Syncopation: Chapter One

[jij]

Title:  Syncopation:  Chapter One
Pairing:  Clark/Bruce
Disclaimer: The boys belong to DC and to each other, but not to me.
Notes: Syncopation is an arc set in the same universe as the combined movieverse Music of the Spheres.  The whole series can be found here.
Rating: PG
Summary:  Harvey Dent begins his tenure as Gotham D.A., and deals with meeting both his old friend, Bruce Wayne, and his fellow crusader, Batman.
Word Count: 4600

Syncopation: the process of displacing 'expected' beats by anticipation or delay of one-half a beat.  This adds a flavor of ambiguity as to where the beat is...

"He's only five minutes late, Bruce.  He'll show."  Clark Kent watched Bruce Wayne pacing outside a high-class Gotham restaurant.  They were meeting the new District Attorney for lunch.  Bruce took another awkward pivot, stalking by Clark like a caged animal.

Clark had never seen Bruce so filled with apprehension before.

He reached out and grabbed his lover's arm as Bruce made another pass.  "Bruce.  I thought you said you two were old college friends?  What's to worry about?"

Bruce sighed and ran a hand through his hair, rumpling it.  It made him look very young.  "We didn't really part on friendly terms.  And it's been almost six years.  But he sounded okay on the phone.  I mean, busy, harried, but okay.  Anyone can sound okay on the phone for a few minutes though..."

"Bruce?  You're babbling."

Bruce frowned.  "I am, aren't I?"  He looked at Clark and flashed a small, apologetic smile.  "I'm sorry.  Harvey's opinion always meant a lot to me.  And he never really took me seriously."  A shadow passed over Bruce's face.  "He hated me, at the end.  For quitting.  Being a coward."

"You're not a coward."

A deep breath.  "Oh, but I was, Clark.  I was."

Before Clark could ask for a clarification--and he was beginning to want one--a warm, loud voice came from behind them.  "Brucie!"

By the time Bruce finished turning around, all worry was erased from the face that was now blandly handsome, vapid.  "Harv!" Bruce said as if he hadn't a care in the world, as if he hadn't just been admitting to Clark that he wasn't sure the man would be glad to see him.

Enthusiastic handshakes and back-clappings followed, and then the dapper, well-dressed man was turning to Clark.  "This must be Clark Kent," Harvey said jovially, looking Clark up and down, "The farm boy who's stolen the heart of Gotham's most eligible bachelor."

Clark allowed himself to wince a little at the man's strong handshake, and noted the flash of satisfaction in the hazel eyes.  The new District Attorney smiled at Bruce.  "We'll have to see if we can get the wheels in motion on finally legalizing same-sex marriage around here.  Can't lag too far behind Star City, can we?"

As the waiter showed them to their seats, Harvey Dent continued talking, looking at Clark.  "Though I'm surprised Wayne could ever bring himself to settle down with just one person.  He was always the ultimate dilettante back at Princeton.  Changed majors every semester.  One month he'd be cracking the books in history, the next month we'd find him at the chem lab at all hours of the night.  We called him the Boy Wonder because he'd do so well in each area and then just leave it.  He made many a professor weep at losing their favorite student."

Bruce laughed easily as they sat down.  "Nothing ever quite seemed to suit me."

Harvey leaned back in his chair, flinging one arm across the back.  "And then he burned out entirely, dropped out, and ran off to Europe to wench it up and destroy his brain cells for five years.  Left the rest of us to pick up his slack the best we could."  He laughed, showing teeth.  "I always knew you wouldn't be able to cut it when the real pressure came down."

Clark lowered his menu to look at Dent.  "He seems to be doing all right for himself," he said mildly.  Bruce shot him a quick look:  I can take care of myself.  Clark realized abruptly that he had placed a possessive hand on Bruce's arm and removed it gingerly.

Dent's grin was wry and lopsided.  "It helps if your parents leave you a company to run.  Not all of us are so...lucky.  Chance and fate, Brucie, and I could be in your place and you could be humping it in the D.A.'s office."

Bruce smiled at the other man with real affection.  "I've missed you too, Harvey."

Harvey snorted.

"District Attorney is hardly a low-profile job.  You've got a lot of chances to do good there.  And we'd like to help.  Just let us know where the Wayne Foundation can make a difference."

Harvey's eyebrows rose a bit, but then he leaned over and jabbed a finger at Bruce.  "Money's not enough, Wayne.  You can't just throw cash at a problem and expect things to get better.  I heard about your stunt at the Policeman's Ball.  Well, some of those kids are going to do good things with those computers.  Others are going to become hackers and peddle online pornography with them.  You have to do something real."  His eyes flashed angrily and he waved a hand at Clark.  "Hell, I read the farmboy's report on the flaws in Metropolis's child welfare system--he did more good with that report than you've done in your whole life.  And he doesn't have half the resources, the talent, the gifts you do.  You're too afraid to get your hands dirty, Bruce.  And so you leave the rest of us to try and make this city better, alone."  He caught his breath and took a quick sip of his water.

Clark saw the tightening in Bruce's jaw beneath the lazy smile.  "Clark's been a good influence on me," he said easily.  He leaned forward.  "Please, Harvey, believe me when I say I want to make a difference.  That I think the three of us, working together...we could do a lot."  Clark knew Bruce well enough by now to know that he was letting the playboy mask slip just a bit, meeting Harvey's eyes and speaking with real sincerity.  But Harvey seemed to miss the shift, turning his attention to his steak and cutting at it savagely, as if it were all the criminals of Gotham bleeding onto his plate.  Bruce sat back with a sigh and the moment was gone.

As the meal ended, Clark excused himself a little early.  "I have to catch the train back to Metropolis.  It was a pleasure to meet you, and congratulations again on your election."  Dent crushed his hand one more time, grinning.  Clark leaned over and kissed Bruce on the cheek.  Bruce looked surprised--Clark almost never was affectionate in public--and Clark kicked himself mentally.  He felt embarrassingly transparent.  The hand on Bruce's arm, the good-bye kiss--all the usual ways a man sends the message:  Stay away.  I mark this as my property.  Apparently he remembered some human mating behavior after all.  All of which was ridiculous, because there was absolutely no sign that Harvey was interested in Bruce.  They were old friends, that's all.  Clark turned back at the door to see the District Attorney saying something to Bruce, Bruce answering with a smile that was more genuine than his usual public smile.

Clark sighed to himself as he headed toward the train station.  He wasn't sure what Bruce had been worried about--Harvey Dent seemed perfectly pleased to see his old friend.

He supposed he could turn on the receiver to hear the conversation they were having now, but it really wasn't any of his business.

"He must be really good in the sack, Wayne," Harvey was saying to Bruce as he finished his coffee.  He laughed at the look on Bruce's face.  "I mean, come on, he hardly put together two words during the whole meal!  He's a good writer, but his personality isn't exactly sparkling.  So I figured there had to be some other, more compelling reason to keep him around.  That's okay, I don't need details!" He held up his hands in mock horror.

Bruce smiled slightly, looking just a touch troubled.  "Still waters run deep, Harvey."

Something flickered across Harvey's face and was gone.  "So they say."

Bruce leaned forward, gnawing on his lower lip.  "Harvey, back when I left school--" He stopped and watched Harvey's face, which reflected only slight puzzlement.

"You mean back when you pussied out on us?"  The puzzlement shaded into another vicious smile.

"Yes," Bruce said steadily.  "Back then.  I'm sorry.  For what happened."

Harvey cocked his head to one side, looking slightly confused.  "'What happened?'  What do you mean?  Nothing--nothing happened."  A strange look crossed his face and he repeated, more forcefully and flatly, "Nothing happened."  He stood up and flicked the tab toward Bruce.  "Well, I figure you'll be getting this, since you're so anxious to help out the city in any way.  Now if you'll excuse me, some of us have work to do."  He clapped his hat onto his chestnut hair and patted Bruce on the back.  "Take it easy."

Bruce Wayne stared at the check for a long time.  Then he paid it.

: : :

Batman crouched behind a gargoyle in the rain, watching the lights burning in the D.A.'s office.  Working late again.  Dent had started his job just a week ago and seemed determined to get more accomplished in a month than the last D.A. had managed to do in a year before being murdered.  Batman saw the figure in the room finish scribbling someone on a form, then sigh and rest his head in his hands briefly.  He felt a pang of empathy.

"I was wondering when you'd show up," said Dent without turning around as he heard the footfall on the floor behind him.

"I had to meet you."

Harvey turned at that, his eyes narrowed.  "And now you have."  He stood up and walked away from the dark figure to look into a small mirror hanging on the wall, adjusting his loosened tie.  The Harvey in the mirror looked back at Batman.  "So what do you think of me?"

"I think you're a good man, doing your best in a system that isn't going to ever give you any help.  There are very few people you can trust here."

"Are you one of them?"

"I hope so."

The D.A. turned from the mirror to face Batman squarely.  "I hope so too."  His eyes flashed, unguarded for the first time.  "Our city needs more people like you.  God, if only..." He dropped into his chair and ran a hand through his hair, across his jaw.

"You can trust Jim Gordon.  And Rachel Dawes."  Batman opened his mouth as if to add another name, closed it again.  The two men stared at each other in the light of the dim bulb.  "What can I do to prove I'm on your side, Dent?"

Harvey picked up a file on his desk, waved it at Batman.  "Have you got anything on the Lucci case?"  Lucci was a small-time mobster, strictly middle-management, who had been murdered a few weeks ago.

A pause.  "I have some leads."

"Any evidence we don't have?"

A longer pause.  "Maybe."

"You're afraid if you turn it over then it'll get disappeared.  I understand.  Share it with me and I swear I'll do everything in my power to see it gets used.  And I might trust you a little more."  No answer.  Harvey pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, closing his eyes.  "You're going to have to take a chance on me, Batman.  Just like I'm going to have to gamble on you.  Or we're both totally alone."

He opened his eyes to find the room empty.  He laughed slightly to himself.  "I can see I'm going to have to get used to that."

The next day, the plaster casts of a blurry footprint and two carefully typed pages of detailed analysis appeared on Harvey Dent's kitchen table.  They were enough to put away the guy who hit Lucci--for a little while, at least.

: : :

Bruce tapped his earpiece as he headed up the stairs to the apartment.  "You there, Clark?"  No answer.  That was unusual, but not entirely unexpected--Batman wasn't the only one who had problems staying in character with his lover's voice in his ear.  He decided to stay up a little longer and study some lockpicking until Clark could get back in touch with him.

It was a couple of hours until Clark's voice came over the comm.  "Hey.  Sorry I didn't answer earlier."

Bruce finished making a notation in the margin.  "Particularly recalcitrant kitten?"

A snort.  "No, that hurricane brewing down in the Gulf.  Had to try and divert it without messing up local weather patterns entirely.  There's still going to be a lot of flooding down here, but I think I managed to get it down to category two without making too many mistakes.  Did you get to talk to Dent?"

"Briefly, yes."

"Impressions?"

"Mm.  I think we'll be able to work with him.  He's angry--at Bruce Wayne, at the city, at the world--but he's a good man.  I'm going to give him some leads tomorrow on the Lucci case, that might be a beginning."

The voice on the other end was slightly diffident.  "It must be nice to have someone to talk to about these things."

"I have you, Clark.  I don't need another person to talk to."

A pause.  "I meant another human."

Bruce frowned and closed the book, focusing fully on Clark's voice for the first time.  "We're not having this argument again, are we?"

"What argument?"  Bruce could hear the sounds in the background of Clark making himself a cup of coffee.

"Clark.  This argument.  The one where you think you're not a suitable partner for me--in either role--because you're not human."  Silence on the other end.  "Harvey's a brilliant man.  It will be good to work with him.  But I can't talk to him like I can you.  He doesn't understand what it's like to have two lives, to juggle the private and the public like we do."  Bruce's voice caressed the "we," and he heard the very slight intake of breath from Clark.  "We're unique, Clark, the two of us.  That makes us equals in a way no one else can be.  The heat vision and the rest, that's nothing in comparison."

Clark sighed, but it had a thread of relief running through it.  There was a silence that slowly eased into comfort again.

Eventually Bruce decided it was safe to change the subject.  "Here's an odd thing.  When I was surveilling some smugglers tonight, I heard them talking about how Batman had taken out a few of their friends a couple nights ago.  Put them in traction."

"Whoof.  You didn't mention you'd had such a rough fight."

"That's just it.  I didn't.  I wasn't anywhere near there at the time they said it happened."

"Huh...maybe it was the work of a rival gang member or something.  If they didn't get a good look at whoever was fighting them, of course they're going to assume it's the Batman."

Bruce frowned.  "I suppose it enhances my reputation....but that doesn't change the fact that some guy took them down.  That means there's someone out there who's good.  Really good."

"Are you implying there might be someone in Gotham doing the same kind of thing you're doing, another vigilante?  That you're not alone?"  There was a pause on the Metropolis end.  "Would that be a good thing or a bad thing?"

"I don't know.  It's unlikely whoever it is and I would see eye to eye on how best to deal with crime here.  Gotham isn't a city that's easy to share."  Bruce paused, going back over what Clark had said, his tone of voice.  "Clark?  You're wrong about one thing."

"What?"

"I'm already not alone."

: : :

Clark Kent was covering a case at the Metropolis courthouse a few weeks later when he heard Harvey Dent's voice behind him.  "Kent!  Hey, Kent!"  Clark found his hand being gripped again.

"Harvey?  What are you doing in Metropolis?"

"Kind of off my usual turf, I know.  I'm here for a meeting with the Metropolis D.A. on information-sharing."  Dent rolled his eyes.  "Applying band-aids to an arterial wound.  What we need is some radical surgery."  He leaned closer to Clark, his face serious.  "Kent, is there any way you can--I don't know--get through to Bruce somehow?"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

Dent's brow furrowed and he tapped Clark's chest.  "You know perfectly well what I mean.  Get him to start doing more than frittering his life away on games and such.  God, Kent, he could do so much if he'd just set his mind to it.  You didn't know him in college.  He was...He was..."  His eyes grew distant, looking through Clark at some vision of the past.  "He was unfocused, but so bright, and so passionate.  We were going to make a difference in Gotham together, and now..."  Harvey put his hands on Clark's shoulders and shook him very gently.  "Please, Clark, he can be so much more than this, I know it."

Clark looked down at his shoes.  "You're not giving him enough credit, Harvey."  He forced himself to look up and meet those sharp hazel eyes.  "Bruce is doing everything he can for Gotham.  Please believe me."

Harvey stepped back a pace, the pleading look on his face changing to something close to a sneer, closing up, shadowing.  He shoved his hands angrily into his pockets.  "Well, I'll keep him on speed dial for whenever I have a pressing need for an educated opinion on the best wine to serve with Chateaubriand."  He took a deep breath.  "Christ, Kent!"  He brushed past Clark, shouldering him aside, and was gone.

: : :

Rachel Dawes was typing up a report when a tentative knock came on her door.  "Come in," she called, and the door opened to reveal Bruce Wayne standing awkwardly in the doorway.

Rachel raised one eyebrow.  "Haven't seen you around for a while, stranger."  Bruce ducked his head and almost smiled, moving into her office.  Rachel leaned back in her chair, neither smiling nor frowning, simply appraising.  She wanted to make some reference to his new lover, find out how privy to Bruce's secret life this Kent guy was, but she couldn't seem to find a way to ask without looking unbearably catty.

"Actually, I was here to ask you how your new boss is doing.  We had lunch together a month or so ago, but he...hasn't been returning my calls since."

Rachel felt her brow furrowing.  "Dent's a good D.A..  He's strict, but he's as hard on himself as he is on the people who work for him, so people don't take it the wrong way."  Harvey's outbursts of temper had quickly become legendary around the office, but part of his anger always seemed to be directed at himself, so it was always difficult to take it too personally.  People working late at the office claimed they could sometimes hear him yelling in his office--apparently at himself--late at night.  "He cares about the city.  And he seems to be getting some extra help--he comes up with evidence and information other people don't have sometimes."  Bruce was looking out her tiny window at the skyline.  "Is someone helping him?"

Bruce didn't look at her.  "Of course."  She couldn't see his whole face, just a sliver of his profile.

"But that's not enough for you.  You want him to respect you,  Bruce Wayne."

He tapped absent-mindedly on the glass.  "Of course."

"You should tell him."

He made a small scoffing sound.  "Maybe I should just take out an ad in the newspaper, or hire a skywriter, and get it over with.  That's a crutch, Rachel, one I've relied on...too often now."  So he had told Kent, too.  "That's the easy way out.  I'd like him to understand I want the best for Gotham without taking that shortcut."

Rachel walked over, put a hand on his shoulder.  "But Bruce, that's never going to happen.  Dent's focused on stopping crime;  all the charity work in the world isn't going to impress him."

He looked at her now, his face pained.  "I know, Rachel."  He touched the hand on his shoulder lightly.  "I know."

"I'll put in a good word for you if I can."

A wry smile.  "I'd appreciate that."

: : :

Another charity function.  Clark was starting to get used to them, but that didn't mean he enjoyed them.  He had begged out of the last two, though, and Bruce had insisted that Clark had to come to these sometimes.  "Otherwise I start getting hungry stares from the properly-oriented eligible women and men."

Clark was standing next to Bruce, playing the wallflower with some sincerity as Bruce joked and laughed.  Suddenly Bruce broke off in the middle of a story and darted through the group to grab a man's sleeve.  "Harvey!  Join us?"

Harvey Dent turned to reveal a lovely woman on his arm, her platinum blonde hair upswept like Kim Novak's in Vertigo, her blue eyes large and sweet.  "Brucie!  Kent!"  He smiled down at the petite woman.  "I'd like you to meet my fiancee, Grace."

"Your...uh...fiancee?"  Bruce sounded rather taken aback.  Harvey nodded, watching Bruce closely, and the playboy rallied.  "It's a pleasure to meet you, Grace," he said gallantly, kissing her hand elaborately and making her laugh.

"Grace is an artist," Harvey explained while the woman demurred.

"I paint pictures, Harvey.  I wouldn't call myself an 'artist.'"

Harvey smiled at her affectionately.  "No, you wouldn't."

"What medium do you work in?" asked Clark.

"I paint watercolors, mostly.  Nothing too dark.  I think Harvey is intense enough for both of us."  She grinned impishly at her partner.

"I'd love to see your work sometime."

Grace looked surprised and gratified.  "Actually, I'm going to have an exhibition in just a few weeks.  I'll be sure to invite you both."  And then Harvey was steering her away, with a last level look at Bruce.

After they returned from the party, Clark strolled around the Manor library rather aimlessly.  He was wondering if Bruce was going to suggest he spend the night, or if this was going to be one of the evenings they both went off to their respective jobs.  Bruce seemed to be in a pensive mood tonight, but that could still go either way.

He looked up to find Bruce standing in the doorway, smirking slightly.  "You're wondering if this is a work night or a play night."

"Is it that obvious?"

"It's the way you pace.  You have a specific 'Am I getting any tonight?' pacing style."

Clark laughed, then tilted his head.  "Something's bothering you."

Bruce sighed as he moved into the room, dropping onto the overstuffed leather couch and propping his feet up on the arm.  "It's Harvey."

Clark leaned over the back of the couch, looking down at his lover.  "Think he's too good for his spun-glass fiancee?"

"No, no, it's not that at all.  Clark, Harvey's gay."

Clark's gaze grew rather sharp.  "And just how do you know that?"

Bruce rested an arm behind his head and met Clark's eyes squarely.  "He...told me.  In college."

"Maybe he's bi?"

Bruce shook his head.  "Not when I knew him, he wasn't."

Clark let that line of questioning drop, although he wanted rather badly to pursue it.  "Well, he won't be the first person to hide their sexual orientation to further their political career."

"In Gotham?  There's no reason to be in the closet in Gotham.  Hell, being openly gay might even win you constituents."

"Maybe he has his eyes set on higher political office.  What plays in Gotham might not play in Peoria.  Or maybe he has more private reasons for staying in the closet."  Clark reached over the back of the chair and touched Bruce's chest, over the heart, very gently.  "Who are we to judge what kind of inner demons and secrets a man might have?"

Bruce stared at Clark for a while.  "We slept together a couple of times," he said abruptly.  "It--wasn't a good thing.  He doesn't--even seem to remember it."

Clark blinked.  "I don't need to know everyone you've slept with, Bruce.  I don't even want to.  I suspect it would make these parties even more unbearable."  The thread of bitterness woven under his voice made Bruce wince and sit up.  "It's not that I'm jealous of him," Clark went on, cutting him off before he could speak.  "It's just...do you know where I was while you were in college?  Mostly frozen in that damned Fortress, being home-schooled by my father in all the knowledge of the world.  Everything except what the knowledge of what it's like to get drunk and fool around with a friend, or stay up all night and talk about our futures.  I envy you your life, Bruce."  He stopped and laughed wryly.  "I know full well it wasn't a great life, but at least you had one.  All I have are...blank spaces where I should have friends, ex-lovers, even rivals."

He sighed again, looking down and away from Bruce.  "It may be arrogant, but I'd rather have had a past full of pain than an empty past."

Bruce got up on his knees on the couch, the couch back in between them, and put his hands on Clark's.  "I'd like to think I'm helping you make up for lost time.  You've got friends and ex-lovers now, and see--I even got you a rival."

In Bruce's dark blue eyes was something like an apology, and it was that which Clark answered.  His smile was small and maybe just a bit wicked, a crescent moon in a still sky.  "Harvey?  You really expect me to see him as a legitimate rival?"  He slipped his hands out from under Bruce's and rested them on top of his lover's, delicate as filagreed steel clasps.  He leaned forward and kissed Bruce's throat.  "You're going to have to do better than that.  You may want his approval and respect, but it's me you want, isn't it?"

Bruce tugged at the hands pinning his to the couch, pushing forward into Clark's kiss.  "Let me go and I'll show you how much I want you."

"Tell me you want me and I'll let you go."

"We appear to be at an impasse here," Bruce noted, his quick breath belying his dry tone.

Clark nipped his earlobe.  "So, play night?"

"Play night," Bruce agreed.  "At least the first half," he added hastily.

Clark just laughed.  "That's all I need."