Fic: Heart of a Stone (Clark/Bruce) (1/?)
Title: Heart of a Stone
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Superman/Batman
Rating: Adult
Status: WIP
Warnings: Slash, explicit m/m sex
Tags: Plot-intensive; Angst
Summary: Seven years after their tumultuous summer in Metropolis, Clark and Bruce meet again in Gotham, under the watchful gaze of Alfred Pennyworth.
Prior chapters can be found HERE.
1-
Today…in Gotham City…
He hated this city, hated the way the sun beat off the pavement in waves in the late August heat, with no air circulating because the buildings were too close together, making everyone sweaty and miserable, and even though the heat didn't affect him directly it made the people he had to deal with short-tempered and irritable. At least, that's the only rational explanation he could come up with for the fact that no one seemed able to smile in this city, and not one person had the time or patience to help another with a problem.
Clark Kent set his duffle bag on the sidewalk by a bench just outside the main gates of Gotham University and took a seat. The financial aid office had messed up his paperwork for his fellowship, and he'd had no notification of the problem until just now, when he was trying to complete orientation and get settled. His registration for classes was in danger of being canceled if he didn't come up with the balance of his tuition payment before five p.m., but that wasn't his only problem. He had a little bit of money, a few thousand dollars that he could use to pay his tuition, but if he used his money for tuition until his fellowship came through, he couldn't afford to pay for student housing.
A young woman, not watching her step because she was avidly thumb typing on a portable device, tripped over the edge of his duffle. Clark reached out quickly, using his super speed judiciously to stop her from falling. He received a vicious glare for his trouble, and the woman pulled her arm out of his grasp as if he had tried to molest her. He sat back down on the wooden bench and sighed, making sure to tuck his bag behind his feet. In the two years since he had completed his training and was released from the Fortress, he had traveled all over the world, trying to get to know his adopted planet as more than just a computer simulation, learning the interpersonal aspect of how best to help when his help was needed. He had to admit, in all his travels, he had never encountered a place quite like Gotham City.
Two years. He was stuck in this city for at least two years. It was a depressing thought, and it made him seriously doubt his decision to pursue this fellowship at all. It wasn't as if he needed-
But no. He had promised himself he would build a life, that the person his parents had raised wouldn't just disappear because he had this new identity, this heritage from a dead world and a people who only existed in the past. He had made a decision to be Clark Kent, and he couldn't just give up because he hated Gotham City and the city seemed to hate him right back.
He would pay his tuition, worry about housing and living expenses afterwards. After all, he could simply fly home to Smallville every evening…
Clark winced. So much for surviving as Clark Kent.
The bank was his next stop. He checked his watch. It was early afternoon and he had more than enough time to withdraw some money and make it back to campus. Of course, the school didn't trust anyone to pay by check at this late date. He got up, hefted his duffle and briefly considered asking someone for directions. He decided against it almost immediately. The people walked so fast here. Just as he was about to open his mouth, the person was already past him and down the street, and it seemed eye contact and greetings were out of the question.
Instead, he picked a direction and started walking. Six blocks later, he saw a gathering of police cars, and a large crowd of people, and officers with bull horns were making announcements, asking the crowd to step back behind a hastily erected police barricade. Two white media vans pulled up with a squeal of tires, and camera crews jumped out and started setting up equipment. Clark angled himself through the crowd, trying to find out what was going on.
It became clear immediately that a bank robbery was in progress. No one would bother speaking to him directly but he caught snatches of conversation, even without his super hearing, and the clear target of the bulk of police activity was the National Bank of Gotham, an impressive five-story building with a marble Greco-Roman façade. He was about to try to make his way to the side and front of the crowd, preparing to lend a hand if it became necessary, when he heard the sharp sound of a gunshot inside the building. Obviously, no one else could hear it, but Clark dropped his bag and was inside the bank in two blinks, just in time to place himself between another bullet and its intended target-a man who looked to be in his late thirties, lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood, with a gunshot wound to the stomach. Clark snatched the gun from the perpetrator, crushed it into scrap and punched the man in the face, knocking him out cold, all in less time than it took to draw two breaths.
The other bank patrons were screaming and cowering together, and the remaining robbers were panicking. One masked man shot off his gun at the ceiling, increasing the hysteria. Quickly, Clark used his super speed to disarm the criminals, gather them all up, and deposit them in an office, welding the door shut with his heat vision.
Then he was back at the side of the injured man, who, miraculously, was still conscious, though he had lost a lot of blood. He blinked at Clark owlishly with pain-filled eyes as Clark gathered him up, gasped at the rush of wind as Clark sped them to the hospital-which was one of the few places he had marked during his short time in the city. Common sense told him that it would be best for the man if he got primary medical attention immediately, and didn't have to wait on the paramedics. His wound was serious, and Clark could tell from the thready sound of his vitals that his condition was critical.
When Clark reached the emergency room, carrying his injured charge, covered in blood, he looked down at the person he had just saved as he passed him to the doctors and nurses who were scurrying around him in controlled chaos. The face-it was familiar to him. Older, sure, but Clark's memory was picture perfect.
"I know you," Clark whispered as he released his grip on the man who was now being wheeled into surgery. "Your name is Alfred."
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Superman/Batman
Rating: Adult
Status: WIP
Warnings: Slash, explicit m/m sex
Tags: Plot-intensive; Angst
Summary: Seven years after their tumultuous summer in Metropolis, Clark and Bruce meet again in Gotham, under the watchful gaze of Alfred Pennyworth.
Prior chapters can be found HERE.
1-
Today…in Gotham City…
He hated this city, hated the way the sun beat off the pavement in waves in the late August heat, with no air circulating because the buildings were too close together, making everyone sweaty and miserable, and even though the heat didn't affect him directly it made the people he had to deal with short-tempered and irritable. At least, that's the only rational explanation he could come up with for the fact that no one seemed able to smile in this city, and not one person had the time or patience to help another with a problem.
Clark Kent set his duffle bag on the sidewalk by a bench just outside the main gates of Gotham University and took a seat. The financial aid office had messed up his paperwork for his fellowship, and he'd had no notification of the problem until just now, when he was trying to complete orientation and get settled. His registration for classes was in danger of being canceled if he didn't come up with the balance of his tuition payment before five p.m., but that wasn't his only problem. He had a little bit of money, a few thousand dollars that he could use to pay his tuition, but if he used his money for tuition until his fellowship came through, he couldn't afford to pay for student housing.
A young woman, not watching her step because she was avidly thumb typing on a portable device, tripped over the edge of his duffle. Clark reached out quickly, using his super speed judiciously to stop her from falling. He received a vicious glare for his trouble, and the woman pulled her arm out of his grasp as if he had tried to molest her. He sat back down on the wooden bench and sighed, making sure to tuck his bag behind his feet. In the two years since he had completed his training and was released from the Fortress, he had traveled all over the world, trying to get to know his adopted planet as more than just a computer simulation, learning the interpersonal aspect of how best to help when his help was needed. He had to admit, in all his travels, he had never encountered a place quite like Gotham City.
Two years. He was stuck in this city for at least two years. It was a depressing thought, and it made him seriously doubt his decision to pursue this fellowship at all. It wasn't as if he needed-
But no. He had promised himself he would build a life, that the person his parents had raised wouldn't just disappear because he had this new identity, this heritage from a dead world and a people who only existed in the past. He had made a decision to be Clark Kent, and he couldn't just give up because he hated Gotham City and the city seemed to hate him right back.
He would pay his tuition, worry about housing and living expenses afterwards. After all, he could simply fly home to Smallville every evening…
Clark winced. So much for surviving as Clark Kent.
The bank was his next stop. He checked his watch. It was early afternoon and he had more than enough time to withdraw some money and make it back to campus. Of course, the school didn't trust anyone to pay by check at this late date. He got up, hefted his duffle and briefly considered asking someone for directions. He decided against it almost immediately. The people walked so fast here. Just as he was about to open his mouth, the person was already past him and down the street, and it seemed eye contact and greetings were out of the question.
Instead, he picked a direction and started walking. Six blocks later, he saw a gathering of police cars, and a large crowd of people, and officers with bull horns were making announcements, asking the crowd to step back behind a hastily erected police barricade. Two white media vans pulled up with a squeal of tires, and camera crews jumped out and started setting up equipment. Clark angled himself through the crowd, trying to find out what was going on.
It became clear immediately that a bank robbery was in progress. No one would bother speaking to him directly but he caught snatches of conversation, even without his super hearing, and the clear target of the bulk of police activity was the National Bank of Gotham, an impressive five-story building with a marble Greco-Roman façade. He was about to try to make his way to the side and front of the crowd, preparing to lend a hand if it became necessary, when he heard the sharp sound of a gunshot inside the building. Obviously, no one else could hear it, but Clark dropped his bag and was inside the bank in two blinks, just in time to place himself between another bullet and its intended target-a man who looked to be in his late thirties, lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood, with a gunshot wound to the stomach. Clark snatched the gun from the perpetrator, crushed it into scrap and punched the man in the face, knocking him out cold, all in less time than it took to draw two breaths.
The other bank patrons were screaming and cowering together, and the remaining robbers were panicking. One masked man shot off his gun at the ceiling, increasing the hysteria. Quickly, Clark used his super speed to disarm the criminals, gather them all up, and deposit them in an office, welding the door shut with his heat vision.
Then he was back at the side of the injured man, who, miraculously, was still conscious, though he had lost a lot of blood. He blinked at Clark owlishly with pain-filled eyes as Clark gathered him up, gasped at the rush of wind as Clark sped them to the hospital-which was one of the few places he had marked during his short time in the city. Common sense told him that it would be best for the man if he got primary medical attention immediately, and didn't have to wait on the paramedics. His wound was serious, and Clark could tell from the thready sound of his vitals that his condition was critical.
When Clark reached the emergency room, carrying his injured charge, covered in blood, he looked down at the person he had just saved as he passed him to the doctors and nurses who were scurrying around him in controlled chaos. The face-it was familiar to him. Older, sure, but Clark's memory was picture perfect.
"I know you," Clark whispered as he released his grip on the man who was now being wheeled into surgery. "Your name is Alfred."