Heroes of the Squared Circle 33: Fathers and Sons
Title: Fathers and Sons
Relationship: Clark/Bruce
Characters: Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Jean-Paul Valley, Jason Todd, Bane, Dick Grayson
Continuity: Heroes of the Squared Circle, a DC/pro wrestling fusion ( click for notes and all chapters).
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: PG
Word Count 2700
Summary: Clark and Bruce meet a new Robin at the beginning of their Santa Prisca trip--and then are reunited with an old one.
"Wayne has agreed with me that the Robin gimmick was working too well to give up just because Grayson decided to move on," Luthor said to the room full of wrestlers and their luggage. "So this Santa Prisca trip seemed like the perfect time to let him and all of you get used to a new Robin. Allow me to introduce to you Mr. Jason Todd."
The dark-haired young man at his side bobbed his head awkwardly, not meeting anyone's eyes.
"Todd's an up-and-comer in the mixed martial arts scene," Luthor went on. "He's got a gritty, street-savvy style that I think will work well with the Dark Knight." He clapped Jason on the back and exited, whistling to himself.
Clark watched as Jason went around the room and shook hands with everyone. Unlike Dick's natural cheeriness and relaxation, Jason had a closed, sullen look on his face, a reserve. Yet when he shook hands with Diana, he suddenly stammered, "I'm--I'm so thrilled to meet you--I saw some of your early matches in Athens on Youtube...that mixed match where you bodyslammed Ares from the turnbuckle was fu--I mean, freaking amazing!" and when she smiled and thanked him, his face lit up and Clark caught a glimpse of a shy young man who was perhaps too well-guarded for his own good. But by the time he came to Bruce, the shields were back in place.
"It's an honor to be working with you," Jason said, sticking out his hand, unsmiling.
Bruce took it. "Good to meet you again," he said.
Jason flinched backwards, his cheeks flaming red. "Oh God," he stammered. "I didn't--"
Bruce loomed just a bit. "--You didn't think I'd remember the punk who tried to steal my hubcaps?"
There was an awkward silence in which Jason looked like he was thinking about bolting for the door. The Bruce laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.
"C'mon," he said. "No hard feelings. I mean, you stayed out of trouble after that, right? No more shoplifting, no more fights in school."
"Y--Yeah, I pretty much did," Jason said. "How did you--"
"--Found a local gym that trained in MMA, put all that street fighting skill to good use. And now you've got a developmental contract working in DCW!" Bruce gave Jason a rather narrow look. "You sure that's what you want, kid? Ditching the mixed martial art circuit, working for Luthor?"
Jason squared his jaw and met his eyes. "I want to work with you."
"Even if you have to be a replacement? A second Robin, rather than your own person?" Jason's eyes darkened and Bruce said, "I'm just telling it like it is. That's what they want from you. Not everyone would be willing to do it, and I'd understand why."
Jason nodded once, a sharp jerk of his head. "I want the chance."
Bruce nodded. "Then we'll work together. There's a gym in the hotel we're staying at in Santa Prisca. You'll be there at 6 o'clock sharp tomorrow morning to start training." He tipped his head in Clark's direction. "That's Clark. The Kryptonian. Friend of mine."
Jason gave him a somewhat shaky smile. "You look less daunting without the red eyes."
"He's the scary one," Clark said, shrugging toward Bruce.
"No argument from me," Jason breathed as he reached down to grab the backpack at his feet.
"Where's the rest of your luggage?" said Clark.
Jason shrugged. "I travel light." He tossed the backpack over his shoulder and headed for the door. "This is all I've got."
"Luthor said the two of you agreed to continue the Robin gimmick, but you only agreed because it was part of the deal to get me some mic time," Clark said under his breath to Bruce as they headed toward the bus that would take them to the airport. "Don't think I don't know that."
"He's a tough kid," said Bruce, neither affirming nor denying. "Self-made. He deserves a break."
"All that may be true, but I'm not sure this way is fair to him," Clark said. "Everyone in the business loves Dick. They watched him grow up. And now they bring in this kid to replace him--he's not from a pro wrestling promotion, he's an outsider from MMA, and he's--well, he's--"
"--He's got a chip on his shoulder, he's overly intense, and he doesn't have any social graces," Bruce finished for him. They watched as Jason climbed into the bus, smiling stiffly at the other wrestlers, putting his backpack in the seat next to him so no one would sit by him.
Clark heard Bruce sigh.
"I like him," he said, almost too low for Clark to hear.
"--And Bane rules over his Santa Prisca prison with an iron fist. Any who dare challenge his rule he beats to a bloody pulp in the Pit at the center of the prison." Harvey Dent nodded at the enthralled plane full of wrestlers. "He's calculating, brilliant, and utterly ruthless. Some matches he fights with the ring in flames, other times--when he wants a challenge--he fights with one hand tied behind his back. He never loses. He's been known to feed his victims to the sharks."
Jason laughed, just a little nervously. "But that's all--that's all fake, right?"
Clark winced as he saw some of the wrestlers' faces close up at the sound of the real f-word: if there was one thing professional wrestlers hated, it was people from boxing or mixed martial arts, where the matches weren't pre-determined, calling what they did "fake."
"The better word is 'kayfabe,' Jason," said Bruce calmly, not looking up from his book. "And yes, Peña Duro--the prison that Bane 'rules'--is one of the more ingenious and detailed professional wrestling sets I've ever worked. But I've never known him to actually throw someone to the sharks." He looked up with a slight smile. "The inferno matches, on the other hand, are quite real, and only end when one wrestler has been set on fire."
"Hardcore," murmured Barbara appreciatively.
"Bane is intense and driven," Bruce went on. "His father, King Snake, has trained him since childhood to be the pinnacle of human perfection. He speaks six languages fluently and can bench press seven hundred pounds. He also has an excellent ring sense and a grasp of the best gimmick. The story is that he was experimented on as a young man by the prison surgeons, and given a drug called Venom which makes him unstoppable."
"He sounds quite formidable," said Jean-Paul Valley. "I look forward to defeating him."
Bruce gave him a thin smile. "I can count the number of times he's lost on one hand, and he's certainly not going to lose to a wrestler from the mainland."
"It's already decided," said Lex Luthor without looking up from his laptop. "He said he'd wrestle none but the Dark Knight. He won't lose to him, either. And since you've mentioned it--he'd like it to be an inferno match, if you're game."
"I'm always game," said Bruce.
"That's why I haven't fired you," shot back Luthor.
"Hey, there it is!" said Batson, and the wrestlers peered out the plane windows at the tiny island below them, an emerald in a turquoise sea.
"...He wanted me to be 'Prince Snake,'" said the man who went by "Bane," lifting his beer. "But come now, that was clearly not going to work. My father was an intelligent man, but when it came to names, he met his match. Prince Snake? I don't think so."
"I admire how you've carved out your independence while remaining true to his vision," Jean-Paul said. Within moments they were deep in a conversation about demanding wrestling fathers; Clark caught a snippet of Jean-Paul explaining his father's "System," which sounded like some kind of grueling training regimen involving hard physical labor and extremely dubious psychological training.
Some of the other wrestlers were talking about hitting the beach in the morning before the first show. "Join us?" Selina said to Bruce, but Bruce shook his head.
"Wrestling is the only kayfabe I find interesting," he said, and that was all he'd say on the matter. "Jason and I will be training," he added, and Jason gave an only slightly disappointed shrug and agreed.
"I'll be there too," Clark said.
Bruce didn't quite smile. "I know."
"Your first priority is to protect your opponent, not hurt them," Bruce said as he came up from a roll. "Throw somebody like that in a match and you're going to make enemies fast. And they're not your enemies," he added as Jason opened his mouth. "They're your co-workers. You're working together to create the illusion of combat. The best worker is one who hurts no one."
Jason looked like he wanted to argue, but closed his mouth, swallowed hard, and tried the move again.
"Better," said Bruce after another bodyslam.
"I don't see why I have to wear the Robin costume for practice," Jason said.
"You need to know how it moves with you," said Bruce. "You won't be wrestling in workout sweats, so we don't practice in them." He paused to let Jason suplex him twice more, then said, "Luthor's putting you into a match with Joker tonight."
Jason's grin transformed his closed-off face to brilliant. "Putting me up against the A-listers right away, huh?"
"Hm," said Bruce. He shot a look at Clark, who was working out on the butterfly machine.
Clark shrugged slightly and raised an eyebrow: He needs to know.
"Joker can be difficult to work with," Bruce said. "I suspect Luthor is matching you with him to test you."
"Oh," said Jason, his smile disappearing. He thought about it for a while, leaning against the ropes of the practice ring. "What do I do?"
Bruce didn't say anything, but Clark could tell from the way his shoulders relaxed slightly that he was pleased. "You're going to have to let him call all the shots in the ring. He'll give you cues to tell you which move is up next--you don't have to say anything, just listen for his audibles and do what he says. To prepare, let's go through a practice match. I'll be Joker and we'll work on some of his standard moves so you're ready for them."
"You're the boss," said Jason, the cocky grin back in place. "Let's get started."
Clark finished his reps and moved around the ring as they practiced, watching them. Jason was good, there was no doubt about it. He had a raw strength that Dick didn't have, a vigor to his motions that made up for his relative lack of grace. He didn't look as good pulling off Robin's signature moves from the top rope, because his body wasn't as flexible and agile, but his grappling and mat skills were maybe even better than Dick's.
As Bruce talked Jason through a move from the turnbuckle, ignoring his grumbles about "all this crazy jumping around," the door to the gym opened and Clark heard footsteps echoing into the room. "Glad to see I'm not the only early bird on Santa Prisca," said a startlingly familiar voice. "I know the beaches are--Bruce?"
Clark turned to see Dick Grayson standing next to the practice ring.
Jason, teetering on the turnbuckle in his Robin suit, slipped and came crashing down. "Grayson!" he said, leaning across the ropes. "Oh hey, it's great to meet you, I'm Jason Todd, I'm the next Robin."
Dick looked at his outstretched hand, then at Bruce, then back at Jason. He shook Jason's hand. "The next Robin," he said.
"Not that anyone could take your place, but Mr. Luthor and Mr. Wayne decided it would be a shame to let the gimmick die."
"First I heard of it," said Dick, and Jason's smile went wary and unsure.
"Aren't you supposed to be in Puerto Rico?" said Clark into the silence.
"Yeah, but Zombie got injured and Bane negotiated to have me come out to Santa Prisca a couple of weeks early. So here I am," said Dick.
"Dick," said Bruce. Dick crossed his arms and looked at him. "Dick. What--what is that outfit?"
For the first time since Dick's entrance, Clark focused on what he was wearing: the pop-up sky blue collar, the plunging neckline, the golden feathery accents. "It's my new Nightwing costume," Dick said, turning around in a circle. "I'm thinking about growing my hair out, too. What do you think?"
"The dark blue is a good color on you," Clark said truthfully.
Dick looked from Bruce's expressionless face to Jason's, who was clearly stifling laughter, and his own went stony. "That's fine, Bruce," he said. "I don't need your approval anymore anyway. I think it's clear we've both moved on." He nodded to Jason, who looked stricken. "I guess I'll just go for a run," he said, and turned and left.
Bruce stared after him, unspeaking.
"Bruce," hissed Clark.
"You'll do great whatever you wear in the ring!" Bruce called out abruptly, but the door slammed halfway through his words and Clark wasn't sure Dick had heard them.
"Bruce."
"I hope he didn't actually go for a run in that thing," Bruce said, slurping nervously at a cup of coffee in the hotel cafe--his third.
"Bruce."
"He looks like an escapee from Mardi Gras."
"Bruce."
"Seriously, didn't I teach him anything about minimalism and drama?"
"Bruce."
Bruce looked up from the coffee. "What?"
Clark gave him a level look. "You're going to have to apologize to him."
"I didn't say anything to his face," Bruce said. "I thought a lot of things but I'm pretty sure I didn't say anything. Not even that he looked like a peacock. I didn't actually say that, did I? I just thought it, right?"
Clark reached out and took the cup of coffee away from him. A muscle was twitching in the corner of his eye. "Not about the costume. You need to apologize about Jason."
"He knows the DCW has a trademark on the gimmick," said Bruce. "He decided he wanted to give it up. I argued against filling the spot--I told Luthor it was too soon, give it more time. But it's Luthor's to hand on if he wants to. Dick knew that."
"All true," said Clark.
"Thank you."
"But you still need to apologize."
"Give me back my coffee." Bruce made a futile grab for it.
"I'm cutting you off," Clark said. "I've never seen you so jittery."
"I'm not good at this," Bruce muttered.
"Apologizing?"
"That. Talking about...about things like this. I don't like it."
"I know," said Clark. "But you have to do it."
"I know," said Bruce, hunching down in his seat and looking wretched. "I will. I swear."
Bruce was a man of his word, and he found Dick and spoke to him before the show that evening. Clark wasn't privy to the conversation, but Bruce knocked on his hotel room some time later. Clark shooed away an inquisitive gecko--better geckos than cockroaches any day--and opened the door.
"Got any ice?" Bruce said, peering at him from one eye, the other covered with a washcloth.
"Hold on," said Clark. He grabbed an ice pack and put it into another washcloth. "How'd it go?"
"Remember how I gave him that shiner when he quit being Robin?"
"Mm-hm."
"Well, we're even now." Bruce eased the washcloth off and took the ice pack from Clark.
"So it went about as well as could be expected."
Bruce's smile was wan but sincere. "It'll be okay. He understands. He even likes Jason--he's seen some of his matches in the MMA circuit. But it's hard for him."
"It's always hard between fathers and sons," said Clark.
"He's got a father," said Bruce.
"He does," said Clark. "But still."
Bruce considered it for a moment, looking out the window at the sun-spangled water. "But still," he agreed.
Relationship: Clark/Bruce
Characters: Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Jean-Paul Valley, Jason Todd, Bane, Dick Grayson
Continuity: Heroes of the Squared Circle, a DC/pro wrestling fusion ( click for notes and all chapters).
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: PG
Word Count 2700
Summary: Clark and Bruce meet a new Robin at the beginning of their Santa Prisca trip--and then are reunited with an old one.
"Wayne has agreed with me that the Robin gimmick was working too well to give up just because Grayson decided to move on," Luthor said to the room full of wrestlers and their luggage. "So this Santa Prisca trip seemed like the perfect time to let him and all of you get used to a new Robin. Allow me to introduce to you Mr. Jason Todd."
The dark-haired young man at his side bobbed his head awkwardly, not meeting anyone's eyes.
"Todd's an up-and-comer in the mixed martial arts scene," Luthor went on. "He's got a gritty, street-savvy style that I think will work well with the Dark Knight." He clapped Jason on the back and exited, whistling to himself.
Clark watched as Jason went around the room and shook hands with everyone. Unlike Dick's natural cheeriness and relaxation, Jason had a closed, sullen look on his face, a reserve. Yet when he shook hands with Diana, he suddenly stammered, "I'm--I'm so thrilled to meet you--I saw some of your early matches in Athens on Youtube...that mixed match where you bodyslammed Ares from the turnbuckle was fu--I mean, freaking amazing!" and when she smiled and thanked him, his face lit up and Clark caught a glimpse of a shy young man who was perhaps too well-guarded for his own good. But by the time he came to Bruce, the shields were back in place.
"It's an honor to be working with you," Jason said, sticking out his hand, unsmiling.
Bruce took it. "Good to meet you again," he said.
Jason flinched backwards, his cheeks flaming red. "Oh God," he stammered. "I didn't--"
Bruce loomed just a bit. "--You didn't think I'd remember the punk who tried to steal my hubcaps?"
There was an awkward silence in which Jason looked like he was thinking about bolting for the door. The Bruce laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.
"C'mon," he said. "No hard feelings. I mean, you stayed out of trouble after that, right? No more shoplifting, no more fights in school."
"Y--Yeah, I pretty much did," Jason said. "How did you--"
"--Found a local gym that trained in MMA, put all that street fighting skill to good use. And now you've got a developmental contract working in DCW!" Bruce gave Jason a rather narrow look. "You sure that's what you want, kid? Ditching the mixed martial art circuit, working for Luthor?"
Jason squared his jaw and met his eyes. "I want to work with you."
"Even if you have to be a replacement? A second Robin, rather than your own person?" Jason's eyes darkened and Bruce said, "I'm just telling it like it is. That's what they want from you. Not everyone would be willing to do it, and I'd understand why."
Jason nodded once, a sharp jerk of his head. "I want the chance."
Bruce nodded. "Then we'll work together. There's a gym in the hotel we're staying at in Santa Prisca. You'll be there at 6 o'clock sharp tomorrow morning to start training." He tipped his head in Clark's direction. "That's Clark. The Kryptonian. Friend of mine."
Jason gave him a somewhat shaky smile. "You look less daunting without the red eyes."
"He's the scary one," Clark said, shrugging toward Bruce.
"No argument from me," Jason breathed as he reached down to grab the backpack at his feet.
"Where's the rest of your luggage?" said Clark.
Jason shrugged. "I travel light." He tossed the backpack over his shoulder and headed for the door. "This is all I've got."
"Luthor said the two of you agreed to continue the Robin gimmick, but you only agreed because it was part of the deal to get me some mic time," Clark said under his breath to Bruce as they headed toward the bus that would take them to the airport. "Don't think I don't know that."
"He's a tough kid," said Bruce, neither affirming nor denying. "Self-made. He deserves a break."
"All that may be true, but I'm not sure this way is fair to him," Clark said. "Everyone in the business loves Dick. They watched him grow up. And now they bring in this kid to replace him--he's not from a pro wrestling promotion, he's an outsider from MMA, and he's--well, he's--"
"--He's got a chip on his shoulder, he's overly intense, and he doesn't have any social graces," Bruce finished for him. They watched as Jason climbed into the bus, smiling stiffly at the other wrestlers, putting his backpack in the seat next to him so no one would sit by him.
Clark heard Bruce sigh.
"I like him," he said, almost too low for Clark to hear.
"--And Bane rules over his Santa Prisca prison with an iron fist. Any who dare challenge his rule he beats to a bloody pulp in the Pit at the center of the prison." Harvey Dent nodded at the enthralled plane full of wrestlers. "He's calculating, brilliant, and utterly ruthless. Some matches he fights with the ring in flames, other times--when he wants a challenge--he fights with one hand tied behind his back. He never loses. He's been known to feed his victims to the sharks."
Jason laughed, just a little nervously. "But that's all--that's all fake, right?"
Clark winced as he saw some of the wrestlers' faces close up at the sound of the real f-word: if there was one thing professional wrestlers hated, it was people from boxing or mixed martial arts, where the matches weren't pre-determined, calling what they did "fake."
"The better word is 'kayfabe,' Jason," said Bruce calmly, not looking up from his book. "And yes, Peña Duro--the prison that Bane 'rules'--is one of the more ingenious and detailed professional wrestling sets I've ever worked. But I've never known him to actually throw someone to the sharks." He looked up with a slight smile. "The inferno matches, on the other hand, are quite real, and only end when one wrestler has been set on fire."
"Hardcore," murmured Barbara appreciatively.
"Bane is intense and driven," Bruce went on. "His father, King Snake, has trained him since childhood to be the pinnacle of human perfection. He speaks six languages fluently and can bench press seven hundred pounds. He also has an excellent ring sense and a grasp of the best gimmick. The story is that he was experimented on as a young man by the prison surgeons, and given a drug called Venom which makes him unstoppable."
"He sounds quite formidable," said Jean-Paul Valley. "I look forward to defeating him."
Bruce gave him a thin smile. "I can count the number of times he's lost on one hand, and he's certainly not going to lose to a wrestler from the mainland."
"It's already decided," said Lex Luthor without looking up from his laptop. "He said he'd wrestle none but the Dark Knight. He won't lose to him, either. And since you've mentioned it--he'd like it to be an inferno match, if you're game."
"I'm always game," said Bruce.
"That's why I haven't fired you," shot back Luthor.
"Hey, there it is!" said Batson, and the wrestlers peered out the plane windows at the tiny island below them, an emerald in a turquoise sea.
"...He wanted me to be 'Prince Snake,'" said the man who went by "Bane," lifting his beer. "But come now, that was clearly not going to work. My father was an intelligent man, but when it came to names, he met his match. Prince Snake? I don't think so."
"I admire how you've carved out your independence while remaining true to his vision," Jean-Paul said. Within moments they were deep in a conversation about demanding wrestling fathers; Clark caught a snippet of Jean-Paul explaining his father's "System," which sounded like some kind of grueling training regimen involving hard physical labor and extremely dubious psychological training.
Some of the other wrestlers were talking about hitting the beach in the morning before the first show. "Join us?" Selina said to Bruce, but Bruce shook his head.
"Wrestling is the only kayfabe I find interesting," he said, and that was all he'd say on the matter. "Jason and I will be training," he added, and Jason gave an only slightly disappointed shrug and agreed.
"I'll be there too," Clark said.
Bruce didn't quite smile. "I know."
"Your first priority is to protect your opponent, not hurt them," Bruce said as he came up from a roll. "Throw somebody like that in a match and you're going to make enemies fast. And they're not your enemies," he added as Jason opened his mouth. "They're your co-workers. You're working together to create the illusion of combat. The best worker is one who hurts no one."
Jason looked like he wanted to argue, but closed his mouth, swallowed hard, and tried the move again.
"Better," said Bruce after another bodyslam.
"I don't see why I have to wear the Robin costume for practice," Jason said.
"You need to know how it moves with you," said Bruce. "You won't be wrestling in workout sweats, so we don't practice in them." He paused to let Jason suplex him twice more, then said, "Luthor's putting you into a match with Joker tonight."
Jason's grin transformed his closed-off face to brilliant. "Putting me up against the A-listers right away, huh?"
"Hm," said Bruce. He shot a look at Clark, who was working out on the butterfly machine.
Clark shrugged slightly and raised an eyebrow: He needs to know.
"Joker can be difficult to work with," Bruce said. "I suspect Luthor is matching you with him to test you."
"Oh," said Jason, his smile disappearing. He thought about it for a while, leaning against the ropes of the practice ring. "What do I do?"
Bruce didn't say anything, but Clark could tell from the way his shoulders relaxed slightly that he was pleased. "You're going to have to let him call all the shots in the ring. He'll give you cues to tell you which move is up next--you don't have to say anything, just listen for his audibles and do what he says. To prepare, let's go through a practice match. I'll be Joker and we'll work on some of his standard moves so you're ready for them."
"You're the boss," said Jason, the cocky grin back in place. "Let's get started."
Clark finished his reps and moved around the ring as they practiced, watching them. Jason was good, there was no doubt about it. He had a raw strength that Dick didn't have, a vigor to his motions that made up for his relative lack of grace. He didn't look as good pulling off Robin's signature moves from the top rope, because his body wasn't as flexible and agile, but his grappling and mat skills were maybe even better than Dick's.
As Bruce talked Jason through a move from the turnbuckle, ignoring his grumbles about "all this crazy jumping around," the door to the gym opened and Clark heard footsteps echoing into the room. "Glad to see I'm not the only early bird on Santa Prisca," said a startlingly familiar voice. "I know the beaches are--Bruce?"
Clark turned to see Dick Grayson standing next to the practice ring.
Jason, teetering on the turnbuckle in his Robin suit, slipped and came crashing down. "Grayson!" he said, leaning across the ropes. "Oh hey, it's great to meet you, I'm Jason Todd, I'm the next Robin."
Dick looked at his outstretched hand, then at Bruce, then back at Jason. He shook Jason's hand. "The next Robin," he said.
"Not that anyone could take your place, but Mr. Luthor and Mr. Wayne decided it would be a shame to let the gimmick die."
"First I heard of it," said Dick, and Jason's smile went wary and unsure.
"Aren't you supposed to be in Puerto Rico?" said Clark into the silence.
"Yeah, but Zombie got injured and Bane negotiated to have me come out to Santa Prisca a couple of weeks early. So here I am," said Dick.
"Dick," said Bruce. Dick crossed his arms and looked at him. "Dick. What--what is that outfit?"
For the first time since Dick's entrance, Clark focused on what he was wearing: the pop-up sky blue collar, the plunging neckline, the golden feathery accents. "It's my new Nightwing costume," Dick said, turning around in a circle. "I'm thinking about growing my hair out, too. What do you think?"
"The dark blue is a good color on you," Clark said truthfully.
Dick looked from Bruce's expressionless face to Jason's, who was clearly stifling laughter, and his own went stony. "That's fine, Bruce," he said. "I don't need your approval anymore anyway. I think it's clear we've both moved on." He nodded to Jason, who looked stricken. "I guess I'll just go for a run," he said, and turned and left.
Bruce stared after him, unspeaking.
"Bruce," hissed Clark.
"You'll do great whatever you wear in the ring!" Bruce called out abruptly, but the door slammed halfway through his words and Clark wasn't sure Dick had heard them.
"Bruce."
"I hope he didn't actually go for a run in that thing," Bruce said, slurping nervously at a cup of coffee in the hotel cafe--his third.
"Bruce."
"He looks like an escapee from Mardi Gras."
"Bruce."
"Seriously, didn't I teach him anything about minimalism and drama?"
"Bruce."
Bruce looked up from the coffee. "What?"
Clark gave him a level look. "You're going to have to apologize to him."
"I didn't say anything to his face," Bruce said. "I thought a lot of things but I'm pretty sure I didn't say anything. Not even that he looked like a peacock. I didn't actually say that, did I? I just thought it, right?"
Clark reached out and took the cup of coffee away from him. A muscle was twitching in the corner of his eye. "Not about the costume. You need to apologize about Jason."
"He knows the DCW has a trademark on the gimmick," said Bruce. "He decided he wanted to give it up. I argued against filling the spot--I told Luthor it was too soon, give it more time. But it's Luthor's to hand on if he wants to. Dick knew that."
"All true," said Clark.
"Thank you."
"But you still need to apologize."
"Give me back my coffee." Bruce made a futile grab for it.
"I'm cutting you off," Clark said. "I've never seen you so jittery."
"I'm not good at this," Bruce muttered.
"Apologizing?"
"That. Talking about...about things like this. I don't like it."
"I know," said Clark. "But you have to do it."
"I know," said Bruce, hunching down in his seat and looking wretched. "I will. I swear."
Bruce was a man of his word, and he found Dick and spoke to him before the show that evening. Clark wasn't privy to the conversation, but Bruce knocked on his hotel room some time later. Clark shooed away an inquisitive gecko--better geckos than cockroaches any day--and opened the door.
"Got any ice?" Bruce said, peering at him from one eye, the other covered with a washcloth.
"Hold on," said Clark. He grabbed an ice pack and put it into another washcloth. "How'd it go?"
"Remember how I gave him that shiner when he quit being Robin?"
"Mm-hm."
"Well, we're even now." Bruce eased the washcloth off and took the ice pack from Clark.
"So it went about as well as could be expected."
Bruce's smile was wan but sincere. "It'll be okay. He understands. He even likes Jason--he's seen some of his matches in the MMA circuit. But it's hard for him."
"It's always hard between fathers and sons," said Clark.
"He's got a father," said Bruce.
"He does," said Clark. "But still."
Bruce considered it for a moment, looking out the window at the sun-spangled water. "But still," he agreed.