Heroes of the Squared Circle 35: Action Figures
Title: Action Figures
Relationship: Clark/Bruce
Characters: Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Lex Luthor, Roy Harper, Hal Jordan, John Stewart
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 3500
Summary: Dick Grayson and the Titans start to create an entirely different style of high-flying wrestling. Billionaire Brucie gets interviewed by former-Country Clark Kent, and Clark and Bruce go shopping at Target to stock the Metropolis apartment.
With only a couple of brush strokes to the face, we could step out of our normal lives and into the boots of Road Warrior Animal and Road Warrior Hawk. As a kid, I’d always wondered what it would be like to have a secret identity and superpowers like the Hulk and Superman. Now I knew. --Joe Laurinitis
"I'm telling you, Mr. Luthor, the crowds will love it!"
Luthor stopped to look at Dick Grayson. "It sounds risky. Dangerous. And dangerous means dull. Max Lord liked to do scaffold matches, and they were always boring because the wrestlers were too cautious."
"Scaffolds are too high and too static. Ladders are the key: they're mobile, they can be used as weapons or to climb, they move around, keep things interesting. We did matches like this all the time in Germany, and no one got hurt. We're good at it, we all are. Give us a chance."
Dick's big blue eyes would have put a puppy dog's to shame as he gazed imploringly at Lex Luthor. Lex heaved a sigh of exasperation and looked down at his phone, and as he did Dick shot Clark a mischievous wink. But by the time Luthor looked up again his expression was earnestly pleading once more.
"Let's say I do let you have this match," said Luthor. "Who's best to work with?"
"Roy Harper," said Dick without hesitation.
"Face versus face?" Luthor frowned.
Dick rolled his eyes. "I already talked to Marv about it, he says we can use that drug-addiction angle from a while ago. Have him be hallucinating and try to beat me up with a dead cat or something." Luthor raised an eyebrow. "A stuffed cat, obviously. Hey, it's no crazier than some of the stuff you've got going on right now. I mean, what, Donna is a time-travelling teen Wonder Woman? That's pretty out there."
"We'll get Troy's origins figured out soon," Luthor snapped. He made a note on his phone, Clark suspected just to keep Dick waiting for a little bit. "I'll give you one match with Harper in three weeks," he said. "If the audience pops for it, I'll consider giving you and the Titans more like it. If it's boring…" He made a cutting motion across his throat with one finger. "And I'll be hard to impress."
"Aren't you always?" sighed Dick at Luthor's retreating back.
"If you convinced him to let you do a ladder match, I'm impressed already," said Clark. "Bruce showed me some of your ladder matches in Germany against Brother Blood, they're exciting stuff."
"Bro's one of the best," Dick said happily. "But I want my first one in the DCW to be with Roy. He's amazing, totally fearless."
"What will you be using for the prize? I assume the Titan Division belt is out of the question since Wally's holding it right now." Ladder matches were usually fought with some object suspended above the ring; the first wrestler to use the ladder and grab the object won the match.
Dick stopped and frowned. "Good question. It's got to be something important, something we can get really desperate about…" His expression cleared like a bolt of lightning. "Oh yeah," he said, and started laughing. "Oh, Roy will like this one. And then--oh!" He danced from foot to foot with delight. "Oh, this will be great." He whirled and headed toward the offices, calling back over his shoulder, "I gotta talk to Marv! This is going to be fantastic."
Standing in the middle of the ring, Nightwing held out a hand to Speedy, who knocked it away in a fury. "How could you, Dick?" The audience murmured at the use of his real name. "How could you do this to me? Your best friend!"
Nightwing's jaw was set and resolute. "I'm doing this because I'm your friend. And you need help. You need an intervention."
"You'd take my daughter away from me?" Speedy's voice was anguished; the cameras zoomed in on the face of Roy's toddler daughter, Lian, in the arms of Starfire at ringside. She was sucking her thumb and watching her father's theatrics with a puzzled look on her face. "My precious baby, the thing I love most in the world?"
"Show me. Go to rehab. Get help. Show Lian you’re committed to getting clean, to being a good father to her. If you don’t--I’ll do what I have to do, for Lian’s sake."
Enraged beyond bearing, Speedy flung himself at Nightwing. But in the middle of a flurry of blows, Lex Luthor's theme music struck up, and the two former-friends stopped to glare at the man in a neon purple suit standing at the top of the ramp, holding a briefcase.
"Boys, boys, boys," purred Luthor. "Your custodial squabbles are probably fascinating to you, but the good folk here didn't pay to watch people bicker, they paid to watch people wrestle!" As the crowd roared its approval, he snapped his fingers and Otis hurried down the ramp, burdened with the weight of a tall ladder. "So I say let's settle this in a reasonable, fair way: I have here the paperwork for the custody of one…" He pulled a paper out of the briefcase and peered at it. "...Lian Harper." He strolled down the ramp as Otis set up the ladder, nearly getting caught in it more than once. "Mr. Harper has--perhaps unwisely at some point in the past--signed custody away to whoever signs their name on the dotted line. So I propose that whoever reaches the paperwork first gets custody of the adorable little tyke." He stopped to pinch Lian's cheek; she stared at him wide-eyed.
"That's crazy!" sputtered Nightwing in tandem with Speedy.
Luthor shrugged and handed the briefcase to Otis, who scrambled up the ladder to attach it to a hook hanging above the ring. "I suggest you get ready to fight," he said, and gestured for the bell to be rung.
The bell rang out; Nightwing was still in the middle of objecting when a panicked Speedy lunged forward and hit him with a shoulder to the stomach, knocking him flat on his back. Speedy scrambled for the ladder, but Nightwing grabbed his foot, pulling him away. They reeled around the ring, eventually slamming into the ladder and knocking it over. Speedy grabbed it and set it up in the corner, hurling Nightwing against it and running at him in order to crush him between the turnbuckle and the ladder. But Nightwing leapfrogged out of the way and Speedy crashed into the ladder with an impressive clang.
The battle raged on, with each wrestler struggling to set up and climb the ladder, and the other wrestler desperately knocking them off. Speedy made it halfway up once before Nightwing grabbed the ladder and shook it, at which point he plummeted off the the ladder and onto Nightwing: the crowd gasped and shrieked, and beside Clark Bruce whistled appreciatively.
"They're doing it," he said as the two Titans locked up for another exchange of suplexes and throws, getting ready for the final big set piece. "The audience is really into it."
Nightwing was making his way up the ladder again; with Speedy dazed in a corner of the ring, it seemed like he might actually make it this time. He reached the top and fumbled for the precious briefcase, but his frantic efforts sent it swinging wildly out of his reach. Meanwhile, Speedy regained his senses enough to realize what was going on and scrambled to the top of a turnbuckle.
"Here we go," said Bruce, and Clark realized he was clutching Clark's arm without seeming to notice it, his eyes glued on the screen.
Speedy made it to the top of his turnbuckle just as Nightwing finally got a good grip on the briefcase. "No!" he screamed, and launched himself out at the ladder, slamming into it and knocking it over, leaving Nightwing hanging on to the briefcase, swinging in dizzy circles above the ring. After a breathless moment, he had to let go of the briefcase, crashing down onto Speedy below him.
Both of them sprawled on the mat, clearly too exhausted to even rise, their chests heaving with ragged breaths as the precious custody papers swung high above them. The crowd screamed itself hoarse, everyone rooting for their favorite to stand up, giddy second-hand adrenaline energizing the arena.
And into the chaos ran a woman wearing a green martial arts gi with gold trim, her long dark hair tied back with a green headband. Boos rang out around Cheshire, Speedy's former lover and mother of his child, as she righted the ladder and scrambled up it. Speedy and Nightwing struggled to get to the ladder in time, but they were too late: Cheshire had grabbed the briefcase. With a cry of triumph she leaped down from the ladder, making a perfect three-point landing, then vaulted out of the ring. "I'll just be taking my daughter back!" she cried to Starfire, pulling the laughing Lian into her arms and sprinting back up the ramp. At the top she turned around and waved the briefcase in the air one more time, then vanished with the toddler.
Speedy and Nightwing remained sprawled on the mat for a long time, stunned by this sudden reversal of fortune as the crowd murmured. Then eventually Nightwing staggered painfully to his feet. Reaching down, he helped a weeping Speedy to stand.
"I'll help you get her back," Nightwing swore to his friend.
"You shall not stand alone!" cried Starfire, jumping into the ring.
"You're not going anywhere without me!" said Kid Flash as he, Wonder Girl, Aqualad and Cyborg all ran down to enter the ring.
"Titans Together!" they announced--and the broadcast cut to a commercial.
"I think Luthor will be forced to admit that was a success," Bruce said with a smile as the roar of the crowd resonated all the way back into the common room.
"Daddy sweaty," Lian giggled as Roy came back and took her in his arms.
"I can't believe you stuck that landing," he said to Cheshire, who made a scoffing noise and tossed her hair, smiling. He turned to Dick as Lian tried to pry his mask off. "Have you got plans tomorrow? I've got Lian for the weekend and I thought we'd go to the beach."
"No teaching her wrestling moves!" said Cheshire, turning around at the door on the way to the women's locker room.
"Hey, I'm not the one who taught her that chokehold she pulled out last weekend," Roy called after her.
"And do you have any plans tomorrow?" Bruce said to Clark as the Titans headed off, chattering about their beach plans.
"Hm," Clark pretended to consider. "I think I'm going to have to go over that upcoming promo again, you know the one."
"The one where Clark Kent, hapless interviewer, is interviewing Billionaire Brucie and it becomes increasingly clear Brucie is flirting with him?"
"That's the one."
"That might take a lot of practice."
Clark bit back a smile as he hoisted his gym bag. "I hope so."
"I must say, Kent, that now that you've cleaned yourself up and learned how to wear a suit instead of overalls, you're nearly good-looking."
"Thank you, Mr. Wayne. Now, about this match with Two-Face--"
"--But I don't know why you've taken to wearing glasses," Brucie went on as if he hadn't heard. "You'd be so much more attractive without them. If you want some tips on personal grooming, you could always swing by the Manor sometime. I'd be happy to...help you out." He reached out and took Kent's tie in his hand, tugging very slightly.
Clark had a sudden rather inconvenient flashback to the fact that at this point in the "practicing" they had usually ended up kissing. "Yes--well--" he stammered, for a moment actually flustered. "That's--that's very--"
The corners of Bruce's eyes crinkled in a distinctly un-Brucie way for a moment. Then Brucie was taking a step back, and Clark knew he'd realized Clark was on the verge of breaking into nervous giggles. "--Tempting, I know," Brucie said. "I'll just let you think about it. Now," he continued briskly, "this Two-Face match is a simple thing, he's just jealous because I'm more handsome than he is. At least twice as handsome, obviously."
"I'm of two minds about what to do with you," growled Two-Face, appearing from nowhere to shove Clark aside and confront Brucie. Harvey had been refining his makeup recently, and his latest look was especially dramatic--one glaring yellow eye, scarred welts running up and down his left side. Clark cringed and looked like he wanted to run for cover as Brucie and Two-Face bantered and threatened each other, barely managing to keep the mic in his outstretched, shaking hand. And when--inevitably--Two-Face threw Brucie through a backdrop and stormed off, Clark raced to his side.
“I’ll sue him!” gasped Brucie, wilting dramatically into the wreckage. “For bruising my beautiful, bankable, valuable face!”
“I...I think you’re okay,” said Clark.
“Are you sure?” whimpered Brucie. “I think I might need someone to kiss it better.”
Clark dropped the mic and fled, leaving a battered and bereft Brucie in the rubble, moaning for help.
“--really appreciate all your support,” Hal Jordan said, standing in the middle of the ring in his civilian jeans and bomber jacket. Green signs blossomed in the audience: “Ring Slinger,” “In Brightest Day,” “Welcome back to the REAL GL.” There were also a few with somewhat divergent opinions: ”Go Home Jordan” and ”Semper Fidelis” among them. “It’s been a hard recovery, but I’m back to a hundred percent now and--”
Hal stopped and turned slowly as a 70s-style funk groove struck up: John Stewart’s theme song. (Stewart had just sighed and rolled his eyes at the choice at first, but admitted it had grown on him). Stewart, in full Green Lantern regalia, strode down the ramp with the championship belt around his waist and climbed into the ring. The two of them looked at each other for a long moment, then Stewart said, “Brother, I’m glad you’re back.”
He reached out and pulled Hal into an embrace, prompting a confused welter of cheers and boos from the audience.
“Thanks, John,” said Hal. “I couldn’t have asked for a better successor to the title than you, man.”
John stepped back and leveled a finger at him. “And I’m not giving it up just because you’re back,” he said.
Hal spread his hands wide. “Of course not.”
“But, I know you lost the title because you were injured. And I know you never got a chance for a rematch against Sinestro,” John went on. “And I also know that unless we settle this once and for all, I’ll always be seeing signs like that one.” He pointed at the “Welcome Back to the REAL GL” sign, and Hal grimaced. “So I say that at Identity Crisis--” the upcoming pay-per-view, “--We settle this fairly. You and me in the ring for the championship,” he said, sticking out his hand.
This the audience could agree on, and when Hal took his hand and shook it the approval was deafening.
“I don’t have a favorite shampoo.” Clark cast him a narrow look, and Bruce shrugged. “I don’t. I just buy whatever’s cheapest.” He plucked a bottle off the shelf and tossed it into the shopping cart. “So we might as well keep the apartment stocked with your favorite.”
“We need more toilet paper too,” Clark said, admitting defeat on the shampoo issue and steering the cart toward the paper products aisle. It was hard to keep the Metropolis apartment stocked when they were only there a few nights every other month or so. It seemed like every time there was a show in Metropolis, they had to shop for something banal that they’d run out of last time and hadn’t replaced.
As he and Bruce bickered good-naturedly over whether to pick up another blanket--”We have plenty,” Bruce pointed out. “Yes, and you tend to steal them all,” Clark retorted--Clark realized something odd: he looked forward to these shopping trips. He liked wheeling around a cart that inevitably had one wheel broken, discussing whether to pick up hummus or guacamole for the snacks and choosing an old kung fu DVD to buy for a treat. It felt...comfortable.
It felt good.
“Hey, look.” Bruce disappeared down the toy aisle and Clark followed him to find him holding up two action figures: The Kryptonian (“Now with Psionic Claw action!”) and The Dark Knight (“With Bat-grapple!”). Bruce held them up so Clark could see the backs: “They’re marketed together! They’re a matched set!”
He looked so absurdly happy about this that Clark suddenly found himself unable to say anything coherent at all. He reached out and took them from Bruce to toss into the shopping cart. “It’ll be a hoot to see if the cashier recognizes us,” he said, and Bruce’s smile kindled into something irresistible.
Fortunately, no one happened to wander by to see two grown men making out in the toy aisle of Target.
“Look, Dick’s here too,” said Bruce as the kiss ended, grabbing the Nightwing action figure. “High flying death-defying acrobatics!” he read from the box. “Not many left, either. Not surprised they’re selling well.”
Clark pulled the Wonder Girl figure off the shelf and glanced at the back. “They’re going with the story that she was raised by the actual Titans now? She’s not a young version of Diana anymore? I guess Donna will be glad to hear that, but--Bruce?”
He glanced around the empty aisle, then caught a glimpse of Bruce’s shoulder at the far end. “Hey,” he said, putting Wonder Girl back and heading to where Bruce stood. “What are you--oh.”
Bruce was standing standing in front of a forlorn “Clearance” bin at the endcap. He looked up at Clark with a smile that aimed for “wry” and didn’t quite make it.
In his hands was a “Jason Todd as Robin” action figure, marked down to 50% off.
“I don’t understand it,” Bruce said softly, turning over the box in his hands as if searching for clues. “He’s a hard worker, he’s a great wrestler--why can’t he get over?”
“He’s not Dick,” Clark said, and Bruce grimaced. “He doesn’t do the fancy high-flying stuff that the audience loves, and he’s not a big muscled monster like Luthor loves, and he’s--well, he’s not great on the mic, Bruce.”
Bruce shook his head. “He doesn’t have to be. He’s good.” His eyes were pained, and Clark knew that the lackluster reaction that Jason was getting was eating away at him. “Is it something I’m doing wrong, Clark?”
Clark sighed. “Don’t get started with the self-flagellation,” he said. Bruce looked annoyed, which Clark preferred to the lorn look in his eyes before. “You can’t control how the audience is going to react, Bruce. At a certain level, they’re never going to forgive him for taking Dick’s place, for simply not being Dick. There’s nothing he--or you--can do about that.”
"He hasn't given up, and neither will I," Bruce said, glaring at the clearance sign as though it personally offended him.
"Of course not."
Bruce placed the action figure back carefully in the bin. "Let's get going," he said.
They got through checkout without the clerk recognizing them--Clark supposed there was no real reason to connect the smiling man in jeans and a Smallville t-shirt with the red-eyed hulking monster in the box--and they were putting their bags in the trunk of Bruce's car when Bruce suddenly said "Ah!" and snapped his fingers. "I forgot something. Wait here, I'll be right back."
Clark put the car seat back and caught a quick nap in the early summer sun, waking when he heard Bruce open the trunk again. He looked back to see Bruce drop a bulging bag into the trunk and come around to the driver's side, humming Billionaire Brucie's theme song under his breath and slightly off key. Bruce started the car and they pulled out of the parking lot and onto the highway, negotiating through Metropolis traffic on their way back to the apartment.
They drove in silence for a time, Clark watching Bruce's face, Bruce remaining resolutely oblivious to being watched. Finally, Clark broke the silence: "Bruce?"
"Yes?"
"Where exactly do you think you're going to display six identical Robin action figures?"
Bruce didn't bother to look embarrassed. "Probably next to the three Nightwing figures I bought with them." He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel for a moment, brought the car to a stop at a red light, and met Clark's amused gaze. "I couldn't leave them there," he said. "Just sitting there in the clearance bin."
"Of course not," said Clark. The light changed and Bruce stepped on the gas again.
"Hey," he said a moment later, as Clark kissed him soundly a few times on the cheek and neck, "Don't distract me from driving."
They put the action figures--all eleven of them--on the mantel above the fireplace, a long line of brightly-clad Robins and Nightwings flanked on either end by a black-clad, glowering Kryptonian or Dark Knight, guarding the living room when they were away.
Relationship: Clark/Bruce
Characters: Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Lex Luthor, Roy Harper, Hal Jordan, John Stewart
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 3500
Summary: Dick Grayson and the Titans start to create an entirely different style of high-flying wrestling. Billionaire Brucie gets interviewed by former-Country Clark Kent, and Clark and Bruce go shopping at Target to stock the Metropolis apartment.
With only a couple of brush strokes to the face, we could step out of our normal lives and into the boots of Road Warrior Animal and Road Warrior Hawk. As a kid, I’d always wondered what it would be like to have a secret identity and superpowers like the Hulk and Superman. Now I knew. --Joe Laurinitis
"I'm telling you, Mr. Luthor, the crowds will love it!"
Luthor stopped to look at Dick Grayson. "It sounds risky. Dangerous. And dangerous means dull. Max Lord liked to do scaffold matches, and they were always boring because the wrestlers were too cautious."
"Scaffolds are too high and too static. Ladders are the key: they're mobile, they can be used as weapons or to climb, they move around, keep things interesting. We did matches like this all the time in Germany, and no one got hurt. We're good at it, we all are. Give us a chance."
Dick's big blue eyes would have put a puppy dog's to shame as he gazed imploringly at Lex Luthor. Lex heaved a sigh of exasperation and looked down at his phone, and as he did Dick shot Clark a mischievous wink. But by the time Luthor looked up again his expression was earnestly pleading once more.
"Let's say I do let you have this match," said Luthor. "Who's best to work with?"
"Roy Harper," said Dick without hesitation.
"Face versus face?" Luthor frowned.
Dick rolled his eyes. "I already talked to Marv about it, he says we can use that drug-addiction angle from a while ago. Have him be hallucinating and try to beat me up with a dead cat or something." Luthor raised an eyebrow. "A stuffed cat, obviously. Hey, it's no crazier than some of the stuff you've got going on right now. I mean, what, Donna is a time-travelling teen Wonder Woman? That's pretty out there."
"We'll get Troy's origins figured out soon," Luthor snapped. He made a note on his phone, Clark suspected just to keep Dick waiting for a little bit. "I'll give you one match with Harper in three weeks," he said. "If the audience pops for it, I'll consider giving you and the Titans more like it. If it's boring…" He made a cutting motion across his throat with one finger. "And I'll be hard to impress."
"Aren't you always?" sighed Dick at Luthor's retreating back.
"If you convinced him to let you do a ladder match, I'm impressed already," said Clark. "Bruce showed me some of your ladder matches in Germany against Brother Blood, they're exciting stuff."
"Bro's one of the best," Dick said happily. "But I want my first one in the DCW to be with Roy. He's amazing, totally fearless."
"What will you be using for the prize? I assume the Titan Division belt is out of the question since Wally's holding it right now." Ladder matches were usually fought with some object suspended above the ring; the first wrestler to use the ladder and grab the object won the match.
Dick stopped and frowned. "Good question. It's got to be something important, something we can get really desperate about…" His expression cleared like a bolt of lightning. "Oh yeah," he said, and started laughing. "Oh, Roy will like this one. And then--oh!" He danced from foot to foot with delight. "Oh, this will be great." He whirled and headed toward the offices, calling back over his shoulder, "I gotta talk to Marv! This is going to be fantastic."
Standing in the middle of the ring, Nightwing held out a hand to Speedy, who knocked it away in a fury. "How could you, Dick?" The audience murmured at the use of his real name. "How could you do this to me? Your best friend!"
Nightwing's jaw was set and resolute. "I'm doing this because I'm your friend. And you need help. You need an intervention."
"You'd take my daughter away from me?" Speedy's voice was anguished; the cameras zoomed in on the face of Roy's toddler daughter, Lian, in the arms of Starfire at ringside. She was sucking her thumb and watching her father's theatrics with a puzzled look on her face. "My precious baby, the thing I love most in the world?"
"Show me. Go to rehab. Get help. Show Lian you’re committed to getting clean, to being a good father to her. If you don’t--I’ll do what I have to do, for Lian’s sake."
Enraged beyond bearing, Speedy flung himself at Nightwing. But in the middle of a flurry of blows, Lex Luthor's theme music struck up, and the two former-friends stopped to glare at the man in a neon purple suit standing at the top of the ramp, holding a briefcase.
"Boys, boys, boys," purred Luthor. "Your custodial squabbles are probably fascinating to you, but the good folk here didn't pay to watch people bicker, they paid to watch people wrestle!" As the crowd roared its approval, he snapped his fingers and Otis hurried down the ramp, burdened with the weight of a tall ladder. "So I say let's settle this in a reasonable, fair way: I have here the paperwork for the custody of one…" He pulled a paper out of the briefcase and peered at it. "...Lian Harper." He strolled down the ramp as Otis set up the ladder, nearly getting caught in it more than once. "Mr. Harper has--perhaps unwisely at some point in the past--signed custody away to whoever signs their name on the dotted line. So I propose that whoever reaches the paperwork first gets custody of the adorable little tyke." He stopped to pinch Lian's cheek; she stared at him wide-eyed.
"That's crazy!" sputtered Nightwing in tandem with Speedy.
Luthor shrugged and handed the briefcase to Otis, who scrambled up the ladder to attach it to a hook hanging above the ring. "I suggest you get ready to fight," he said, and gestured for the bell to be rung.
The bell rang out; Nightwing was still in the middle of objecting when a panicked Speedy lunged forward and hit him with a shoulder to the stomach, knocking him flat on his back. Speedy scrambled for the ladder, but Nightwing grabbed his foot, pulling him away. They reeled around the ring, eventually slamming into the ladder and knocking it over. Speedy grabbed it and set it up in the corner, hurling Nightwing against it and running at him in order to crush him between the turnbuckle and the ladder. But Nightwing leapfrogged out of the way and Speedy crashed into the ladder with an impressive clang.
The battle raged on, with each wrestler struggling to set up and climb the ladder, and the other wrestler desperately knocking them off. Speedy made it halfway up once before Nightwing grabbed the ladder and shook it, at which point he plummeted off the the ladder and onto Nightwing: the crowd gasped and shrieked, and beside Clark Bruce whistled appreciatively.
"They're doing it," he said as the two Titans locked up for another exchange of suplexes and throws, getting ready for the final big set piece. "The audience is really into it."
Nightwing was making his way up the ladder again; with Speedy dazed in a corner of the ring, it seemed like he might actually make it this time. He reached the top and fumbled for the precious briefcase, but his frantic efforts sent it swinging wildly out of his reach. Meanwhile, Speedy regained his senses enough to realize what was going on and scrambled to the top of a turnbuckle.
"Here we go," said Bruce, and Clark realized he was clutching Clark's arm without seeming to notice it, his eyes glued on the screen.
Speedy made it to the top of his turnbuckle just as Nightwing finally got a good grip on the briefcase. "No!" he screamed, and launched himself out at the ladder, slamming into it and knocking it over, leaving Nightwing hanging on to the briefcase, swinging in dizzy circles above the ring. After a breathless moment, he had to let go of the briefcase, crashing down onto Speedy below him.
Both of them sprawled on the mat, clearly too exhausted to even rise, their chests heaving with ragged breaths as the precious custody papers swung high above them. The crowd screamed itself hoarse, everyone rooting for their favorite to stand up, giddy second-hand adrenaline energizing the arena.
And into the chaos ran a woman wearing a green martial arts gi with gold trim, her long dark hair tied back with a green headband. Boos rang out around Cheshire, Speedy's former lover and mother of his child, as she righted the ladder and scrambled up it. Speedy and Nightwing struggled to get to the ladder in time, but they were too late: Cheshire had grabbed the briefcase. With a cry of triumph she leaped down from the ladder, making a perfect three-point landing, then vaulted out of the ring. "I'll just be taking my daughter back!" she cried to Starfire, pulling the laughing Lian into her arms and sprinting back up the ramp. At the top she turned around and waved the briefcase in the air one more time, then vanished with the toddler.
Speedy and Nightwing remained sprawled on the mat for a long time, stunned by this sudden reversal of fortune as the crowd murmured. Then eventually Nightwing staggered painfully to his feet. Reaching down, he helped a weeping Speedy to stand.
"I'll help you get her back," Nightwing swore to his friend.
"You shall not stand alone!" cried Starfire, jumping into the ring.
"You're not going anywhere without me!" said Kid Flash as he, Wonder Girl, Aqualad and Cyborg all ran down to enter the ring.
"Titans Together!" they announced--and the broadcast cut to a commercial.
"I think Luthor will be forced to admit that was a success," Bruce said with a smile as the roar of the crowd resonated all the way back into the common room.
"Daddy sweaty," Lian giggled as Roy came back and took her in his arms.
"I can't believe you stuck that landing," he said to Cheshire, who made a scoffing noise and tossed her hair, smiling. He turned to Dick as Lian tried to pry his mask off. "Have you got plans tomorrow? I've got Lian for the weekend and I thought we'd go to the beach."
"No teaching her wrestling moves!" said Cheshire, turning around at the door on the way to the women's locker room.
"Hey, I'm not the one who taught her that chokehold she pulled out last weekend," Roy called after her.
"And do you have any plans tomorrow?" Bruce said to Clark as the Titans headed off, chattering about their beach plans.
"Hm," Clark pretended to consider. "I think I'm going to have to go over that upcoming promo again, you know the one."
"The one where Clark Kent, hapless interviewer, is interviewing Billionaire Brucie and it becomes increasingly clear Brucie is flirting with him?"
"That's the one."
"That might take a lot of practice."
Clark bit back a smile as he hoisted his gym bag. "I hope so."
"I must say, Kent, that now that you've cleaned yourself up and learned how to wear a suit instead of overalls, you're nearly good-looking."
"Thank you, Mr. Wayne. Now, about this match with Two-Face--"
"--But I don't know why you've taken to wearing glasses," Brucie went on as if he hadn't heard. "You'd be so much more attractive without them. If you want some tips on personal grooming, you could always swing by the Manor sometime. I'd be happy to...help you out." He reached out and took Kent's tie in his hand, tugging very slightly.
Clark had a sudden rather inconvenient flashback to the fact that at this point in the "practicing" they had usually ended up kissing. "Yes--well--" he stammered, for a moment actually flustered. "That's--that's very--"
The corners of Bruce's eyes crinkled in a distinctly un-Brucie way for a moment. Then Brucie was taking a step back, and Clark knew he'd realized Clark was on the verge of breaking into nervous giggles. "--Tempting, I know," Brucie said. "I'll just let you think about it. Now," he continued briskly, "this Two-Face match is a simple thing, he's just jealous because I'm more handsome than he is. At least twice as handsome, obviously."
"I'm of two minds about what to do with you," growled Two-Face, appearing from nowhere to shove Clark aside and confront Brucie. Harvey had been refining his makeup recently, and his latest look was especially dramatic--one glaring yellow eye, scarred welts running up and down his left side. Clark cringed and looked like he wanted to run for cover as Brucie and Two-Face bantered and threatened each other, barely managing to keep the mic in his outstretched, shaking hand. And when--inevitably--Two-Face threw Brucie through a backdrop and stormed off, Clark raced to his side.
“I’ll sue him!” gasped Brucie, wilting dramatically into the wreckage. “For bruising my beautiful, bankable, valuable face!”
“I...I think you’re okay,” said Clark.
“Are you sure?” whimpered Brucie. “I think I might need someone to kiss it better.”
Clark dropped the mic and fled, leaving a battered and bereft Brucie in the rubble, moaning for help.
“--really appreciate all your support,” Hal Jordan said, standing in the middle of the ring in his civilian jeans and bomber jacket. Green signs blossomed in the audience: “Ring Slinger,” “In Brightest Day,” “Welcome back to the REAL GL.” There were also a few with somewhat divergent opinions: ”Go Home Jordan” and ”Semper Fidelis” among them. “It’s been a hard recovery, but I’m back to a hundred percent now and--”
Hal stopped and turned slowly as a 70s-style funk groove struck up: John Stewart’s theme song. (Stewart had just sighed and rolled his eyes at the choice at first, but admitted it had grown on him). Stewart, in full Green Lantern regalia, strode down the ramp with the championship belt around his waist and climbed into the ring. The two of them looked at each other for a long moment, then Stewart said, “Brother, I’m glad you’re back.”
He reached out and pulled Hal into an embrace, prompting a confused welter of cheers and boos from the audience.
“Thanks, John,” said Hal. “I couldn’t have asked for a better successor to the title than you, man.”
John stepped back and leveled a finger at him. “And I’m not giving it up just because you’re back,” he said.
Hal spread his hands wide. “Of course not.”
“But, I know you lost the title because you were injured. And I know you never got a chance for a rematch against Sinestro,” John went on. “And I also know that unless we settle this once and for all, I’ll always be seeing signs like that one.” He pointed at the “Welcome Back to the REAL GL” sign, and Hal grimaced. “So I say that at Identity Crisis--” the upcoming pay-per-view, “--We settle this fairly. You and me in the ring for the championship,” he said, sticking out his hand.
This the audience could agree on, and when Hal took his hand and shook it the approval was deafening.
“I don’t have a favorite shampoo.” Clark cast him a narrow look, and Bruce shrugged. “I don’t. I just buy whatever’s cheapest.” He plucked a bottle off the shelf and tossed it into the shopping cart. “So we might as well keep the apartment stocked with your favorite.”
“We need more toilet paper too,” Clark said, admitting defeat on the shampoo issue and steering the cart toward the paper products aisle. It was hard to keep the Metropolis apartment stocked when they were only there a few nights every other month or so. It seemed like every time there was a show in Metropolis, they had to shop for something banal that they’d run out of last time and hadn’t replaced.
As he and Bruce bickered good-naturedly over whether to pick up another blanket--”We have plenty,” Bruce pointed out. “Yes, and you tend to steal them all,” Clark retorted--Clark realized something odd: he looked forward to these shopping trips. He liked wheeling around a cart that inevitably had one wheel broken, discussing whether to pick up hummus or guacamole for the snacks and choosing an old kung fu DVD to buy for a treat. It felt...comfortable.
It felt good.
“Hey, look.” Bruce disappeared down the toy aisle and Clark followed him to find him holding up two action figures: The Kryptonian (“Now with Psionic Claw action!”) and The Dark Knight (“With Bat-grapple!”). Bruce held them up so Clark could see the backs: “They’re marketed together! They’re a matched set!”
He looked so absurdly happy about this that Clark suddenly found himself unable to say anything coherent at all. He reached out and took them from Bruce to toss into the shopping cart. “It’ll be a hoot to see if the cashier recognizes us,” he said, and Bruce’s smile kindled into something irresistible.
Fortunately, no one happened to wander by to see two grown men making out in the toy aisle of Target.
“Look, Dick’s here too,” said Bruce as the kiss ended, grabbing the Nightwing action figure. “High flying death-defying acrobatics!” he read from the box. “Not many left, either. Not surprised they’re selling well.”
Clark pulled the Wonder Girl figure off the shelf and glanced at the back. “They’re going with the story that she was raised by the actual Titans now? She’s not a young version of Diana anymore? I guess Donna will be glad to hear that, but--Bruce?”
He glanced around the empty aisle, then caught a glimpse of Bruce’s shoulder at the far end. “Hey,” he said, putting Wonder Girl back and heading to where Bruce stood. “What are you--oh.”
Bruce was standing standing in front of a forlorn “Clearance” bin at the endcap. He looked up at Clark with a smile that aimed for “wry” and didn’t quite make it.
In his hands was a “Jason Todd as Robin” action figure, marked down to 50% off.
“I don’t understand it,” Bruce said softly, turning over the box in his hands as if searching for clues. “He’s a hard worker, he’s a great wrestler--why can’t he get over?”
“He’s not Dick,” Clark said, and Bruce grimaced. “He doesn’t do the fancy high-flying stuff that the audience loves, and he’s not a big muscled monster like Luthor loves, and he’s--well, he’s not great on the mic, Bruce.”
Bruce shook his head. “He doesn’t have to be. He’s good.” His eyes were pained, and Clark knew that the lackluster reaction that Jason was getting was eating away at him. “Is it something I’m doing wrong, Clark?”
Clark sighed. “Don’t get started with the self-flagellation,” he said. Bruce looked annoyed, which Clark preferred to the lorn look in his eyes before. “You can’t control how the audience is going to react, Bruce. At a certain level, they’re never going to forgive him for taking Dick’s place, for simply not being Dick. There’s nothing he--or you--can do about that.”
"He hasn't given up, and neither will I," Bruce said, glaring at the clearance sign as though it personally offended him.
"Of course not."
Bruce placed the action figure back carefully in the bin. "Let's get going," he said.
They got through checkout without the clerk recognizing them--Clark supposed there was no real reason to connect the smiling man in jeans and a Smallville t-shirt with the red-eyed hulking monster in the box--and they were putting their bags in the trunk of Bruce's car when Bruce suddenly said "Ah!" and snapped his fingers. "I forgot something. Wait here, I'll be right back."
Clark put the car seat back and caught a quick nap in the early summer sun, waking when he heard Bruce open the trunk again. He looked back to see Bruce drop a bulging bag into the trunk and come around to the driver's side, humming Billionaire Brucie's theme song under his breath and slightly off key. Bruce started the car and they pulled out of the parking lot and onto the highway, negotiating through Metropolis traffic on their way back to the apartment.
They drove in silence for a time, Clark watching Bruce's face, Bruce remaining resolutely oblivious to being watched. Finally, Clark broke the silence: "Bruce?"
"Yes?"
"Where exactly do you think you're going to display six identical Robin action figures?"
Bruce didn't bother to look embarrassed. "Probably next to the three Nightwing figures I bought with them." He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel for a moment, brought the car to a stop at a red light, and met Clark's amused gaze. "I couldn't leave them there," he said. "Just sitting there in the clearance bin."
"Of course not," said Clark. The light changed and Bruce stepped on the gas again.
"Hey," he said a moment later, as Clark kissed him soundly a few times on the cheek and neck, "Don't distract me from driving."
They put the action figures--all eleven of them--on the mantel above the fireplace, a long line of brightly-clad Robins and Nightwings flanked on either end by a black-clad, glowering Kryptonian or Dark Knight, guarding the living room when they were away.