Heroes of the Squared Circle 23: ...Consequences
Title: ...Consequences
Relationship: Clark/Bruce
Characters: Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Lex Luthor, Waylon Jones
Continuity: Heroes of the Squared Circle, a DC/pro wrestling fusion ( click for notes and all chapters).
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: PG-13
Word Count 3400
Summary: Lex Luthor responds to Bruce and Clark's actions, and Clark finds the response hard to accept.
Later on in life I was one guy on the road, another at home and yet another in the ring. Which one is truly me? They all are. --Bret Hart
Luthor swiveled his laptop so Clark and Bruce could see it as they walked in. Below the familiar red masthead of the Wrestling Planet was the headline: Graysons: Criminal Negligence? by Lois Lane.
Below it was a closeup picture of the broken bolt, lying on the formica table of Gino's Pizza.
"I suppose you think you're quite clever," Luthor said. His voice was like a well into which a rock had been dropped. An empty well.
"We went to lunch after we met with you," Bruce said. "I admit, I was a little hot under the collar, I might have talked more loudly than I should have. He doesn't know who your leak is," Bruce added quickly as Luthor's eyes flicked to Clark. "He had nothing to do with this."
Clark had thought Bruce was protecting the spy by averting Clark's gaze. Now he wasn't so sure. "I had plenty to do with it," he said, stepping forward.
Bruce glared at him. Stop being noble, his gaze snapped as clearly as if he had said it aloud.
Luthor's eyes were back on Bruce, unwavering. "I know who's responsible," he said. He snapped the laptop shut and tapped the cover lightly with his fingers. "I wanted to let you know that I've already called the police and asked them what I can do to help in their case against Zucco Construction. The DCW will be cooperating to the fullest extent."
"It's the right thing to do and you know it," Bruce said.
"Also, I've just gotten off the phone with a friend, Okata Heino, perhaps you've heard of him."
"Promoter for New Nippon Puroresu," Bruce said. "I know him. Gardner works for him now."
"He said he had openings for two wrestlers there. I've told him that you and Dick Grayson would be happy to work with him for a while."
"What?" Now Clark did step forward. "You can't just send Bruce and Dick off to Japan like--"
Luthor looked keenly interested. "I can't? What a very intriguing opinion."
"You're just punishing him for--"
"--How can I be punishing him for something the claims he didn't do?" Luthor shrugged and looked at Bruce, who had remained silent. "You know you're getting off easy, Wayne."
"And Dick?" Clark snarled. "Are you too ashamed to meet his eyes, so you have to exile him too?"
Luthor hissed a breath between his teeth, but he didn't take his eyes from Bruce. "Japan is an ideal place for a smaller wrestler to hone his craft. Grayson needs to have a chance to stretch his own wings, out from the shadow of his parents. Someplace he can be more than an object of pity, a sad little orphan boy."
"And he'll need a mentor," said Bruce. Luthor looked at him. Bruce nodded, once. "Sounds fair."
"More than fair," agreed Luthor. "And this way I don't have to look at your smug, self-righteous face for a while either." Another smile, like a stiletto between the ribs. "See? I can have more than one motivation at the same time. Aren't I complex?"
"And Clark?"
"I'm thinking about it," said Luthor. "We'll see how he does without his guardian angel here watching over him." Clark opened his mouth, intercepted Bruce's look, and closed it again. "Now go away, I've got to talk to my lawyers."
"I can't believe you're just going to let him do this to you!"
Bruce stopped in the hallway and looked at Clark for a long moment. There was affection in his face, and exasperation. "He's right, I'm getting off easy. There was a good chance I'd lose my job over that stunt."
"But--"
"Did you really think there wouldn't be consequences for forcing Luthor's hand?" He shook his head. "Did you really think there wouldn't be a price to pay? And did you really think I wasn't willing to pay it, whatever it was?" His voice was gentle but inexorable.
Clark found himself without anything at all to say; some part of him truly had believed that Luthor would come to understand this was the right thing to do, that he couldn't possibly resent it once he realized justice was on their side. And now...
"It's okay, Clark," Bruce said. "I'm still under contract to the DCW. Luthor didn't fire me, and that means he wants me back once he cools down. It's not forever. If the investigation of Zucco leads to a trial, he'll have to bring us back to testify anyway. It's not forever," he repeated, and put his hand on Clark's shoulder, shook him slightly. "It's--"
The locker room door burst open and Dick came barrelling out, and Bruce stepped away from Clark and turned to him. "What happened?" Dick said breathlessly. "Are you guys in trouble, please tell me that you're not--"
"--nothing bad's happened," Bruce said over Dick's anxious voice. He smiled, and some of the tension went out of Dick's shoulders. "Luthor's just decided he wants you away from the paparazzi until this all blows over, and so you and I are going to go to Japan to work for a while."
Dick's eyes widened. "Japan? Really? That's--that's awesome!" He beamed at them both. "I've always wanted to work over there, or in Mexico--and working with you there--" He broke off, and the worry crept back into his eyes. "Are you sure Luthor said that? I thought he'd be really mad at you!"
Clark forced himself to chuckle. "Oh, he wasn't thrilled. But I think deep down he knows it's the right thing and he wants what's best for you."
"What about you, Clark? Will you be coming to Japan with us? That would be so fun, all three of us there--"
Bruce clapped Dick on the back. "Just you and me, champ. Clark's going to stay here and hold down the fort until we get back. Right, Clark?"
Clark's grin was starting to hurt his face. "Well, someone's got to keep an eye on Darkseid while you two are off exploring the world."
"It's going to be great, Dick," Bruce said. "It's time for me to get past the Billionaire Brucie gimmick, and this is my big chance, since Luthor won't want me to use the DCW gimmick when I'm abroad. To be honest, the rich-boy schtick is getting old. I've got some ideas--I've had them for a long time now, but there's never been a good chance to put them into practice. But Japan's got a lot of masked wrestlers, and I've wanted to try something with a mask, based on--" He broke off and looked, for a moment, slightly embarrassed, "Well, it sounds silly when I say it out loud, but I think it'll work in execution. How would you feel about being part of a tag team, Dick?"
Dick made a wordless spluttering noise of delight. "Tag team? With you?"
"I think we'd play well off each other, and I think the crowds there would eat it up. It's a good springboard to your solo career, too."
Dick looked like he might well burst into spontaneous dance. "Oh my God, can I use that persona we talked about? The Robin one?"
Bruce pointed at him. "That's exactly the one I had in mind. I think they will love it in Japan. Don't you, Clark?"
"Oh, without a doubt." Clark had no idea what the Robin gimmick was, but anything that made Dick beam like that was going to get over big. "You two are going to huge there."
From then the conversation was mostly dominated by Dick's happy chattering about costuming, possible names for moves, all the intricate details of his new gimmick. It was clear he'd been thinking about these things for a while; maybe it really would be better for him to have a chance away from the DCW to be his own person, Clark thought.
Bruce was mostly listening, nodding and smiling as Dick outlined some very essential point. Maybe he needed some time away as well: away from Luthor and the DCW and the whole billionaire schtick, away from the same old routine.
Apparently everything was going to work out for the best after all. They had gotten lucky. Clark realized his nails were biting into his palms and he uncurled them carefully, ignoring the dull ache they left behind, and kept smiling.
The next few weeks passed all too quickly. There were no more matches between Country Clark Kent and Billionaire Brucie, only a hastily-cut promo in which Brucie explained that he was going on a voyage of self-discovery to "find himself." The Planet trumpeted about "Wayne's Banishment," but as he and Dick prepared and packed, it seemed much more a vacation than an exile.
"What do you think, Clark? Bruce says I won't be able to get Almond Joy or Twix in Japan, how many do you think I should pack?"
Dick was sitting in the locker room, checking items off a list. Clark couldn't help but laugh at his earnestly distressed face. "I'll send you some, I promise."
"Really? Gosh, thanks. And I have to pack warm clothes, Bruce says we'll climb Mt. Fuji for the New Year and watch the sunrise. Doesn't that sound keen?"
"It sure does." Clark reached out and ruffled his hair, relieved that Dick had apparently remained cheerfully oblivious to his distress. Apparently he was a better liar than Bruce had given him credit for.
"I can't believe tonight is really my last match before we leave," Dick sighed. "Tomorrow morning you guys head off to Metropolis and Bruce and I head to Japan. Has he given you his Japanese phone number yet?"
"No. I...haven't seen much of him the last few weeks. He's been pretty busy."
"Oh. Hey, Clark?"
Clark tugged on the ridiculous straw hat someone in costuming had decided he needed to wear. His match with Metallo was coming up soon. "Yes?"
"I just wanted you to know I'll do my best to keep an eye on him while we're in Japan," Dick said. "Do you have any advice?"
"Huh?"
"You know," Dick said. "How to get him to eat more regularly, how to keep him actually talking to people now and then."
"Wait, he doesn't eat well when I'm not around?"
"Gosh, I guess you wouldn't know, would you?" Dick said. "That time you tore your hamstring and had to take time off, we all had to work to make sure he ate anything, it seemed. And when your Ma was sick and you went back to Kansas for a week, I'm not sure he talked to anyone the whole time, except to snap at them when they made mistakes. How do you manage it?"
"Oh." Clark groped for an answer. "I guess… just listen to him? Let him talk about wrestling a lot, he likes that. I think you'll be fine--you love the business, that makes a big difference."
Dick nodded solemnly. "I'll do my best, I promise!"
"Uh...thanks. I'll miss both of you," Clark said. He glanced at the clock. "Time to get moving. Metallo's not going to beat himself, you know."
He gave Dick a hug and headed out of the locker room, through the winding passages toward the stage entrance.
"I wanted to give you this."
Clark jumped as Bruce seemed to materialize out of the shadows. "Give me what?" he snapped, surprise one of many emotions sharpening his voice.
"Remember how you stayed at my place in Metropolis once? Stupid to leave it empty. Thought I'd loan you the key while I was gone. You'd be doing me a favor, stopping by now and then, keeping an eye on the place." Bruce held out a keychain with a single key on it. His eyes were fixed on the wall behind Clark's head. "Feel free to crash there when you're in Metropolis." Clark didn't move to take the key, and Bruce cleared his throat. "I'm not good with goodbyes," he said. "I'll keep in touch."
"No you won't," said Clark, and Bruce's eyes snapped to meet his, a sharp line between his eyebrows. "You know damn well you won't keep in touch--you didn't even keep talking to me when we weren't in an angle together. You haven't even shared your new number with me, and you never respond to email."
"Clark--"
"--No!" Clark heard the hurt and anger in his voice, and struggled to even it out. It was possibly his last conversation with Bruce, he didn't want to sound angry, didn't want to end it with bitterness. But he couldn't, he just couldn't. "Look, I'm thrilled that you and Dick are going to have such a great opportunity, and I understand you're excited about the possibility of a cool new gimmick, but you can't expect me to be--to be happy that I'm losing my partner, that I'm losing you."
There was something like panic in Bruce's eyes. "You're not losing me."
"You think I don't know why you're doing this now? I've got to get to my match, and at the end of it you'll be gone, I know you will and you know you will, so you won't have to deal with any messy goodbyes, you can just slip away into the night and vanish, and--"
It happened so suddenly Clark didn't see it coming; without transition he was slammed up against the wall, Bruce's hands on his shoulders, one hip hard up against his, holding him in place.
"You think I'm excited? You think I'm happy?" Bruce's face was only inches away, pale and drawn and not at all happy. "Thrilled to be dismissed, sent away from--from just about everything that matters to me?" He pushed Clark up against the wall again, not gently. "You're the one who's seemed just fine with all this, just going on as normal, like it isn't--" His voice broke. "Like you can bear it. Like it's not unbearable."
"That was for Dick," Clark said. "I didn't want him to--"
"--Yes," said Bruce.
"It's not," Clark said. "It's not bearable."
Bruce moved forward as if he was going to headbutt him. Clark braced himself, pulling in a breath--a breath that became a gasp as Bruce's mouth collided with his, sharp and bruising and warm. Clark felt Bruce's teeth against his lips, his own lips against Bruce's teeth, felt Bruce's tongue--
Clark pivoted and broke Bruce's grip on him, slamming his back up against the wall in turn and deepening the--it was a kiss, wasn't it, this battering sweet clash? Whatever it was, he never wanted it to end, never.
Bruce grabbed a handful of his hair with one hand (disqualifying move in a match; Clark's whole body seemed to sing with it) and yanked him closer. Clark tasted blood, he growled something, he didn't know what, and it was his turn again to be thrown backwards into a wall as Bruce pressed the joyous assault, hands scrabbling against cinder blocks and against each others' bodies, each throwing the other off just enough to insist on being the one to seize and grasp and claim. Bruce bit at Clark's neck, his breath snarling against Clark's skin, but he left his guard down; Clark had leverage and he was going to throw Bruce down on the floor and--
A throat was cleared nearby and Bruce jumped backwards, swinging to glare at Killer Croc standing in the corridor. There was a trickle of blood at the corner of Bruce's mouth and his eyes were wild, and Croc held his hands up and backed up a step.
"Just wanted to let Kent know he was on in five. Didn't mean to interrupt your--brawl. Or whatever it was."
Bruce took a deep breath. "Take it," he said, and closed Clark's numb fingers over the key once more. "Catch you later."
And then he was running down the corridor and throwing open an emergency exit. Gone.
"Be interesting to see you guys try that move in the ring sometime," Croc noted as Clark started toward the stage on wobbly legs. "Might be tough to pull off without it looking like you're making out, though."
Monday 23:49: That was something I've wanted for a while, by the way. There. I said it. --CK
Tuesday 01:28: No regrets. --CK
Tuesday 09:05: Still no regrets. --CK
Tuesday 13:48: Your plane is taking off in 30, so okay. You're bad with goodbyes, I get it. Let me know when you're back and we'll try that again. I hope. --CK
Clark tossed the little silver key from one hand to another as the elevator rose to the sixth floor of Bruce's apartment building. Maybe Bruce had left a note for him. He imagined a piece of stationary sitting in the middle of that antiseptically neutral, personality-free set of beige boxes and snorted. Right. Maybe with roses and glitter on it, too.
He swung open the door, stepped inside, and stopped.
The wall facing the door (formerly bare) had a set of bright paintings framed on it: abstract triangles and squares in blues and yellows. It took Clark a moment to realize that they were of golden fields under an azure sky. Stepping forward, he saw that the spare, hard white couch had been replaced with a soft, deep leather sofa. There was a fleece throw tossed across it: red and blue.
The refrigerator was stocked with RC Cola (Clark had once complained about how hard it was to find RC on the road); the pantry with Art's and Mary's Hot Chips, Clark's favorite snack bars, and black liquorice whips. Clark remembered Bruce's face when he had seen Clark eating them: "No one likes black liquorice, Clark! No one!" and closed the doors with a gentle click.
The bathroom had Clark's brand of shampoo and soap, and thick sunshine-yellow towels. The bedroom--
Clark snorted when he saw the garish Star Wars comforter spread across the bed in place of the industrially bland beige. On the walls were framed movie prints: Blade Runner, It's a Wonderful Life, Vertigo, The Wizard of Oz, This is Spinal Tap.
The music system had two CDs sitting on top of it. Clark picked them up: unadorned discs, plain white, scribbled on with a bold hand: Pre-Show and Post-Show. A track list hastily added on the back. Clark looked at the artists: Bruce Springsteen, Led Zeppelin, Queen, The Who, David Bowie. He slipped the Post-Show CD into the player and pressed play, and the exuberant drums and horns of Adam Ant's "Goody Two Shoes" followed him into the kitchen:
We don't follow fashion
That would be a joke
You know we're going to set them set them
So everyone can take note take note...
The mix followed him around the apartment as he had a drink, checked The Planet ("I'd gladly lose me to find you/I'd gladly give up all I had/To find you I'd suffer anything and be glad"), and answered his email. He took a shower, wrapped in music as comfortable as the soft towel ("Though nothing will keep us together/We could steal time, just for one day/We can be heroes, for ever and ever/What d'you say?").
There was no note. The whole apartment was a note.
He curled up between royal blue sheets that smelled faintly of Bruce's cologne, closed his eyes, and let the final track of the mix sing him to sleep:
We mean to go on and on and on and on
We are the champions, my friend
And we'll keep on fighting
Till the end…
---
( Chapter 24: Make a Wish)
----
You can listen to Bruce's mixes to Clark at 8tracks: The Pre-Show Mix and The Post-Show Mix
Relationship: Clark/Bruce
Characters: Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Lex Luthor, Waylon Jones
Continuity: Heroes of the Squared Circle, a DC/pro wrestling fusion ( click for notes and all chapters).
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: PG-13
Word Count 3400
Summary: Lex Luthor responds to Bruce and Clark's actions, and Clark finds the response hard to accept.
Later on in life I was one guy on the road, another at home and yet another in the ring. Which one is truly me? They all are. --Bret Hart
Luthor swiveled his laptop so Clark and Bruce could see it as they walked in. Below the familiar red masthead of the Wrestling Planet was the headline: Graysons: Criminal Negligence? by Lois Lane.
Below it was a closeup picture of the broken bolt, lying on the formica table of Gino's Pizza.
"I suppose you think you're quite clever," Luthor said. His voice was like a well into which a rock had been dropped. An empty well.
"We went to lunch after we met with you," Bruce said. "I admit, I was a little hot under the collar, I might have talked more loudly than I should have. He doesn't know who your leak is," Bruce added quickly as Luthor's eyes flicked to Clark. "He had nothing to do with this."
Clark had thought Bruce was protecting the spy by averting Clark's gaze. Now he wasn't so sure. "I had plenty to do with it," he said, stepping forward.
Bruce glared at him. Stop being noble, his gaze snapped as clearly as if he had said it aloud.
Luthor's eyes were back on Bruce, unwavering. "I know who's responsible," he said. He snapped the laptop shut and tapped the cover lightly with his fingers. "I wanted to let you know that I've already called the police and asked them what I can do to help in their case against Zucco Construction. The DCW will be cooperating to the fullest extent."
"It's the right thing to do and you know it," Bruce said.
"Also, I've just gotten off the phone with a friend, Okata Heino, perhaps you've heard of him."
"Promoter for New Nippon Puroresu," Bruce said. "I know him. Gardner works for him now."
"He said he had openings for two wrestlers there. I've told him that you and Dick Grayson would be happy to work with him for a while."
"What?" Now Clark did step forward. "You can't just send Bruce and Dick off to Japan like--"
Luthor looked keenly interested. "I can't? What a very intriguing opinion."
"You're just punishing him for--"
"--How can I be punishing him for something the claims he didn't do?" Luthor shrugged and looked at Bruce, who had remained silent. "You know you're getting off easy, Wayne."
"And Dick?" Clark snarled. "Are you too ashamed to meet his eyes, so you have to exile him too?"
Luthor hissed a breath between his teeth, but he didn't take his eyes from Bruce. "Japan is an ideal place for a smaller wrestler to hone his craft. Grayson needs to have a chance to stretch his own wings, out from the shadow of his parents. Someplace he can be more than an object of pity, a sad little orphan boy."
"And he'll need a mentor," said Bruce. Luthor looked at him. Bruce nodded, once. "Sounds fair."
"More than fair," agreed Luthor. "And this way I don't have to look at your smug, self-righteous face for a while either." Another smile, like a stiletto between the ribs. "See? I can have more than one motivation at the same time. Aren't I complex?"
"And Clark?"
"I'm thinking about it," said Luthor. "We'll see how he does without his guardian angel here watching over him." Clark opened his mouth, intercepted Bruce's look, and closed it again. "Now go away, I've got to talk to my lawyers."
"I can't believe you're just going to let him do this to you!"
Bruce stopped in the hallway and looked at Clark for a long moment. There was affection in his face, and exasperation. "He's right, I'm getting off easy. There was a good chance I'd lose my job over that stunt."
"But--"
"Did you really think there wouldn't be consequences for forcing Luthor's hand?" He shook his head. "Did you really think there wouldn't be a price to pay? And did you really think I wasn't willing to pay it, whatever it was?" His voice was gentle but inexorable.
Clark found himself without anything at all to say; some part of him truly had believed that Luthor would come to understand this was the right thing to do, that he couldn't possibly resent it once he realized justice was on their side. And now...
"It's okay, Clark," Bruce said. "I'm still under contract to the DCW. Luthor didn't fire me, and that means he wants me back once he cools down. It's not forever. If the investigation of Zucco leads to a trial, he'll have to bring us back to testify anyway. It's not forever," he repeated, and put his hand on Clark's shoulder, shook him slightly. "It's--"
The locker room door burst open and Dick came barrelling out, and Bruce stepped away from Clark and turned to him. "What happened?" Dick said breathlessly. "Are you guys in trouble, please tell me that you're not--"
"--nothing bad's happened," Bruce said over Dick's anxious voice. He smiled, and some of the tension went out of Dick's shoulders. "Luthor's just decided he wants you away from the paparazzi until this all blows over, and so you and I are going to go to Japan to work for a while."
Dick's eyes widened. "Japan? Really? That's--that's awesome!" He beamed at them both. "I've always wanted to work over there, or in Mexico--and working with you there--" He broke off, and the worry crept back into his eyes. "Are you sure Luthor said that? I thought he'd be really mad at you!"
Clark forced himself to chuckle. "Oh, he wasn't thrilled. But I think deep down he knows it's the right thing and he wants what's best for you."
"What about you, Clark? Will you be coming to Japan with us? That would be so fun, all three of us there--"
Bruce clapped Dick on the back. "Just you and me, champ. Clark's going to stay here and hold down the fort until we get back. Right, Clark?"
Clark's grin was starting to hurt his face. "Well, someone's got to keep an eye on Darkseid while you two are off exploring the world."
"It's going to be great, Dick," Bruce said. "It's time for me to get past the Billionaire Brucie gimmick, and this is my big chance, since Luthor won't want me to use the DCW gimmick when I'm abroad. To be honest, the rich-boy schtick is getting old. I've got some ideas--I've had them for a long time now, but there's never been a good chance to put them into practice. But Japan's got a lot of masked wrestlers, and I've wanted to try something with a mask, based on--" He broke off and looked, for a moment, slightly embarrassed, "Well, it sounds silly when I say it out loud, but I think it'll work in execution. How would you feel about being part of a tag team, Dick?"
Dick made a wordless spluttering noise of delight. "Tag team? With you?"
"I think we'd play well off each other, and I think the crowds there would eat it up. It's a good springboard to your solo career, too."
Dick looked like he might well burst into spontaneous dance. "Oh my God, can I use that persona we talked about? The Robin one?"
Bruce pointed at him. "That's exactly the one I had in mind. I think they will love it in Japan. Don't you, Clark?"
"Oh, without a doubt." Clark had no idea what the Robin gimmick was, but anything that made Dick beam like that was going to get over big. "You two are going to huge there."
From then the conversation was mostly dominated by Dick's happy chattering about costuming, possible names for moves, all the intricate details of his new gimmick. It was clear he'd been thinking about these things for a while; maybe it really would be better for him to have a chance away from the DCW to be his own person, Clark thought.
Bruce was mostly listening, nodding and smiling as Dick outlined some very essential point. Maybe he needed some time away as well: away from Luthor and the DCW and the whole billionaire schtick, away from the same old routine.
Apparently everything was going to work out for the best after all. They had gotten lucky. Clark realized his nails were biting into his palms and he uncurled them carefully, ignoring the dull ache they left behind, and kept smiling.
The next few weeks passed all too quickly. There were no more matches between Country Clark Kent and Billionaire Brucie, only a hastily-cut promo in which Brucie explained that he was going on a voyage of self-discovery to "find himself." The Planet trumpeted about "Wayne's Banishment," but as he and Dick prepared and packed, it seemed much more a vacation than an exile.
"What do you think, Clark? Bruce says I won't be able to get Almond Joy or Twix in Japan, how many do you think I should pack?"
Dick was sitting in the locker room, checking items off a list. Clark couldn't help but laugh at his earnestly distressed face. "I'll send you some, I promise."
"Really? Gosh, thanks. And I have to pack warm clothes, Bruce says we'll climb Mt. Fuji for the New Year and watch the sunrise. Doesn't that sound keen?"
"It sure does." Clark reached out and ruffled his hair, relieved that Dick had apparently remained cheerfully oblivious to his distress. Apparently he was a better liar than Bruce had given him credit for.
"I can't believe tonight is really my last match before we leave," Dick sighed. "Tomorrow morning you guys head off to Metropolis and Bruce and I head to Japan. Has he given you his Japanese phone number yet?"
"No. I...haven't seen much of him the last few weeks. He's been pretty busy."
"Oh. Hey, Clark?"
Clark tugged on the ridiculous straw hat someone in costuming had decided he needed to wear. His match with Metallo was coming up soon. "Yes?"
"I just wanted you to know I'll do my best to keep an eye on him while we're in Japan," Dick said. "Do you have any advice?"
"Huh?"
"You know," Dick said. "How to get him to eat more regularly, how to keep him actually talking to people now and then."
"Wait, he doesn't eat well when I'm not around?"
"Gosh, I guess you wouldn't know, would you?" Dick said. "That time you tore your hamstring and had to take time off, we all had to work to make sure he ate anything, it seemed. And when your Ma was sick and you went back to Kansas for a week, I'm not sure he talked to anyone the whole time, except to snap at them when they made mistakes. How do you manage it?"
"Oh." Clark groped for an answer. "I guess… just listen to him? Let him talk about wrestling a lot, he likes that. I think you'll be fine--you love the business, that makes a big difference."
Dick nodded solemnly. "I'll do my best, I promise!"
"Uh...thanks. I'll miss both of you," Clark said. He glanced at the clock. "Time to get moving. Metallo's not going to beat himself, you know."
He gave Dick a hug and headed out of the locker room, through the winding passages toward the stage entrance.
"I wanted to give you this."
Clark jumped as Bruce seemed to materialize out of the shadows. "Give me what?" he snapped, surprise one of many emotions sharpening his voice.
"Remember how you stayed at my place in Metropolis once? Stupid to leave it empty. Thought I'd loan you the key while I was gone. You'd be doing me a favor, stopping by now and then, keeping an eye on the place." Bruce held out a keychain with a single key on it. His eyes were fixed on the wall behind Clark's head. "Feel free to crash there when you're in Metropolis." Clark didn't move to take the key, and Bruce cleared his throat. "I'm not good with goodbyes," he said. "I'll keep in touch."
"No you won't," said Clark, and Bruce's eyes snapped to meet his, a sharp line between his eyebrows. "You know damn well you won't keep in touch--you didn't even keep talking to me when we weren't in an angle together. You haven't even shared your new number with me, and you never respond to email."
"Clark--"
"--No!" Clark heard the hurt and anger in his voice, and struggled to even it out. It was possibly his last conversation with Bruce, he didn't want to sound angry, didn't want to end it with bitterness. But he couldn't, he just couldn't. "Look, I'm thrilled that you and Dick are going to have such a great opportunity, and I understand you're excited about the possibility of a cool new gimmick, but you can't expect me to be--to be happy that I'm losing my partner, that I'm losing you."
There was something like panic in Bruce's eyes. "You're not losing me."
"You think I don't know why you're doing this now? I've got to get to my match, and at the end of it you'll be gone, I know you will and you know you will, so you won't have to deal with any messy goodbyes, you can just slip away into the night and vanish, and--"
It happened so suddenly Clark didn't see it coming; without transition he was slammed up against the wall, Bruce's hands on his shoulders, one hip hard up against his, holding him in place.
"You think I'm excited? You think I'm happy?" Bruce's face was only inches away, pale and drawn and not at all happy. "Thrilled to be dismissed, sent away from--from just about everything that matters to me?" He pushed Clark up against the wall again, not gently. "You're the one who's seemed just fine with all this, just going on as normal, like it isn't--" His voice broke. "Like you can bear it. Like it's not unbearable."
"That was for Dick," Clark said. "I didn't want him to--"
"--Yes," said Bruce.
"It's not," Clark said. "It's not bearable."
Bruce moved forward as if he was going to headbutt him. Clark braced himself, pulling in a breath--a breath that became a gasp as Bruce's mouth collided with his, sharp and bruising and warm. Clark felt Bruce's teeth against his lips, his own lips against Bruce's teeth, felt Bruce's tongue--
Clark pivoted and broke Bruce's grip on him, slamming his back up against the wall in turn and deepening the--it was a kiss, wasn't it, this battering sweet clash? Whatever it was, he never wanted it to end, never.
Bruce grabbed a handful of his hair with one hand (disqualifying move in a match; Clark's whole body seemed to sing with it) and yanked him closer. Clark tasted blood, he growled something, he didn't know what, and it was his turn again to be thrown backwards into a wall as Bruce pressed the joyous assault, hands scrabbling against cinder blocks and against each others' bodies, each throwing the other off just enough to insist on being the one to seize and grasp and claim. Bruce bit at Clark's neck, his breath snarling against Clark's skin, but he left his guard down; Clark had leverage and he was going to throw Bruce down on the floor and--
A throat was cleared nearby and Bruce jumped backwards, swinging to glare at Killer Croc standing in the corridor. There was a trickle of blood at the corner of Bruce's mouth and his eyes were wild, and Croc held his hands up and backed up a step.
"Just wanted to let Kent know he was on in five. Didn't mean to interrupt your--brawl. Or whatever it was."
Bruce took a deep breath. "Take it," he said, and closed Clark's numb fingers over the key once more. "Catch you later."
And then he was running down the corridor and throwing open an emergency exit. Gone.
"Be interesting to see you guys try that move in the ring sometime," Croc noted as Clark started toward the stage on wobbly legs. "Might be tough to pull off without it looking like you're making out, though."
Monday 23:49: That was something I've wanted for a while, by the way. There. I said it. --CK
Tuesday 01:28: No regrets. --CK
Tuesday 09:05: Still no regrets. --CK
Tuesday 13:48: Your plane is taking off in 30, so okay. You're bad with goodbyes, I get it. Let me know when you're back and we'll try that again. I hope. --CK
Clark tossed the little silver key from one hand to another as the elevator rose to the sixth floor of Bruce's apartment building. Maybe Bruce had left a note for him. He imagined a piece of stationary sitting in the middle of that antiseptically neutral, personality-free set of beige boxes and snorted. Right. Maybe with roses and glitter on it, too.
He swung open the door, stepped inside, and stopped.
The wall facing the door (formerly bare) had a set of bright paintings framed on it: abstract triangles and squares in blues and yellows. It took Clark a moment to realize that they were of golden fields under an azure sky. Stepping forward, he saw that the spare, hard white couch had been replaced with a soft, deep leather sofa. There was a fleece throw tossed across it: red and blue.
The refrigerator was stocked with RC Cola (Clark had once complained about how hard it was to find RC on the road); the pantry with Art's and Mary's Hot Chips, Clark's favorite snack bars, and black liquorice whips. Clark remembered Bruce's face when he had seen Clark eating them: "No one likes black liquorice, Clark! No one!" and closed the doors with a gentle click.
The bathroom had Clark's brand of shampoo and soap, and thick sunshine-yellow towels. The bedroom--
Clark snorted when he saw the garish Star Wars comforter spread across the bed in place of the industrially bland beige. On the walls were framed movie prints: Blade Runner, It's a Wonderful Life, Vertigo, The Wizard of Oz, This is Spinal Tap.
The music system had two CDs sitting on top of it. Clark picked them up: unadorned discs, plain white, scribbled on with a bold hand: Pre-Show and Post-Show. A track list hastily added on the back. Clark looked at the artists: Bruce Springsteen, Led Zeppelin, Queen, The Who, David Bowie. He slipped the Post-Show CD into the player and pressed play, and the exuberant drums and horns of Adam Ant's "Goody Two Shoes" followed him into the kitchen:
We don't follow fashion
That would be a joke
You know we're going to set them set them
So everyone can take note take note...
The mix followed him around the apartment as he had a drink, checked The Planet ("I'd gladly lose me to find you/I'd gladly give up all I had/To find you I'd suffer anything and be glad"), and answered his email. He took a shower, wrapped in music as comfortable as the soft towel ("Though nothing will keep us together/We could steal time, just for one day/We can be heroes, for ever and ever/What d'you say?").
There was no note. The whole apartment was a note.
He curled up between royal blue sheets that smelled faintly of Bruce's cologne, closed his eyes, and let the final track of the mix sing him to sleep:
We mean to go on and on and on and on
We are the champions, my friend
And we'll keep on fighting
Till the end…
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( Chapter 24: Make a Wish)
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You can listen to Bruce's mixes to Clark at 8tracks: The Pre-Show Mix and The Post-Show Mix