The Man Who Falls (5/10)
Title: The Man Who Falls (5/11)
Pairing/Characters: Clark/Bruce, Alfred Pennyworth, Jim Gordon
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None needed
Continuity: The Dark Knight/Superman Returns crossover; a continuation of Leap of Faith.
Word Count: 2500Summary: Clark Kent arrives in Gotham after the events of The Dark Knight and adds up the facts surrounding Bruce Wayne and Batman. Unfortunately, he reaches all the wrong conclusions.
Notes: For the World's Finest Gift Exchange, Prompt F8: Superman strongly disapproves of Batman's methods. Clark Kent, on the other hand, has a very obvious (and not quite so secret) crush on Bruce Wayne. What happens when Clark suddenly finds out that Bruce is also Batman?
"Bruce!"
The name was wrenched from Clark's chest, ripped away into the winter air unheard.
Bruce Wayne was falling, tumbling toward the street below, his arms outspread.
He had been falling for exactly .85 seconds. He had about nine seconds left before he hit the ground.
Clark stared around the busy street, looking for an alley. Eight and a quarter seconds left. His hands were on the top buttons of his shirt, he was running, still looking up. Eight seconds. He saw someone point. Seven and three-quarters seconds. He heard a woman scream. Seven and a half seconds. He caught a glimpse of Bruce's face, terrifyingly calm, as if gazing at eternity.
And then there was a pale blossom of silken blue, like the sky opening up above Bruce. A parachute. It opened and Bruce was floating downward, laughing now, sailing between the skyscrapers like an azure feather.
There were police sirens somewhere, moving closer. Clark stood frozen for a long moment, his heart hammering. Then he began to follow the scrap of blue silk through the streets, tracking its descent.
He found Bruce tangled in a cherry tree in Robinson Park, the bare branches draped with blue cloth. He was laughing as the police surrounded the tree, paparazzi flashbulbs starting to go off. He stopped laughing but the amused glint stayed in his eyes as Commissioner Gordon strode toward the tree, his shoulders hunched with fury. "Hiya, Commish," he said, waving. "I'm glad you guys showed up! I might need a little help getting out of this tree--"
"--You reckless, inane, simpleminded, suicidal idiot," raged Gordon. "You could have been taken for the Batman and shot out of the sky, did that ever cross your half-baked mind?"
"Oh please," said Bruce, waving a hand. The gesture made him swing slightly from his parachute lines, like a puppet. "I think the Gotham police can tell the difference between a fine upstanding citizen like myself and a crazed maniac like the Batman."
Gordon's face turned a dangerous shade of red. "We'll see how cocky you are in jail, Wayne."
"Did I do something illegal?" Bruce raised a puzzled eyebrow. "Let's see, I jumped off of my own building and landed safely in a public park. No trespassing there. I'm sorry, Jimmy, you can't make that stick."
Gordon's jaws worked for a moment, like he was grinding outrage between his teeth. "That's Commissioner Gordon to you, Wayne."
"Ah, surely we've known each other long enough to get to first names now?" Bruce said plaintively. Then he caught sight of Clark Kent, standing beyond Gordon. For an instant his eyes widened, and Clark saw something in his face that hadn't been there on the ledge: a spark of panic. Then he grinned widely and waved. "Clark! Did you see that jump? Wasn't it great? You really can see Gotham differently from the air, it's so gorgeous. You should try it sometime--put that in your paper."
Clark looked up at him in his pinstriped suit, twisting slowly. "I don't think Alfred would approve of you jumping without a helmet, Mr. Wayne."
Bruce grimaced. "Mr. Wayne, Mr. Wayne, always Mr. Wayne," he said. He sighed loudly and looked up at the sky. "All the good, honest people call me Mr. Wayne, and all the pretty people call me Brucie. C'mon, Jimmy," he implored the Commissioner, "Call me Bruce. Just once. I know you can do it."
Jim Gordon stabbed a finger at him. "You're a spoiled, selfish, ignorant brat, Wayne. I don't care how much the papers love you, or how much money you shovel at charities. You're a danger to yourself and everyone around you." He wheeled, gesturing to his officers, and stalked back to his car, his back stiff with anger.
Bruce beamed down at Clark. "He's a pretty good judge of character, isn't he? He shouldn't call me ignorant, though. I mean, I've bought some of the finest degrees this country has to offer." He fiddled with his harness. "Whoops!" He fell the last few feet to the ground and landed ungracefully, sprawling. The camera flashes were like strobe lights in the dark, turning his fall into a series of frozen moments, a flickering stop-action descent. He pulled himself together, still sitting on the ground, and offered up his smile to the paparazzi until they tired of photographing him and drifted away, murmuring.
"You haven't finished showing me Gotham," Clark said as last bystander faded into the darkness.
Bruce stood up, brushing at his dirty pants knees. "Right. Sorry. So busy lately. Had to show a darling Kasnian princess around, and one thing led to another..." He winked at Clark. "You know how it is."
"Not exactly."
"Well, you're obviously going to all the wrong parties, then," Bruce said briskly, "But I'm sure I can pencil you in sometime next week. Get in touch with my secretary and we'll come up with something."
Clark bit down on irritation. "That sounds good," he said as though he hadn't been given an obvious brush-off. "I've got other contacts I need to interview anyway. I haven't talked to the mayor or Commissioner Gordon yet, for example. And I have an appointment to meet with Aaron Cash tomorrow afternoon at three-thirty."
Bruce's gaze flickered. Then he smiled. "Any relation to Johnny Cash?"
"No, he's the head of security at Arkham Asylum." Which you knew perfectly well. Clark turned away from Bruce and started to walk toward the gate of the park. "He said he'd consider letting me do an interview with the Joker. It would be the first ever, and I can hardly pass on a scoop like that--"
"--Clark." He turned to see Bruce standing very still in the moonlight, his face pale. "He won't let you see the Joker. No one sees the Joker."
"He said he'd think about it. I'm hoping I can convince him--"
"No one sees the Joker. And that's the way it should be," Bruce said, his voice heavy and colorless as lead. "You can't see him, Clark. If the bastard didn't find some way to kill you outright, he'd...twist you." There was a sick loathing in his voice. "He can do that, take anything bright and meaningful and turn it to ashes, to a mockery of itself. He'll take anything you love and make your love seem a perversion, a hollow shell over a weeping abscess."
Clark had baited him on purpose, a subtle threat: if Clark's theories about Batman and Dent were correct, the Joker was the only other person who knew the whole story. But Bruce's vehemence caught him off guard. "Despite what you might think, Mr. Wayne, I'm not an easy man to manipulate."
"You don't get it," Bruce snapped. "It's not manipulation, it's...corruption. And the more high-minded, the more pure and noble you are, the worse it is when he drags your heart into the filth. He makes you choose, makes you sacrifice something you love, and then you realize the sacrifice means nothing. And then he laughs." Bruce's fists clenched. "He laughs."
"Like he did to Harvey Dent," Clark said, and Bruce's face went blank and closed.
"Not Harvey," said Bruce. "Batman. Batman was just your run-of-the-mill, over-zealous vigilante, and then the Joker happened, and now he's responsible for all those deaths--"
"--Batman did not kill those people," Clark interrupted, but Bruce just raised his voice and talked over his words.
"--He's responsible for all those deaths," he repeated angrily. "He's become a symbol of horror and despair, of everything that's wrong with Gotham. You must see this!"
"If he's become that symbol, it's in part because of what you've done to him!" Clark kept his voice low, but Bruce flinched as though it were a shout. "What did the Joker say to you, Mr. Wayne?"
Bruce stared. "I never--"
"--He was at the fund raiser you held for Harvey Dent. He threw Rachel Dawes out a window and then he disappeared. You disappeared too. Did he find you?" Clark began to walk toward Bruce, and Bruce fell back a step. "What did he make you choose? How did he drag your heart into the filth?" He kept walking forward until he was very close to Bruce. "What sacrifice are you making?"
Bruce's breath was quick and shallow, his voice hoarse. "Sacrifice." He blinked at Clark as if gazing into a bright light. "Sacrifice." Then an impish smile tweaked the corner of his mouth, shockingly incongruous. When he spoke again his voice was filled with flippant laughter. "The Joker didn't waste his time with me. He doesn't give a damn about Bruce Wayne," he sneered. "He goes after people who make a difference. People who matter. Good people. What would he try to get me to sacrifice? My fast cars? My pretty girls and boys? My imported champagne?" He chuckled, but his eyes were dark. "Don't be ridiculous, Clark. You can't corrupt someone who's already rotten to the core." He shook his head, smiling indulgently, as if at a charming child. "I'll pick you up in front of Wayne Towers at three tomorrow to show you more of Gotham. We'll make an afternoon of it."
"I told you I have a meeting with Aaron Cash at three-thirty."
"That's the time I have, Clark. Take or leave it. I'm a very busy man. Speaking of which--" He pulled a cell phone out of his breast pocket and hit a button. "Alfred? I'm at the west gate of Robinson Park. My chute's tangled in a tree--come get it down so the police don't slap me with a fine for littering, would you?" He snapped the phone shut and grinned at Clark. "So, three o'clock tomorrow, then?"
"If you don't show, I'm still going to Arkham."
Bruce waved his words off. "Of course, of course. Three it is, then--that is, unless I find something more fun to do." He winked broadly. "Or someone."
Clark watched him stroll back toward Wayne Towers, brushing twigs and leaves off of his tailored suit. Then he wandered over to the cherry tree and leaned against it. Alfred Pennyworth found him there a few minutes later, gazing up at the sky-blue parachute.
"Why does he do this?" Clark asked as Alfred blinked at him. "All this..." He waved his hands, "Jumping off buildings and climbing cliffs and crashing cars. Why does he risk his life so pointlessly?"
Alfred's face was gray in the moonlight. "Because what life he has, he has because of exactly that," Alfred said. "You must understand. When his parents died, Bruce was...lost."
Clark nodded. "Survivor's guilt. I...know something of that."
Alfred inclined his head. "Master Wayne's actions are neither as careless nor as pointless as you seem to think. I believe in those moments on the edge, when he appears to be throwing himself into heedless danger, are the rare moments when he is at peace with himself."
"He doesn't have to do all this," Clark said. "There are other ways."
"Perhaps for other people," Alfred said. He started toward the tree, but Clark raised a hand to stop him.
"Let me." Clark clambered into the tree and started untangling the silk from the clinging branches. "Not very polite of him, leaving you to clean up his messes."
From the ground, Alfred chuckled slightly. "I believe he was motivated less by laziness and more by alarm. You appear to...unnerve him."
Clark almost fell out of the tree. "You said you wouldn't tell him--!"
Alfred frowned up at him, his expression mingling puzzlement and offense. "And I have not."
"You can't mean he's afraid of me," Clark said, furrowing his brow at the tangled parachute lines. Even with microscopic vision he wasn't sure he'd ever get the snarls out, but he hated to just cut them. "Oh, I suppose it's the story he's worried about."
"That's likely a part of it."
"Well, at least he agreed to meet me tomorrow. It took some work, but--"
"--He did?" Alfred's voice was so surprised that Clark looked down at him, but the butler's face was already back to its usual impassivity.
"He said he'd meet me at Wayne Enterprises at three." The last knot in the parachute lines finally parted, and Clark made a small triumphant sound as he pulled the chute free and let it flutter toward Alfred. "So make sure he's there, okay?"
Alfred caught the fluttering cloth out of the air and folded it with swift economy. "He shall be, even if I must hogtie and deliver him myself, Mr. Kent."
The park was deserted except for the two of them now, but Clark still took the time to scramble down from the tree as though gravity applied to him. Alfred looked him over and picked a few twigs off his suit with the unconscious economy of a person who tidied others for a living.
"May I ask," Alfred said, still looking at his shoulders, "What your intentions are toward Master Wayne?" Only Alfred Pennyworth, thought Clark, could say "Master Wayne" and pronounce it like "my son."
"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" Alfred's eyebrows went up. "I mean, everyone keeps assuming I'm flirting with him, or he's flirting with me, or something. It's not that," Clark said. "I mean, it's not that he isn't handsome and charming," he added. Alfred's eyebrows went back down and he looked distinctly amused, which only flustered Clark more. "And I enjoy spending time with him. It's not only for the story, though he's got so much useful information about Gotham. It's...more than that. I just want to help him. I want to...protect him, I guess." He shrugged and laughed a little. "I know that sounds silly. But when I'm with him, I want to protect him."
Alfred's face was no longer amused. "It's not silly at all, Mr. Kent. But Bruce Wayne doesn't need protection." His hands tightened in the blue silk he was holding, a quick helpless motion, and he looked beyond Clark to the gleaming lights of Gotham. "What he needs is salvation. And I'm afraid that cannot be given. Not even by Superman."
(Chapter Six)
Pairing/Characters: Clark/Bruce, Alfred Pennyworth, Jim Gordon
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None needed
Continuity: The Dark Knight/Superman Returns crossover; a continuation of Leap of Faith.
Word Count: 2500Summary: Clark Kent arrives in Gotham after the events of The Dark Knight and adds up the facts surrounding Bruce Wayne and Batman. Unfortunately, he reaches all the wrong conclusions.
Notes: For the World's Finest Gift Exchange, Prompt F8: Superman strongly disapproves of Batman's methods. Clark Kent, on the other hand, has a very obvious (and not quite so secret) crush on Bruce Wayne. What happens when Clark suddenly finds out that Bruce is also Batman?
"Bruce!"
The name was wrenched from Clark's chest, ripped away into the winter air unheard.
Bruce Wayne was falling, tumbling toward the street below, his arms outspread.
He had been falling for exactly .85 seconds. He had about nine seconds left before he hit the ground.
Clark stared around the busy street, looking for an alley. Eight and a quarter seconds left. His hands were on the top buttons of his shirt, he was running, still looking up. Eight seconds. He saw someone point. Seven and three-quarters seconds. He heard a woman scream. Seven and a half seconds. He caught a glimpse of Bruce's face, terrifyingly calm, as if gazing at eternity.
And then there was a pale blossom of silken blue, like the sky opening up above Bruce. A parachute. It opened and Bruce was floating downward, laughing now, sailing between the skyscrapers like an azure feather.
There were police sirens somewhere, moving closer. Clark stood frozen for a long moment, his heart hammering. Then he began to follow the scrap of blue silk through the streets, tracking its descent.
He found Bruce tangled in a cherry tree in Robinson Park, the bare branches draped with blue cloth. He was laughing as the police surrounded the tree, paparazzi flashbulbs starting to go off. He stopped laughing but the amused glint stayed in his eyes as Commissioner Gordon strode toward the tree, his shoulders hunched with fury. "Hiya, Commish," he said, waving. "I'm glad you guys showed up! I might need a little help getting out of this tree--"
"--You reckless, inane, simpleminded, suicidal idiot," raged Gordon. "You could have been taken for the Batman and shot out of the sky, did that ever cross your half-baked mind?"
"Oh please," said Bruce, waving a hand. The gesture made him swing slightly from his parachute lines, like a puppet. "I think the Gotham police can tell the difference between a fine upstanding citizen like myself and a crazed maniac like the Batman."
Gordon's face turned a dangerous shade of red. "We'll see how cocky you are in jail, Wayne."
"Did I do something illegal?" Bruce raised a puzzled eyebrow. "Let's see, I jumped off of my own building and landed safely in a public park. No trespassing there. I'm sorry, Jimmy, you can't make that stick."
Gordon's jaws worked for a moment, like he was grinding outrage between his teeth. "That's Commissioner Gordon to you, Wayne."
"Ah, surely we've known each other long enough to get to first names now?" Bruce said plaintively. Then he caught sight of Clark Kent, standing beyond Gordon. For an instant his eyes widened, and Clark saw something in his face that hadn't been there on the ledge: a spark of panic. Then he grinned widely and waved. "Clark! Did you see that jump? Wasn't it great? You really can see Gotham differently from the air, it's so gorgeous. You should try it sometime--put that in your paper."
Clark looked up at him in his pinstriped suit, twisting slowly. "I don't think Alfred would approve of you jumping without a helmet, Mr. Wayne."
Bruce grimaced. "Mr. Wayne, Mr. Wayne, always Mr. Wayne," he said. He sighed loudly and looked up at the sky. "All the good, honest people call me Mr. Wayne, and all the pretty people call me Brucie. C'mon, Jimmy," he implored the Commissioner, "Call me Bruce. Just once. I know you can do it."
Jim Gordon stabbed a finger at him. "You're a spoiled, selfish, ignorant brat, Wayne. I don't care how much the papers love you, or how much money you shovel at charities. You're a danger to yourself and everyone around you." He wheeled, gesturing to his officers, and stalked back to his car, his back stiff with anger.
Bruce beamed down at Clark. "He's a pretty good judge of character, isn't he? He shouldn't call me ignorant, though. I mean, I've bought some of the finest degrees this country has to offer." He fiddled with his harness. "Whoops!" He fell the last few feet to the ground and landed ungracefully, sprawling. The camera flashes were like strobe lights in the dark, turning his fall into a series of frozen moments, a flickering stop-action descent. He pulled himself together, still sitting on the ground, and offered up his smile to the paparazzi until they tired of photographing him and drifted away, murmuring.
"You haven't finished showing me Gotham," Clark said as last bystander faded into the darkness.
Bruce stood up, brushing at his dirty pants knees. "Right. Sorry. So busy lately. Had to show a darling Kasnian princess around, and one thing led to another..." He winked at Clark. "You know how it is."
"Not exactly."
"Well, you're obviously going to all the wrong parties, then," Bruce said briskly, "But I'm sure I can pencil you in sometime next week. Get in touch with my secretary and we'll come up with something."
Clark bit down on irritation. "That sounds good," he said as though he hadn't been given an obvious brush-off. "I've got other contacts I need to interview anyway. I haven't talked to the mayor or Commissioner Gordon yet, for example. And I have an appointment to meet with Aaron Cash tomorrow afternoon at three-thirty."
Bruce's gaze flickered. Then he smiled. "Any relation to Johnny Cash?"
"No, he's the head of security at Arkham Asylum." Which you knew perfectly well. Clark turned away from Bruce and started to walk toward the gate of the park. "He said he'd consider letting me do an interview with the Joker. It would be the first ever, and I can hardly pass on a scoop like that--"
"--Clark." He turned to see Bruce standing very still in the moonlight, his face pale. "He won't let you see the Joker. No one sees the Joker."
"He said he'd think about it. I'm hoping I can convince him--"
"No one sees the Joker. And that's the way it should be," Bruce said, his voice heavy and colorless as lead. "You can't see him, Clark. If the bastard didn't find some way to kill you outright, he'd...twist you." There was a sick loathing in his voice. "He can do that, take anything bright and meaningful and turn it to ashes, to a mockery of itself. He'll take anything you love and make your love seem a perversion, a hollow shell over a weeping abscess."
Clark had baited him on purpose, a subtle threat: if Clark's theories about Batman and Dent were correct, the Joker was the only other person who knew the whole story. But Bruce's vehemence caught him off guard. "Despite what you might think, Mr. Wayne, I'm not an easy man to manipulate."
"You don't get it," Bruce snapped. "It's not manipulation, it's...corruption. And the more high-minded, the more pure and noble you are, the worse it is when he drags your heart into the filth. He makes you choose, makes you sacrifice something you love, and then you realize the sacrifice means nothing. And then he laughs." Bruce's fists clenched. "He laughs."
"Like he did to Harvey Dent," Clark said, and Bruce's face went blank and closed.
"Not Harvey," said Bruce. "Batman. Batman was just your run-of-the-mill, over-zealous vigilante, and then the Joker happened, and now he's responsible for all those deaths--"
"--Batman did not kill those people," Clark interrupted, but Bruce just raised his voice and talked over his words.
"--He's responsible for all those deaths," he repeated angrily. "He's become a symbol of horror and despair, of everything that's wrong with Gotham. You must see this!"
"If he's become that symbol, it's in part because of what you've done to him!" Clark kept his voice low, but Bruce flinched as though it were a shout. "What did the Joker say to you, Mr. Wayne?"
Bruce stared. "I never--"
"--He was at the fund raiser you held for Harvey Dent. He threw Rachel Dawes out a window and then he disappeared. You disappeared too. Did he find you?" Clark began to walk toward Bruce, and Bruce fell back a step. "What did he make you choose? How did he drag your heart into the filth?" He kept walking forward until he was very close to Bruce. "What sacrifice are you making?"
Bruce's breath was quick and shallow, his voice hoarse. "Sacrifice." He blinked at Clark as if gazing into a bright light. "Sacrifice." Then an impish smile tweaked the corner of his mouth, shockingly incongruous. When he spoke again his voice was filled with flippant laughter. "The Joker didn't waste his time with me. He doesn't give a damn about Bruce Wayne," he sneered. "He goes after people who make a difference. People who matter. Good people. What would he try to get me to sacrifice? My fast cars? My pretty girls and boys? My imported champagne?" He chuckled, but his eyes were dark. "Don't be ridiculous, Clark. You can't corrupt someone who's already rotten to the core." He shook his head, smiling indulgently, as if at a charming child. "I'll pick you up in front of Wayne Towers at three tomorrow to show you more of Gotham. We'll make an afternoon of it."
"I told you I have a meeting with Aaron Cash at three-thirty."
"That's the time I have, Clark. Take or leave it. I'm a very busy man. Speaking of which--" He pulled a cell phone out of his breast pocket and hit a button. "Alfred? I'm at the west gate of Robinson Park. My chute's tangled in a tree--come get it down so the police don't slap me with a fine for littering, would you?" He snapped the phone shut and grinned at Clark. "So, three o'clock tomorrow, then?"
"If you don't show, I'm still going to Arkham."
Bruce waved his words off. "Of course, of course. Three it is, then--that is, unless I find something more fun to do." He winked broadly. "Or someone."
Clark watched him stroll back toward Wayne Towers, brushing twigs and leaves off of his tailored suit. Then he wandered over to the cherry tree and leaned against it. Alfred Pennyworth found him there a few minutes later, gazing up at the sky-blue parachute.
"Why does he do this?" Clark asked as Alfred blinked at him. "All this..." He waved his hands, "Jumping off buildings and climbing cliffs and crashing cars. Why does he risk his life so pointlessly?"
Alfred's face was gray in the moonlight. "Because what life he has, he has because of exactly that," Alfred said. "You must understand. When his parents died, Bruce was...lost."
Clark nodded. "Survivor's guilt. I...know something of that."
Alfred inclined his head. "Master Wayne's actions are neither as careless nor as pointless as you seem to think. I believe in those moments on the edge, when he appears to be throwing himself into heedless danger, are the rare moments when he is at peace with himself."
"He doesn't have to do all this," Clark said. "There are other ways."
"Perhaps for other people," Alfred said. He started toward the tree, but Clark raised a hand to stop him.
"Let me." Clark clambered into the tree and started untangling the silk from the clinging branches. "Not very polite of him, leaving you to clean up his messes."
From the ground, Alfred chuckled slightly. "I believe he was motivated less by laziness and more by alarm. You appear to...unnerve him."
Clark almost fell out of the tree. "You said you wouldn't tell him--!"
Alfred frowned up at him, his expression mingling puzzlement and offense. "And I have not."
"You can't mean he's afraid of me," Clark said, furrowing his brow at the tangled parachute lines. Even with microscopic vision he wasn't sure he'd ever get the snarls out, but he hated to just cut them. "Oh, I suppose it's the story he's worried about."
"That's likely a part of it."
"Well, at least he agreed to meet me tomorrow. It took some work, but--"
"--He did?" Alfred's voice was so surprised that Clark looked down at him, but the butler's face was already back to its usual impassivity.
"He said he'd meet me at Wayne Enterprises at three." The last knot in the parachute lines finally parted, and Clark made a small triumphant sound as he pulled the chute free and let it flutter toward Alfred. "So make sure he's there, okay?"
Alfred caught the fluttering cloth out of the air and folded it with swift economy. "He shall be, even if I must hogtie and deliver him myself, Mr. Kent."
The park was deserted except for the two of them now, but Clark still took the time to scramble down from the tree as though gravity applied to him. Alfred looked him over and picked a few twigs off his suit with the unconscious economy of a person who tidied others for a living.
"May I ask," Alfred said, still looking at his shoulders, "What your intentions are toward Master Wayne?" Only Alfred Pennyworth, thought Clark, could say "Master Wayne" and pronounce it like "my son."
"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" Alfred's eyebrows went up. "I mean, everyone keeps assuming I'm flirting with him, or he's flirting with me, or something. It's not that," Clark said. "I mean, it's not that he isn't handsome and charming," he added. Alfred's eyebrows went back down and he looked distinctly amused, which only flustered Clark more. "And I enjoy spending time with him. It's not only for the story, though he's got so much useful information about Gotham. It's...more than that. I just want to help him. I want to...protect him, I guess." He shrugged and laughed a little. "I know that sounds silly. But when I'm with him, I want to protect him."
Alfred's face was no longer amused. "It's not silly at all, Mr. Kent. But Bruce Wayne doesn't need protection." His hands tightened in the blue silk he was holding, a quick helpless motion, and he looked beyond Clark to the gleaming lights of Gotham. "What he needs is salvation. And I'm afraid that cannot be given. Not even by Superman."
(Chapter Six)