Heroes of the Squared Circle 21: A Little Investigation
Title: A Little Investigation
Relationship: Clark/Bruce
Characters: Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Lex Luthor, Tony Zucco, Jim Gordon
Continuity: Heroes of the Squared Circle, a DC/pro wrestling fusion ( click for notes and all chapters).
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: PG
Word Count 3000
Summary: Bruce and Clark do some digging and some pushing on the subject of the death of the Graysons.
When I think of it now, a quote from Georges Braque comes to mind: “Art is a wound turned to light.” To my mind, that is also the beauty of pro wrestling. --Bret Hart
"Stainless steel hex bolt." Jenna Duffy lifted the broken bit of metal to the light and squinted at it. "And you showed up in my office at nine AM to show it to me...why?"
"Curious as to what you think broke it," Bruce said.
Jenna snickered and tossed the bolt from one hand to the other. "This is why I hate Home Depot--they encourage amateur work. Look, boys, I know you were having fun building your little bunk bed or something, but if you don't know anything about weight tolerances and shear strength, you shouldn't be playing around with these things." She held the bolt up. "See how this sheared off? You put way too much weight on it. Did both of you try to sleep in the top bunk at once?"
Bruce didn't seem to register her jibe at all; his face was set and pale. "Is there any evidence of tampering? Sabotage?"
"Wait, now we're in a Hardy Boys book? Nah, there's none of that, it's just a plain old bolt, called upon to do more than it could bear. It's designed to be quick to tighten and release--I never use them, myself. It's cost me some work, but I don't care. If you're not willing to take the time to do it right, you shouldn't be doing it all." She tossed the bolt back to Clark. "Amateurs."
Clark hold it up between them. "And if I told you this bolt was used in the scaffolding that held the Flying Graysons last night?"
Her look went guarded, nervous. "If you told me that, I wouldn't have anything much else to say on the topic." She shrugged. "I ain't got time to deal with a subpoena, you know? So you better not tell me."
"We don't need to, now," said Bruce. He looked at Clark. "Let's go."
: : :
"Just what are you implying?" Tony Zucco crossed his arms and looked at the two of them levelly.
"It's just that--"
"--I've never seen that bolt before in my life," Zucco said, speaking over Clark's voice.
"It comes from the platform that the Graysons--"
"--You're lying. We couldn't find none of them bolts. Musta gotten picked up by audience members. Probably turn up on Ebay someday." He was meeting Clark's gaze without blinking, but there were small beads of sweat at his temples. "But that ain't a bolt I ever use. You can check my toolbox, you nosy bastards."
"Mr. Zucco," said Clark, "We're not accusing you of anything--"
"--Yes we are," Bruce burst out beside him, stepping forward with his fists raised. "We're accusing you of negligence and we're accusing you of leaving a young man without his parents, you--"
He cut off as Clark put an arm out to block him and turned his glare on Clark. Zucco, who had fallen back a step during the tirade, managed a smile. His heart didn't seem to be in it, though. "Accuse me all you like," he said. "I'll slap you with a defamation suit so fast it'll make your muscle-bound heads spin."
"Mr. Zucco," Clark said as politely as he could between his clenched teeth, "If you won't go to the police and confess, I'm afraid we'll have to take this evidence to them."
The smile became a frank baring of teeth. "You feel free to run squealing to the police, son. See where it gets you." He raised his voice as they turned and walked away, yelling after their backs: "I'm a respectable businessman! And what are you guys? You're just liars and fakes, pretending to fight in some made-up world--a bunch of fakes! I do real work. I got powerful friends, and you are nothing, do you hear me? Nothing!"
As they turned a corner, the furious tension went out of Bruce's shoulders like a coat being shrugged off. "We've got him rattled," Bruce said in a perfectly conversational voice. "Did you see how he reacted to my yelling at him? He flinched a lot more when you pulled out that bolt. He knows it's damning evidence."
"Oh," said Clark with relief. "I thought you were really angry for a minute there."
Bruce shot him a quick, opaque look. "I had a trainer tell me once that anger uncontrolled is a blade turned inward. Only anger controlled is a weapon worth using."
Clark contemplated that for a moment. "You had some unorthodox trainers," he said after a while.
Bruce's chuckle was a thin and awkward sound; Clark realized it was the first time he had laughed since everything fell apart. "I suppose I did," he said.
: : :
"Lt. Gordon is busy at the moment. May I have your name and reason for visiting?"
"Would you tell him Bruce Wayne wants to see him?"
The receptionist gave Bruce a dubious look. "The billionaire?"
Bruce's smile was a flash of teeth, perfunctory even for him. "We have the same name," he said.
The receptionist stood and went to one of the cubicles. In the hubbub and bustle of the Gotham police station, Clark couldn't hear what she said, but the inhabitant of the cubicle leaned his chair back sharply and looked at Bruce for a long moment. He had a reddish-brown mustache that was the only notable feature on an otherwise bland face, but when he came over to them Clark could see that the eyes behind the thick glasses were both weary and surprisingly gentle.
"Mr. Wayne," he said, extending his hand. "I've...seen you on television. My daughter is a big fan. And this must be Clark Kent--if that is your real name," he added with a smile. He was still looking at Bruce as he shook hands with Clark. "I'm aware that many of you go by a stage name."
"It's my real name, sir," Clark reassured him. "And we have some questions we need to ask you."
Gordon ushered them into a conference room, and Clark showed him the bolt while Bruce explained what had gone before. Gordon listened to their story, then removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers, grimacing.
"I'm afraid that isn't going to get you very far, boys," he said.
"It's evidence--"
"--not much evidence," Gordon said. "And Tony Zucco is big business. He's got powerful friends. Politicians. Policemen. People who can get things done."
"Or not done," said Clark.
"Or not done," echoed Gordon wearily. He looked at Bruce. "Even the real Bruce Wayne doesn't have that kind of power right now. He's been away too long. Money alone doesn't do much without the right friends in high places."
"Whereas all I have is an observant friend and an honest policeman."
"Hey," said Gordon, "Don't let anyone catch you calling me that." His smile was rueful.
"But we do know someone with those kinds of connections," said Bruce. He nodded to Gordon. "Thank you." He grabbed Clark's arm. "Time to go back to work."
"Mr. Wayne."
Bruce turned back at the door. Jim Gordon nodded at him.
"Good luck to both of you."
: : :
"You want me to just ignore it?" Luthor's voice carried down the hall, reaching Clark and Bruce well before they entered the common room of the Wayne Auditorium. "You want me to pretend it didn't happen? Or do you want me to cancel the next two--three--four--how many shows? Are you willing to go without a salary while we all go hold hands and go through the five stages of grief together?"
Barda's face was pale, but she stood her ground. "I think it's ghoulish to make money off a tragedy like this."
Luthor started to say something, then snapped his mouth shut. After a moment he scrubbed at his face and said, "I think it will help some of us."
"Wayne, Kent," snapped Barda as she saw them come in, "Tell Luthor he must halt this mad plan."
"What mad plan?" said Clark. Bruce had spoken hardly at all since they left Duffy Construction.
"He wishes us to shoot promos where we talk about what the Graysons meant to us," Barda snarled, "To air on the Jumbotron during the show tonight. To put our grief on display to sell tickets."
"These people are coming to the show whether we do it or not," Luthor said. "I do not intend to treat it like any other night. It is not like any other night. It is not business as usual. You are not required to cut a promo--"
"--and many of us will not," Barda said, crossing her arms. Behind her, a few people--Oliver Queen, Hal Jordan, John Corben, Pamela Isley--were nodding.
"--but you will all come out to the ramp at the beginning of the show and pay your respects," Luthor said, in a voice brittle as ice. "You all owe John and Mary that much."
Barda looked at Clark and Bruce in appeal.
"Where's Dick?" said Bruce as if he hadn't heard any of it. Maybe he hadn't.
"He and Scott went to get some lunch. Things were getting unpleasant here." She shot Luthor a venomous look.
"I checked with the boy," said Luthor. "He said our plans for this evening were--"
"--as if he cares about some stupid show! He'd say anything to get you to leave him alone!"
Luthor crossed his arms and glared up at her. "Mercy," he said. "Get a list of who's willing to record something for this evening's show. We're going forward with it."
"Yes sir," said Mercy.
"I'll be in my office," Luthor snapped, and turned on his heel to leave.
"Can we talk with you?" Bruce said in a low voice as he passed by.
Luthor shot him a look, then nodded once.
: : :
The damning bolt gleamed on Luthor's desk. As Clark finished talking he looked down at it as if it were venomous. "I'll fire Zucco," he said. "He'll never work for us again. We'll find someone else for tonight's show."
He was reaching for his phone when Bruce spoke for the first time: "We want more than that." Luthor stopped with the phone in the hand and looked at him, waiting. "Criminal negligence. Involuntary manslaughter. Tampering with evidence. There's enough there to put him away, and we want it done," Bruce said. "We want justice."
Luthor looked at him, unblinking. "You said the police were uncooperative. Told you that Zucco had friends in high places."
"And you had dinner with Mayor Hill and Councilman Thorne two nights ago," said Bruce. "You're constantly working with politicians to make sure wrestling doesn't fall under the same regulations as actual sports. Don't tell me you don't have connections."
For a long moment they were both entirely still. Then Luthor said, very carefully: "I will fire Tony Zucco. But that is where it ends."
Bruce inhaled sharply and Clark saw his fists clench. "You're afraid that Zucco will claim he was only responding to your constant demands that he work faster and cut corners. He'll call in Duffy to testify that you were always hounding your workers to do it quicker. You're afraid you'll get dragged into a messy legal battle and a P.R. nightmare."
"Not good for business," Luthor said.
"I don't give a damn about business," Bruce snarled. "Don't you even care that two people are dead and--"
"--all the lawsuits in the world will not bring them back," Luthor said through gritted teeth. "John and Mary were working for my father before I was born. I grew up with them on the road. So don't you dare--" He broke off Clark saw his jaw muscles tighten as he swallowed hard. When he spoke again, his voice was calm and controlled once more. "It's true, you don't give a damn about business. And that's why you work for me." He met Bruce's gaze squarely. "You can't change the past, Bruce," he said. "No matter how angry you get."
Bruce's face went white. Clark got a glimpse of his eyes as he turned and left the office without another word.
"I believe I've made myself clear," said Luthor, meeting Clark's eyes and pointing with his chin toward the door.
"You have, yes," said Clark. Luthor went to scoop up the bolt, but Clark was there before him, plucking it from the table. He went to the door, then paused with his hand on the handle. "Lex," he said.
Luthor looked up from his phone at the sound of his first name.
"I think Bruce is right, that you're afraid of a lawsuit. Afraid of being accused of being responsible. But I think the real problem is," he said, "that you're afraid that you actually are to blame for John and Mary's deaths."
The door swung closed, shutting out Luthor's face, and Clark knew two things in that moment. The first was that he he was right.
The second was that Lex Luthor was never going to forgive him for saying it.
: : :
"He's in the locker room with Dick," Selina said before Clark could say anything.
"Dick said he wanted to talk to him alone," said Waylon, slapping another card down on his solitaire game. "We all cleared out."
Clark edged toward the locker-room door, concerned but unwilling to eavesdrop on Dick's grief. He hoped Bruce was able to console him, able to give him some comfort in--
There was a sharp clang of metal and a muffled yelp of pain from beyond the door, and Clark charged into the locker room without thinking.
Dick had Bruce in a standing side headlock, his face contorted and his arm wrapped around Bruce's neck as Bruce kicked wildly.
"That's good," Bruce was saying, quite calmly even as he seemed to be flailing to escape. "Good angle. Now toss me left, and really sell how heavy I am."
Dick heaved and Bruce staggered across the room, coming up hard against the lockers again. "He won't let me wrestle!" Dick yelled, and dragged his forearm across his face roughly. "He'll let me come out tonight and talk, but he won't let me wrestle anyone! It's not fair!"
Bruce nodded slowly, straightening to lean against the lockers with his arms crossed. Clark started to step back, out of the room, but the motion caught Bruce's eye and he turned to look at him; Clark froze. Then Bruce nodded slightly and tilted his head: You're okay. Come in.
Feeling oddly warmed by the permission, Clark stepped further into the locker room.
"I need to get in the ring," Dick was saying, his voice hoarse. "And the bastard won't let me wrestle."
"He's right," Bruce said, and Dick jerked his head up to glare at him. "No one wants to be the person who risks hurting you tonight, Dick. No one--no one could bear it."
Dick scrubbed at his face with his hands. "I hadn't thought of that," he said, his voice muffled. "But Bruce--I need to get out there. I need to--to do something."
"I understand. And you will," Bruce said. ""But right now, the people who care about you need you to be safe."
"I won't be treated like I'm made of spun glass."
"It's just for tonight," Clark cut in, leaning against the locker next to Bruce. "Trust me, I won't go easy on you if I get booked against you next week." This earned him a watery smile. "But not tonight, Dick. Just...let your friends treat you like a kid one more time."
After a moment, Dick nodded. "I'll go tell him," he said.
As he passed by them, Bruce put his hand out and caught Dick's shoulder. "I know this doesn't mean much," he said, "But...let me know if you need anything. We're here for you."
Dick clasped his hand. "It means a lot," he said. "To have someone there."
As the door closed behind him, Clark turned Bruce away from the lockers and pulled his shirt up to look at his back. "You're going to have a spectacular bruise there," he said. "You shouldn't have let him throw you so hard."
Bruce hissed a little as Clark touched the swath of purpling flesh. "He needed to throw something harder than that, but it was the best I could do."
His skin was warm; Clark let his hands rest against it gently for a moment longer than was strictly necessary, then forced himself to pull them away. "You didn't tell him, did you?" Bruce shook his head. "And I don't think Luthor's going to."
"I will. Now didn't seem a good time. Need to wait and see what happens next."
"What happens next? We're shut down in every direction: Zucco owns the police, I'm betting the newspapers too, and Luthor won't help at all. Nothing's going to happen next."
Bruce tugged down his shirt and stretched, wincing just a bit. Then he turned and smiled at Clark: it wasn't Billionaire Brucie's fake smile, but there was nothing warm or amused about it at all.
"Next," he said as he pulled out his phone, "You and I are having lunch together."
"What?"
Bruce dialed a number and waited a moment, then said, "Clark Kent and I are having lunch and an interesting conversation at Gino's in fifteen minutes. You might want to overhear it."
He dropped the phone into his pocket and looked at Clark again. "We're going to get some pizza, talk things over. Like friends do.
And the Wrestling Planet is going to get its biggest scoop ever."
---
( Chapter 22: Truth and...)
Relationship: Clark/Bruce
Characters: Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Lex Luthor, Tony Zucco, Jim Gordon
Continuity: Heroes of the Squared Circle, a DC/pro wrestling fusion ( click for notes and all chapters).
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: PG
Word Count 3000
Summary: Bruce and Clark do some digging and some pushing on the subject of the death of the Graysons.
When I think of it now, a quote from Georges Braque comes to mind: “Art is a wound turned to light.” To my mind, that is also the beauty of pro wrestling. --Bret Hart
"Stainless steel hex bolt." Jenna Duffy lifted the broken bit of metal to the light and squinted at it. "And you showed up in my office at nine AM to show it to me...why?"
"Curious as to what you think broke it," Bruce said.
Jenna snickered and tossed the bolt from one hand to the other. "This is why I hate Home Depot--they encourage amateur work. Look, boys, I know you were having fun building your little bunk bed or something, but if you don't know anything about weight tolerances and shear strength, you shouldn't be playing around with these things." She held the bolt up. "See how this sheared off? You put way too much weight on it. Did both of you try to sleep in the top bunk at once?"
Bruce didn't seem to register her jibe at all; his face was set and pale. "Is there any evidence of tampering? Sabotage?"
"Wait, now we're in a Hardy Boys book? Nah, there's none of that, it's just a plain old bolt, called upon to do more than it could bear. It's designed to be quick to tighten and release--I never use them, myself. It's cost me some work, but I don't care. If you're not willing to take the time to do it right, you shouldn't be doing it all." She tossed the bolt back to Clark. "Amateurs."
Clark hold it up between them. "And if I told you this bolt was used in the scaffolding that held the Flying Graysons last night?"
Her look went guarded, nervous. "If you told me that, I wouldn't have anything much else to say on the topic." She shrugged. "I ain't got time to deal with a subpoena, you know? So you better not tell me."
"We don't need to, now," said Bruce. He looked at Clark. "Let's go."
: : :
"Just what are you implying?" Tony Zucco crossed his arms and looked at the two of them levelly.
"It's just that--"
"--I've never seen that bolt before in my life," Zucco said, speaking over Clark's voice.
"It comes from the platform that the Graysons--"
"--You're lying. We couldn't find none of them bolts. Musta gotten picked up by audience members. Probably turn up on Ebay someday." He was meeting Clark's gaze without blinking, but there were small beads of sweat at his temples. "But that ain't a bolt I ever use. You can check my toolbox, you nosy bastards."
"Mr. Zucco," said Clark, "We're not accusing you of anything--"
"--Yes we are," Bruce burst out beside him, stepping forward with his fists raised. "We're accusing you of negligence and we're accusing you of leaving a young man without his parents, you--"
He cut off as Clark put an arm out to block him and turned his glare on Clark. Zucco, who had fallen back a step during the tirade, managed a smile. His heart didn't seem to be in it, though. "Accuse me all you like," he said. "I'll slap you with a defamation suit so fast it'll make your muscle-bound heads spin."
"Mr. Zucco," Clark said as politely as he could between his clenched teeth, "If you won't go to the police and confess, I'm afraid we'll have to take this evidence to them."
The smile became a frank baring of teeth. "You feel free to run squealing to the police, son. See where it gets you." He raised his voice as they turned and walked away, yelling after their backs: "I'm a respectable businessman! And what are you guys? You're just liars and fakes, pretending to fight in some made-up world--a bunch of fakes! I do real work. I got powerful friends, and you are nothing, do you hear me? Nothing!"
As they turned a corner, the furious tension went out of Bruce's shoulders like a coat being shrugged off. "We've got him rattled," Bruce said in a perfectly conversational voice. "Did you see how he reacted to my yelling at him? He flinched a lot more when you pulled out that bolt. He knows it's damning evidence."
"Oh," said Clark with relief. "I thought you were really angry for a minute there."
Bruce shot him a quick, opaque look. "I had a trainer tell me once that anger uncontrolled is a blade turned inward. Only anger controlled is a weapon worth using."
Clark contemplated that for a moment. "You had some unorthodox trainers," he said after a while.
Bruce's chuckle was a thin and awkward sound; Clark realized it was the first time he had laughed since everything fell apart. "I suppose I did," he said.
: : :
"Lt. Gordon is busy at the moment. May I have your name and reason for visiting?"
"Would you tell him Bruce Wayne wants to see him?"
The receptionist gave Bruce a dubious look. "The billionaire?"
Bruce's smile was a flash of teeth, perfunctory even for him. "We have the same name," he said.
The receptionist stood and went to one of the cubicles. In the hubbub and bustle of the Gotham police station, Clark couldn't hear what she said, but the inhabitant of the cubicle leaned his chair back sharply and looked at Bruce for a long moment. He had a reddish-brown mustache that was the only notable feature on an otherwise bland face, but when he came over to them Clark could see that the eyes behind the thick glasses were both weary and surprisingly gentle.
"Mr. Wayne," he said, extending his hand. "I've...seen you on television. My daughter is a big fan. And this must be Clark Kent--if that is your real name," he added with a smile. He was still looking at Bruce as he shook hands with Clark. "I'm aware that many of you go by a stage name."
"It's my real name, sir," Clark reassured him. "And we have some questions we need to ask you."
Gordon ushered them into a conference room, and Clark showed him the bolt while Bruce explained what had gone before. Gordon listened to their story, then removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers, grimacing.
"I'm afraid that isn't going to get you very far, boys," he said.
"It's evidence--"
"--not much evidence," Gordon said. "And Tony Zucco is big business. He's got powerful friends. Politicians. Policemen. People who can get things done."
"Or not done," said Clark.
"Or not done," echoed Gordon wearily. He looked at Bruce. "Even the real Bruce Wayne doesn't have that kind of power right now. He's been away too long. Money alone doesn't do much without the right friends in high places."
"Whereas all I have is an observant friend and an honest policeman."
"Hey," said Gordon, "Don't let anyone catch you calling me that." His smile was rueful.
"But we do know someone with those kinds of connections," said Bruce. He nodded to Gordon. "Thank you." He grabbed Clark's arm. "Time to go back to work."
"Mr. Wayne."
Bruce turned back at the door. Jim Gordon nodded at him.
"Good luck to both of you."
: : :
"You want me to just ignore it?" Luthor's voice carried down the hall, reaching Clark and Bruce well before they entered the common room of the Wayne Auditorium. "You want me to pretend it didn't happen? Or do you want me to cancel the next two--three--four--how many shows? Are you willing to go without a salary while we all go hold hands and go through the five stages of grief together?"
Barda's face was pale, but she stood her ground. "I think it's ghoulish to make money off a tragedy like this."
Luthor started to say something, then snapped his mouth shut. After a moment he scrubbed at his face and said, "I think it will help some of us."
"Wayne, Kent," snapped Barda as she saw them come in, "Tell Luthor he must halt this mad plan."
"What mad plan?" said Clark. Bruce had spoken hardly at all since they left Duffy Construction.
"He wishes us to shoot promos where we talk about what the Graysons meant to us," Barda snarled, "To air on the Jumbotron during the show tonight. To put our grief on display to sell tickets."
"These people are coming to the show whether we do it or not," Luthor said. "I do not intend to treat it like any other night. It is not like any other night. It is not business as usual. You are not required to cut a promo--"
"--and many of us will not," Barda said, crossing her arms. Behind her, a few people--Oliver Queen, Hal Jordan, John Corben, Pamela Isley--were nodding.
"--but you will all come out to the ramp at the beginning of the show and pay your respects," Luthor said, in a voice brittle as ice. "You all owe John and Mary that much."
Barda looked at Clark and Bruce in appeal.
"Where's Dick?" said Bruce as if he hadn't heard any of it. Maybe he hadn't.
"He and Scott went to get some lunch. Things were getting unpleasant here." She shot Luthor a venomous look.
"I checked with the boy," said Luthor. "He said our plans for this evening were--"
"--as if he cares about some stupid show! He'd say anything to get you to leave him alone!"
Luthor crossed his arms and glared up at her. "Mercy," he said. "Get a list of who's willing to record something for this evening's show. We're going forward with it."
"Yes sir," said Mercy.
"I'll be in my office," Luthor snapped, and turned on his heel to leave.
"Can we talk with you?" Bruce said in a low voice as he passed by.
Luthor shot him a look, then nodded once.
: : :
The damning bolt gleamed on Luthor's desk. As Clark finished talking he looked down at it as if it were venomous. "I'll fire Zucco," he said. "He'll never work for us again. We'll find someone else for tonight's show."
He was reaching for his phone when Bruce spoke for the first time: "We want more than that." Luthor stopped with the phone in the hand and looked at him, waiting. "Criminal negligence. Involuntary manslaughter. Tampering with evidence. There's enough there to put him away, and we want it done," Bruce said. "We want justice."
Luthor looked at him, unblinking. "You said the police were uncooperative. Told you that Zucco had friends in high places."
"And you had dinner with Mayor Hill and Councilman Thorne two nights ago," said Bruce. "You're constantly working with politicians to make sure wrestling doesn't fall under the same regulations as actual sports. Don't tell me you don't have connections."
For a long moment they were both entirely still. Then Luthor said, very carefully: "I will fire Tony Zucco. But that is where it ends."
Bruce inhaled sharply and Clark saw his fists clench. "You're afraid that Zucco will claim he was only responding to your constant demands that he work faster and cut corners. He'll call in Duffy to testify that you were always hounding your workers to do it quicker. You're afraid you'll get dragged into a messy legal battle and a P.R. nightmare."
"Not good for business," Luthor said.
"I don't give a damn about business," Bruce snarled. "Don't you even care that two people are dead and--"
"--all the lawsuits in the world will not bring them back," Luthor said through gritted teeth. "John and Mary were working for my father before I was born. I grew up with them on the road. So don't you dare--" He broke off Clark saw his jaw muscles tighten as he swallowed hard. When he spoke again, his voice was calm and controlled once more. "It's true, you don't give a damn about business. And that's why you work for me." He met Bruce's gaze squarely. "You can't change the past, Bruce," he said. "No matter how angry you get."
Bruce's face went white. Clark got a glimpse of his eyes as he turned and left the office without another word.
"I believe I've made myself clear," said Luthor, meeting Clark's eyes and pointing with his chin toward the door.
"You have, yes," said Clark. Luthor went to scoop up the bolt, but Clark was there before him, plucking it from the table. He went to the door, then paused with his hand on the handle. "Lex," he said.
Luthor looked up from his phone at the sound of his first name.
"I think Bruce is right, that you're afraid of a lawsuit. Afraid of being accused of being responsible. But I think the real problem is," he said, "that you're afraid that you actually are to blame for John and Mary's deaths."
The door swung closed, shutting out Luthor's face, and Clark knew two things in that moment. The first was that he he was right.
The second was that Lex Luthor was never going to forgive him for saying it.
: : :
"He's in the locker room with Dick," Selina said before Clark could say anything.
"Dick said he wanted to talk to him alone," said Waylon, slapping another card down on his solitaire game. "We all cleared out."
Clark edged toward the locker-room door, concerned but unwilling to eavesdrop on Dick's grief. He hoped Bruce was able to console him, able to give him some comfort in--
There was a sharp clang of metal and a muffled yelp of pain from beyond the door, and Clark charged into the locker room without thinking.
Dick had Bruce in a standing side headlock, his face contorted and his arm wrapped around Bruce's neck as Bruce kicked wildly.
"That's good," Bruce was saying, quite calmly even as he seemed to be flailing to escape. "Good angle. Now toss me left, and really sell how heavy I am."
Dick heaved and Bruce staggered across the room, coming up hard against the lockers again. "He won't let me wrestle!" Dick yelled, and dragged his forearm across his face roughly. "He'll let me come out tonight and talk, but he won't let me wrestle anyone! It's not fair!"
Bruce nodded slowly, straightening to lean against the lockers with his arms crossed. Clark started to step back, out of the room, but the motion caught Bruce's eye and he turned to look at him; Clark froze. Then Bruce nodded slightly and tilted his head: You're okay. Come in.
Feeling oddly warmed by the permission, Clark stepped further into the locker room.
"I need to get in the ring," Dick was saying, his voice hoarse. "And the bastard won't let me wrestle."
"He's right," Bruce said, and Dick jerked his head up to glare at him. "No one wants to be the person who risks hurting you tonight, Dick. No one--no one could bear it."
Dick scrubbed at his face with his hands. "I hadn't thought of that," he said, his voice muffled. "But Bruce--I need to get out there. I need to--to do something."
"I understand. And you will," Bruce said. ""But right now, the people who care about you need you to be safe."
"I won't be treated like I'm made of spun glass."
"It's just for tonight," Clark cut in, leaning against the locker next to Bruce. "Trust me, I won't go easy on you if I get booked against you next week." This earned him a watery smile. "But not tonight, Dick. Just...let your friends treat you like a kid one more time."
After a moment, Dick nodded. "I'll go tell him," he said.
As he passed by them, Bruce put his hand out and caught Dick's shoulder. "I know this doesn't mean much," he said, "But...let me know if you need anything. We're here for you."
Dick clasped his hand. "It means a lot," he said. "To have someone there."
As the door closed behind him, Clark turned Bruce away from the lockers and pulled his shirt up to look at his back. "You're going to have a spectacular bruise there," he said. "You shouldn't have let him throw you so hard."
Bruce hissed a little as Clark touched the swath of purpling flesh. "He needed to throw something harder than that, but it was the best I could do."
His skin was warm; Clark let his hands rest against it gently for a moment longer than was strictly necessary, then forced himself to pull them away. "You didn't tell him, did you?" Bruce shook his head. "And I don't think Luthor's going to."
"I will. Now didn't seem a good time. Need to wait and see what happens next."
"What happens next? We're shut down in every direction: Zucco owns the police, I'm betting the newspapers too, and Luthor won't help at all. Nothing's going to happen next."
Bruce tugged down his shirt and stretched, wincing just a bit. Then he turned and smiled at Clark: it wasn't Billionaire Brucie's fake smile, but there was nothing warm or amused about it at all.
"Next," he said as he pulled out his phone, "You and I are having lunch together."
"What?"
Bruce dialed a number and waited a moment, then said, "Clark Kent and I are having lunch and an interesting conversation at Gino's in fifteen minutes. You might want to overhear it."
He dropped the phone into his pocket and looked at Clark again. "We're going to get some pizza, talk things over. Like friends do.
And the Wrestling Planet is going to get its biggest scoop ever."
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( Chapter 22: Truth and...)