still completely speechless, not knowing what to think. He never expected anything even close to this. Never thought Bruce would actually have a trapeze. Staring up at the illuminated bars and platforms, he can see his Mom and Dad smiling and waving at the crowd, taking the bar in hand, swinging off, flipping and catching, twisting and flying. He refuses to think of the day he lost them, won't even let the image flicker over his mind's eye; his parents wouldn't have wanted that, and he knows it. They would have wanted him to remember the show, the roar of the crowd, the rush of air when you're sailing just right, tucking and rolling, to catch the waiting arms reaching for you from the other bar. His heart starts to feel like it's squeezing itself to death with gratitude, anger, grief, and pride all at once. All he wants is to remember them, to never forget them, to honor their legacy. To show the world that their deaths can't stop the show. They were the Flying Graysons. And he still is.
After a long time, he finally manages to shake off his shock and rush of emotion enough to stammer, “Th-thank you! I... um... thank you so much!”
The choked sob in his throat is audible to both men as Dick throws his arms around Bruce's middle. “Thank you,” he repeats, finally breaking down into tears, overwhelmed by it all. He doesn't know what to do except hug Bruce, hard, the image of his parents smiling at him behind his eyes forcing his tears out in a flood. He misses them so much...
Bruce smooths down his unruly hair and holds him close, Clark laying warm hands both of their shoulders.
“Hey, hey, shhh...” Bruce soothes. “It's the least I could do for you, Dick. You deserve so much. So much more than even I can give you.”
Tear-filled blue eyes turn up to him. “I... I never thought... I mean, you're giving me a place to stay, with an awesome gym and a cool butler and all, and that's awesome, but... I don't know how to thank you. Mom... and Dad...” He starts to sob again, continuing brokenly with his face buried in Bruce's shirt, “I... m-miss them, and... now... I can remember them every day, and... and... and fly on the trapeze, like I'm supposed to... and...”
Bruce holds him that much tighter, knowing Dick must be exhausted and overwhelmed from his internal struggle between grief and excitement. “I'm so glad you like it. All I can ask is that you enjoy it. I just want you to be happy.”
For a moment, Clark starts to feel guilty, like he's intruding on a private moment between them, but then Bruce's arm reaches out and encircles him, drawing him into the hug. He can't help smiling again as he melts into Bruce; he's so happy for him, for Dick, so excited to be a part of this, to witness the sun finally peeking through the clouds that have hung over his partner and the little boy for the last few weeks.
At the back of his mind, he knows that there's only one thing that can make this seed of a family even better. Letting the bittersweet thought wash over him, he sighs.
Then Dick is looking up at Bruce again, his eyes expectant as he swipes his sleeve across his face. “Are you gonna come up on it with me? Even if you've never been on one before, I can teach you. Please?”
Clark and Bruce laugh heartily; the answer is a most definite 'yes'.
* * * * *
Fandom: DCU (Superman Returns/Batman Begins)
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4,894 (this section)
Summary: (this section) Clark and Bruce have a heart to heart in the Cave after the fight with Zucco. The next day, Dick finally arrives at the Manor.
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 4
Clark is just getting back to the Manor himself, surprisingly tired after a long night spent working an earthquake in Chile, when he finds Bruce just ahead of him on his way into the Cave. Thundering past the waterfall, the Tumbler growls its way to a stop, and Clark can't help a little smirk at the oddly angled vehicle that he's been more than amused to start calling “The Batmobile”. Needless to say, Bruce hasn't quite shared his enthusiasm, but teasing him about it has been half the fun.
Speeding through the Cave, the Kryptonian meets his partner as the Bat is stepping out of the car, stripping off his cowl in what Clark can clearly read as frustration. “What's wrong?” he asks immediately as he touches down next to his lover, knowing Bruce won't have a word of small talk if there's something bothering him. So much for teasing him about the Tumbler.
An irritated grumble meets him in return as the Bat makes his way to the changing area and shower he personally installed in the rebuild.
“That bad, huh?” Clark continues as he follows, stripping off his own suit along with Bruce in the cool, wet cavern air. Capes join gauntlets and belts on the narrow metal bench in front of the handful of stainless steel lockers and the special case for the Bat suit, pooling dark red, yellow, and black.
Shrugging off the heavy chest armor to hang it in the case, Bruce shakes his head, finally turning to catch Clark's gaze, his thick, dark hair sweat-damp and falling almost into his eyes. “He was there, Clark. Dick was there.”
For a moment, the Kryptonian is confused. “What?” he lifts his eyebrows in question as he sits on the bench to tug his boots off.
“I tracked Zucco back to the circus. Dick was there. Almost got himself killed.” Finishing the statement angrily, Bruce reaches down to yank his own boots off and toss them unceremoniously into the case, then leans heavily against it with his palms. “He went back to try to stop Zucco from hurting anyone else. He went back to stop Zucco,” he repeats, hanging his head low. “He's ten goddamn years old, Clark. Ten! And...”
Clark's heart wrenches in his chest at Bruce's raging shock. Rising to lay a hand on his partner's bare shoulder, he tries to soothe him, “But he's all right.”
“Of course he's not all right!” the Bat snaps, standing straight and pulling out of Clark's grasp. “He... he's just a kid! He's gonna grow up way too damn fast, and there's nothing I can do about it. I thought... I thought maybe I could help him... but... Dammit, he's got that same... fire... burning inside him. The same one I did.”
At this point, Clark figures it's best just to let Bruce get it all out; it's almost a rare occasion when the other man decides to let go like this. So he just presses his lips together in a sad smile and looks at him encouragingly, pleading silently for him to continue.
“And you know what the really shitty part is?” Bruce grumbles. At Clark's head shake, he grinds out, “The kid is a pretty damn good fighter, for a ten-year-old. Hell, I didn't even know he was there until he attacked one of Zucco's men.”
Impressed, Clark lets out a low whistle, his eyes wide. “That's... that's no easy accomplishment.”
“No kidding. And! He did it wearing that shiny spandex costume.”
The taller man grimaces, desperate to hide his sudden amusement at Bruce's obvious embarrassment. No way the Bat should have missed someone in bright, sparkling colors. “I guess it's a good thing he's on our side?” he ventures.
Bruce frowns, his body still tense, and after a momentary stare-down his shoulders relax, if only marginally. “And a good thing the Joker isn't that talented.”
“There's that,” Clark chuckles, reaching up then to cup Bruce's face in his palm, thumb running over his cheek.
Exhaling heavily, Bruce nuzzles a bit into the Kryptonian's hand, letting his eyes fall closed. “This is a lot more serious-” he cuts himself off, then starts again, “Dick is a lot more than just some kid that knows how to work a trapeze, Clark. He's a lot more than I think we're giving him credit for.” He opens his eyes again to meet Clark's in a hard gaze. “Dick is a smart kid. He's skilled, and he's damn mature for his age. He's gonna have us figured out in exactly two minutes when he sets foot inside the Manor.” When Clark opens his mouth to interrupt, Bruce cuts him off, “And then he'll be all over us to train him to fight crime like The Goddamn Batman does.”
At this, Clark drops his hand, his brow furrowing, and he sits hard on the metal bench, leaning his elbows on his knees, hands clasped. It's something he's thought a lot about, considering his own son. Jason will most likely develop some abilities as he grows up, and what then? If Lois lets him, will he come calling to have Clark train him up as a superhero? He remembers the little boy's smile the last time he saw him, all bright and happy and just ecstatic to have someone to hang around with in the bullpen while Mom and Dad were off tending to who-knows-what for the paper. He wonders what might have already changed...
As usual, he has to force himself to remember that this just isn't about him. This has nothing to do with him and Jason, and everything to do with Bruce, and the child that's about to make his grand entrance into their lives. He knows his partner's instincts are right about this; it probably won't take Dick any time at all to connect the dots and realize he's living with Batman and Superman. As he's reminded that Jason already knows his own secret, it takes him a moment to notice Bruce is scowling down at him, arms crossed over his chest.
“I know we haven't really discussed this part of the plan yet,” Bruce says calmly, softly, seeming to Clark to be the study in contrasts the Kryptonian has loved since they met. “I was hoping the identity issue would work itself out naturally... but this just puts a whole new twist on things.”
Nodding up at him, Clark grips the edge of the bench tightly, sitting up. “It does. But the fact that Dick is all of ten should make it easier for you to tell him 'no'.”
Still scowling, Bruce plops down next to Clark. “That's the thing... I... I don't know if I really want to tell him 'no', should he ask.”
Clark considers the statement a while, feeling a slight bit of panic squeezing his chest. “It's your decision, Bruce,” he says finally, carefully. “I'm... probably not the best person to consult for advice of this magnitude, anyway, considering I have absolutely no idea what to do if Jason were to ask me the same thing.”
“That's different,” the half-naked billionaire protests. “At least you would have a reason to say 'yes'; Jason'll probably wind up with half your powers and be nigh invulnerable. Dick... Dick is human. Just like me.” He frowns again, staring painfully up at the chest armor in the case. “Every night I go out, I know damn well it could be my last. What right have I got to put a kid in danger like that?”
Finally having heard enough of Bruce's agonizing over a decision that doesn't even need to be made yet, a decision that will take plenty of time to be made when it does come around, Clark grasps the other man's chin with his fingertips to turn him and capture his attention fully, then takes his lover's face in both hands, pulling him close this time. “Bruce,” he says, letting his voice drop into his more commanding register. “He's not even here yet. Let's just deal with one thing at a time, okay?”
Hesitantly, Bruce nods.
With a slight smile, Clark pulls his lover to him for a firm kiss, pressing close and hard, tasting the salty sweetness of sweat on Bruce's lips when the kiss deepens. He feels the other man relent beneath him, muscles easing, hears his heart slow and speed up appropriately, and it's good, a really good feeling.
When they break apart, the Kryptonian smiles again, leaning his forehead against Bruce's. “Now, Zucco's behind bars?”
“Check.”
“All the paperwork is done, and you've met with the required people? The social workers and the judge?”
“Thank God, check,” Bruce sighs.
“Then tomorrow's gonna be a big day, so, first item on the agenda: getting Dick moved in and acclimated to living here.”
“He doesn't have much to move in, but the acclimation... that's easier said than done.”
“Alfred would be shocked to hear you say that. He'll have Dick enthralled with sordid tales of Waynes long past over cookies and milk in no time.”
Finally, a real, if faint, smile emerges from beneath the Bat. “Damn right he will.”
“You know,” Clark muses with a smile, “you're adorable when you're being neurotic.”
“It's called brooding, wise-ass,” Bruce glowers back. “And it's not adorable.”
Clark can only grin at him.
* * * * *
This big day finds Bruce sitting nervously across from Dick in the back of his car, watching the little boy's guarded expression as they turn up the long drive toward the Manor. He can sense the excitement in his posture, though, Dick leaning forward fractionally to get a better look. Bruce's heart is pumping adrenaline in a futile exercise in anxiety as he studies him, waits to see what the next view will bring out in him.
Perched on the backward-facing seat, Dick is all too aware of the man's gaze on him. He knows Bruce is waiting to see how excited he'll be at the sight of the Manor. Joke's on him; Dick doesn't really care about the snooty mansion, as huge as it might be. No, after last night's... fight, then talking with The Batman, he has other things to wonder about. Nothing like meeting one of your two favorite superheroes to put things into perspective. And since Batman made sure Zucco and his jerks were put in jail, Dick feels like at least one huge weight has been lifted off him, anyway. He doesn't know what might have happened if the hero hadn't shown up when he did, but he does know he would have done everything he could to kick the crap out the guys that killed his Mom and Dad.
None of that can change the fact that his parents are gone, though; he isn't that stupid. Sure, he knows Bruce will probably try to find stuff to keep his mind off it, keep him occupied. Maybe even... if the guy is really as smart and as cool as Dick thinks he might be, and if what Batman told him about Bruce caring about him is true, then Bruce won't keep him away from the circus. He'll find a way to...
Thinking about the circus just makes him homesick all over again. The possibility that he might not get to go back at all has been killing him ever since those crazy child services people took him away and stuck him in a foster home. It's been the worst two weeks of his entire life. He can't stand even thinking it, that he might never see Keela the lion tamer or Zippy the head clown again. His whole life is the circus! The people there are practically his family, his aunts and uncles, and not being around them just makes him want to cry again.
But he can't cry again. Not anymore. Not after last night. And he can't be excited, either. He doesn't want to be. He doesn't know if his Mom and Dad would want him to be excited, but he just knows he can't. It's that combination that's kept him stoic for the drive from the heart of Gotham all the way out to Wayne Manor. As cool as it was that he got to meet the Batman, and as cool as it might be that he's going to live in a huge Manor, he can't let Bruce know what's going on in his head. Not yet.
It's just another performance.
And then, finally, the Manor comes into view, huge and imposing and looking like it's got about a million secrets to tell, and Dick can't keep his heart from practically skipping a beat...
Bruce doesn't have to wait any longer for a change in Dick's demeanor. Sparkling blue eyes widen as the house is revealed, mouth falling open in surprise for a moment, until the little boy seems to remember his planned detachment and closes himself off again. It's not fast enough though, and Bruce allows a tiny quirk of a smile to cross his face, sad and hopeful at the same time. Recognizing himself in the small boy for the thousandth time, all he can do is try to make the outcome better for him.
“You can be excited, you know. It's okay,” he says carefully. “It really is a pretty cool house.”
Dick's eyes flash toward him, the raging fire behind them unmasked so briefly that Bruce is almost unsure whether he saw it or not. “Yeah, I guess so,” the boy says as the car pulls up to the grand front entrance, stopping gently.
With a little chuckle, Bruce shakes his head, gesturing for him to go first when the driver comes around to open the door. “After you, Dick.”
The tiny acrobat stands stunned, though, as soon as his feet hit the ground and he looks up, taking in the entirety of the grand entrance, the marble columns and statuary looking more like a Greek temple than a house. He's tried so hard to keep his cool, to not let Bruce know what he was thinking, to not be excited, but all his careful control comes undone at the sight before him. This place... is just enormous! It finally sinks in that Bruce wasn't kidding about the house being a Manor, and he can't help but keep staring at it in utter awe.
From behind him, Bruce lays a hand on his shoulder. “Come on. Alfred will take your things up to your room, and I'll give you the tour.”
When Dick manages to shake off the shock, he looks to Bruce, eyes wide again and brow furrowed. “Tour? You're kidding, right?” He sweeps his gaze down the front expanse of the Manor. “That'll take an hour!” He can't imagine how many rooms this place must have...
“I've got time.”
Dick rolls his eyes, “Sure you do.”
Bruce can't stifle a laugh as it comes, and he catches the boy's disapproving look. “I've got all the time in the world.” Silently, he adds, Whatever it takes to make you feel at home.
Inside, Alfred greets them in the foyer, “Ah! Master Dick! It's a pleasure to finally meet you, young man.” He bends down slightly and offers his hand to shake.
Dick takes it, his face softening in the old butler's presence. He kinda figured from Bruce's description that the guy would be cool. “Good to meet you, too, Alfred.”
“Excellent well. Master Bruce, shall I show Master Dick to his bedroom?”
“Not yet. I'm giving him the tour first.”
An efficient nod. “Very well. I'll see to it his things are squared away.” Then Alfred's gone, taking their coats with him, and Dick wonders if the man used to be a ninja, he's so quick.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, Bruce looks to his small charge, now no longer able to hide his full, toothy smile. “All right then, what would you like to see first?”
Dick thinks for a minute, wondering just what could be exciting about this place, other than its apparent size. Then, “I dunno. What have you got around here that's as fun as the circus?”
Bruce's grin widens, “Well, I could show you around the main floor first, just so you can get your bearings, and then we can go downstairs and check out the gym.”
“You have a gym?” the boy asks, incredulous.
A quick nod, “Yep. Complete with all sorts of gymnastics equipment.”
“No way.”
“Yes, way,” Bruce laughs.
Dick's eyes are cerulean saucers now, and a brilliant grin breaches his sullen demeanor as he pumps a fist in front of him. “Yes!!” Even if he does have to stay in one place from now on, won't get to travel the world anymore, maybe it won't be quite so boring after all.
* * * * *
I can't believe how boring this is, Clark complains to himself as he takes notes at the last press conference of the foreign aid talks in downtown Gotham. He knows it could be worse, and it's certainly better than having another bombing plot to foil, but he just can't help being bored to tears at the false platitudes the US Secretary of State is giving the assembled group of foreign ambassadors. At least it'll make for a decent article to cap the series, he has to remind himself as he notes how insincere the dark-skinned woman seems. 'Secretary Mosely Makes Promises the US Can't Deliver.' Exactly.
Kind of like the promises he hasn't delivered on, either.
But the thought is so full of self-loathing that he can't entertain it for more than a moment. Bruce has been trying to get him to knock it off for months now, and he wonders why he's only just now getting the message.
Maybe it's because he's been listening to Jason.
Not on purpose, of course, but lately... he just can't seem to help it. Having overheard Lois's furious reaction to Jason's choice of costume for Halloween a week and a half ago definitely caught his attention. What irony that his son would pick Superman as a costume, knowing what the little boy knows?
“You take that off right now, Jason Samuel White!” Lois had fumed.
“But Mom!! I wanna be Superman! And I want Clark to know I wanna be Superman, too! I miss him!” Then there had been the sound of six-year-old feet stomping loudly up the stairs and the hard slam of a door. “Why did you have to make him go away!?” the little boy shouted angrily.
“Jason! That is-” she started, before Richard apparently stopped her.
“Lois! What the hell?” he said.
“Dammit, Richard. I will not have him dressing up as Superman for Halloween. Not now, not ever. Superman has no place in this house.” Her voice was cold and bitter, carrying just as much hate as it had when she'd told Clark to leave, and he couldn't help feeling stung by her venom.
“Clark is his father! How on Earth can you deny them that?”
“He gave up that right when he decided I didn't need to know,” she snapped.
“Oh, for the love of God, Lois, would you listen to yourself? You're acting like a completely spoiled...”
In the room upstairs, the sound of Jason's sobs finally canceled out everything else, shredding Clark's heart all over again.
Since then, he's caught snippets of conversation, Lois's disbelief that Jason outgrew another pair of pants, Jason playing with his Superman and Batman action figures - both of which he's sure Lois doesn't know about, but he suspects Richard bought for him - and more arguments. It seems like things are coming to a head in the Lane/White household, and it's making Clark nervous.
But he shakes off his sidetracked worry as the press conference comes to a close, turning his attention instead back to things at the Manor. Part of him has been focused on Dick's arrival for the last half hour, and he's been unable to feel anything but excitement for Bruce, imagining how his partner's excitement and nerves must be eating a hole in his stomach. He's listened to him giving the little boy his personalized tour of Wayne Manor, listened to the two getting better acquainted on Bruce's home turf. He can't wait to get back himself, hopefully in time to see Dick's reaction to the trapeze.
Stashing his notes in a jacket pocket and adjusting his glasses, he slips away from the gaggle of press to find a place to change. Thirty minute cab ride be damned.
* * * * *
Bruce is fighting to keep his demeanor subdued when they get to the gym, too excited and worried about what Dick will think of the trapeze. Hitting the switches by the entrance to the enormous room, he lights up everything but the newly installed apparatus at the far end of the gym, flooding it all with broad pools of light, not unlike the spotlights as the circus. Lucky for him that his original setup didn't need to be changed to give that effect.
Dick's reaction to the array of equipment comes in the form of a grin that seems to chase away every shadow in the room. “Wow!” the boy breathes, darting out toward some of the gymnastics apparatus. “This is awesome!”
Before Bruce can stop him, he's slipped off his shoes, dusted his hands in the bowl of chalk to one side, and is jumping up to grab the lowest in a set of uneven bars, swinging his legs into the air. “Whoa! Hold on! This is just the tour!” Bruce protests half-heartedly with a laugh, his planned scolding dying away with the joy of seeing Dick so eager to engage in something, seemingly unburdened for a precious moment. If he's this way with the bars, then maybe he'll be just as excited about the trapeze. Maybe.
Dick is already propelling himself up into a handstand, laughing and smiling. He pushes up to support himself with just one hand, head flung back to grin at Bruce, then grabs the bar fully again, and swings around, once, twice, three times. With a final swing and a burst of momentum, he releases the bar, tucking into a rolling flip, then straightens out just in time to land, snapping his feet together and standing straight, arms stretched up, victorious. He grins again, “I'd do more, but I need to get stretched out first. That's just a quick warm up.”
“No kidding,” Bruce smirks, coming forward to clasp him on the shoulder again. “I get the feeling you're gonna spend a lot of time down here.”
Dick gives his own wicked smile in return as they walk further into the immense gymnasium. With his heart a little lighter from his brief time on the bars, he can't help agreeing, “You bet. With this kind of equipment, I should be able to stay trained and all, even without-” But he can't seem to finish the sentence, thinking of the trapeze. He wants to get back on it so badly, he can still taste the scent of buttered popcorn in the air, can still feel the spotlights on him as he waves to the crowd. Falling quiet as he loses himself in his thoughts, he simply goes along with the tour through the huge room, Bruce respecting his reverie and pointing out various pieces of equipment along the way.
Bruce is eventually cut off, though, as another hand lands on Dick's opposite shoulder. “I hope I got here in time.”
The little boy looks up to see Bruce's friend smiling down at him, eyes wide behind thick-rimmed glasses that don't really seem to belong on his face. “Mister Clark!” he greets him, thoughts of longing for the circus slipping away momentarily. “You missed my flip from the uneven bars.”
“Oh, darn! Well, I hope I get to see you do it again,” Clark encourages, surprised and ecstatic that Dick seems so enthralled with the gym equipment. He's suddenly really glad he took the express route to get back to the Manor; nothing could compare to seeing their little acrobat's face so open and lit up for what he thinks might be the first time in weeks... well, almost nothing...
Dick grins widely, “I think I can arrange for a second show.”
And Clark is sure he means it in the purest sense, including his costume and lights and cotton candy and everything. “Great! I can't wait to see it.”
Clearing his throat, Bruce interrupts, looking devious. “Ahem. If you two are finished, we're here.”
Both Clark and Dick look with wide eyes at the Bat, his hand poised on a single switch in the middle of another wall-mounted control panel, and the reporter smiles crookedly. “Then I didn't miss it after all.”
“Huh? Miss what?” Dick questions, his eyebrow raised.
“This,” Bruce proclaims, flipping the switch.
With an electric hum, light floods the end of the gym, illuminating the set of trapeze bars high in the air and the platforms to either side, and instantly, the little acrobat's mouth is dropped open, his eyes so wide that Bruce wonders for a second if he's about to prolapse an eyeball. Which would be incredibly inconvenient, not to mention a painful way to ruin the moment.
Beside the little boy, Clark hears Dick's heart hammering furiously in his chest, his breathing quicken. “Dick?” he prompts.
When the boy remains silent, gaze transfixed on the trapeze so far above them, Bruce says, “This is all yours, Dick. What do you think?”
“I... Uh...” But Dick is still completely speechless, not knowing what to think. He never expected anything even close to this. Never thought Bruce would actually have a trapeze. Staring up at the illuminated bars and platforms, he can see his Mom and Dad smiling and waving at the crowd, taking the bar in hand, swinging off, flipping and catching, twisting and flying. He refuses to think of the day he lost them, won't even let the image flicker over his mind's eye; his parents wouldn't have wanted that, and he knows it. They would have wanted him to remember the show, the roar of the crowd, the rush of air when you're sailing just right, tucking and rolling, to catch the waiting arms reaching for you from the other bar. His heart starts to feel like it's squeezing itself to death with gratitude, anger, grief, and pride all at once. All he wants is to remember them, to never forget them, to honor their legacy. To show the world that their deaths can't stop the show. They were the Flying Graysons. And he still is.
After a long time, he finally manages to shake off his shock and rush of emotion enough to stammer, “Th-thank you! I... um... thank you so much!”
The choked sob in his throat is audible to both men as Dick throws his arms around Bruce's middle. “Thank you,” he repeats, finally breaking down into tears, overwhelmed by it all. He doesn't know what to do except hug Bruce, hard, the image of his parents smiling at him behind his eyes forcing his tears out in a flood. He misses them so much...
Bruce smooths down his unruly hair and holds him close, Clark laying warm hands both of their shoulders.
“Hey, hey, shhh...” Bruce soothes. “It's the least I could do for you, Dick. You deserve so much. So much more than even I can give you.”
Tear-filled blue eyes turn up to him. “I... I never thought... I mean, you're giving me a place to stay, with an awesome gym and a cool butler and all, and that's awesome, but... I don't know how to thank you. Mom... and Dad...” He starts to sob again, continuing brokenly with his face buried in Bruce's shirt, “I... m-miss them, and... now... I can remember them every day, and... and... and fly on the trapeze, like I'm supposed to... and...”
Bruce holds him that much tighter, knowing Dick must be exhausted and overwhelmed from his internal struggle between grief and excitement. “I'm so glad you like it. All I can ask is that you enjoy it. I just want you to be happy.”
For a moment, Clark starts to feel guilty, like he's intruding on a private moment between them, but then Bruce's arm reaches out and encircles him, drawing him into the hug. He can't help smiling again as he melts into Bruce; he's so happy for him, for Dick, so excited to be a part of this, to witness the sun finally peeking through the clouds that have hung over his partner and the little boy for the last few weeks.
At the back of his mind, he knows that there's only one thing that can make this seed of a family even better. Letting the bittersweet thought wash over him, he sighs.
Then Dick is looking up at Bruce again, his eyes expectant as he swipes his sleeve across his face. “Are you gonna come up on it with me? Even if you've never been on one before, I can teach you. Please?”
Clark and Bruce laugh heartily; the answer is a most definite 'yes'.
* * * * *