Fic: Heart of a Stone (Clark/Bruce) (Prelude) (WIP)
Title: Heart of a Stone
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Superman/Batman
Rating: Adult
Status: WIP
Warnings: Slash, explicit m/m sex
Tags: Plot-intensive; Angst
Summary: Seven years after their tumultuous summer in Metropolis, Clark and Bruce meet again in Gotham, under the watchful gaze of Alfred Pennyworth.
The index page with full header for this story is HERE.
Prelude
Sometime in the distant future…on the grounds of Wayne Manor…in Gotham City…
"Dad, so what do you think? If the League offers to mediate, will the president go for it?"
His father didn't bother to look up from his book, and with the sunglasses hiding blue eyes, he couldn't even tell if he'd gotten as much as a sidelong glance in acknowledgment. He really thought the Wayne patriarch was taking this retirement thing a bit too far. It was a feat if anyone could get him away from poolside these days, especially when the afternoon was mid-summer hot and the sky crystal clear, and the water so blue and perfect.
"I think you're the League chairman," came a rumble of a voice with a small shrug of one tan, sweat-glistened shoulder. "You've been trained by the best. Trust your instincts. Make a decision."
"Trust my instincts. Make a decision. The freedom and safety of the known world is at stake and…that's all you'll say?"
His incredulous tone garnered more of a response-though not exactly the one he was hoping to provoke. A tilt of the head, an eyebrow that rose past the frame of his father's expensive sunglasses; mild reproach that stung, not because it was meant in a hurtful way but because his dad's opinion of him was so very important, and his shoes were so impossible to fill.
"This is what you asked for, son. We agreed that me looking over your shoulder would be counterproductive. I believe those were your exact words." A small smile to soften the reproach, lit by the sun. The glint off of the golden ring that was never discussed, the one he recognized from Justice League archive material as a Legion of Super-Heroes flight ring from the 31st century-though he had never seen his father use it to fly.
"You're The Batman of Gotham now. You're everything I ever was and more." He watched as his father's attention clearly shifted to a spot in the distance over his shoulder, and knew this conversation had effectively come to an end. "You don't need my opinion."
He turned; saw the figure approaching from the main house, through the back entrance that had been reserved, in the past, for the exclusive use of the household staff. A mostly nude Superman, sun rays throwing themselves at him in adoration, bouncing off, clinging to his skin, was enough to distract anyone, and his father was no exception.
"Hey, dad," he said to his other parent, getting to his feet as his father placed two glasses of iced tea on the side table, then leaned in, ruffled his hair and kissed his temple.
"Don't offer to mediate," his father said, resting hands on his shoulders. "Maneuver the situation so President Santiago asks the League to step in-and then agree only reluctantly. Perception is something you'll have to manage constantly, and there's a thin line between the League being considered a help or an intrusion in civilian affairs. Besides, if you offer the League's help too freely, they will come running to you with every problem big and small-and that's not something you want to encourage." He watched as his father glanced over at his partner, smiling. "Everyone has to learn to stand and solve problems without intervening aid from up above."
He gave his father a hug. "Thanks, dad. I guess I was just worried…"
"Don't be. You've been trained by the best-"
"That's what I said," came a grumble from behind a book, "but, of course, he wasn't trying to hear me."
"I heard you, dad." He leaned over the lounge chair and kissed his father on the cheek, eliciting a grunt and a finger to straighten sunglasses. "That I was trained by the very best goes without saying. And we agreed that you would step back, not that I couldn't ask you for advice. I would be remiss if I didn't use every resource-you taught me that."
"Good boy."
"You could ask your brother for advice-"
That was not happening. "He's somewhere in Asia. I don't know if he plans to come back at all. And if I ask for his help, I'll never hear the end of it-"
A sigh from the man who was, in fact, the person his brother most resembled temperamentally. Consternation and a book abandoned in a lap. "We raised you to support each other. You're a team-"
"I know. It's just-a little harder in practice, now that we all have our own things going on. If I was in any real trouble, I'd go to him."
From one parent: "Your family is the only thing you can truly trust, son."
And the other: "Family is everything."
His father stepped around him and settled in the matching lounge chair with a contented sigh. Looking down at his parents, he marveled-not for the first time-at how similar they looked, how like a pair of shoes they've become over the years, especially since the retirement. The biggest difference between them used to be skin tone, with his cowled parent tending towards the pale skin that was a by-product of a work schedule heavily skewed to the nighttime hours. But now that his parents spent most of their days lounging by the pool, or out riding the grounds, or on vacation…somewhere or another, they were both bronzed and blue-eyed, dark-haired and perfectly athletic. It was only the line of the jaw that would allow a stranger to tell them apart from a distance. He knew this was one of the reasons their whole family looked so remarkably similar-his brothers, his sister. It was the running joke of the superhero community: that none of them were legitimate offspring; they were all just advanced Fortress robots so that there'd always be a Superman guarding Metropolis and a Batman guarding Gotham.
"Okay, let me get out of here. I have a date-"
"You shouldn't have time for dates."
"Like you never went out once in thirty years."
"Only for show, to maintain my image-"
"That's not what dad says-"
"Your father lies. They think he doesn't but he does-like a rug."
"Just go and have a good time, son. Don't mind him. Every free moment he was chasing me around, trying to get me to go out with him. For three whole months he followed me around like a puppy. Don't let him tell you any different. When do you think we'll get to meet her…?"
He laughed out loud at that one. "No time soon, dad. I'd prefer to know she wants me before I let her meet the two of you." A lesson he'd learned the hard way. His parents looked not a day over thirty-five-neither of them-but that wasn't the problem. The Waynes were a good-looking family, and he knew he could hold his own with the best of them. No, his parents were icons, demigods, like two graven images, and even if a person wasn't privy to their secret identities, they were too fascinating, the experience of being in their presence too intense. It became harder and harder to turn away.
"I won't be home for dinner, but I'll check in before patrol. You'll be here?"
A nod and a wave, and then he started for the house, shaking his head at the conversation kicking up behind him, listening to it with his heightened hearing even as he made his way inside the kitchen and up to his bedroom to change clothes. He couldn't help it, though he knew it was a hard rule that the "youngsters" weren't allowed to eavesdrop on their parents, for any reason. The running banter between the two was the soundtrack of his life, and with all of the changes taking place lately, with his parents agreeing to hang up the costumes and allow the next generation to take over, it was reassuring that some things would never change.
"You baby him, Clark."
"He needed a little advice, Bruce. You could have set his mind at ease."
"I could have, but what will he do when we're not around?"
"Fortunately, we've taken care of that."
A noncommittal grunt. "Each time we come back we run the risk-"
"We've discussed this. Not if we come back to the exact same moment. The Legion-"
"Knows this for a fact. So they claim. But you know I like to be prepared. I want him to be prepared-all of them. One day, we might have to choose, and as much as I love our life here, there would be no choice."
He tuned the rest of the conversation out, feeling incredibly guilty for the accidental confidence he had breached, because he was his father's son, and now that he knew something he had suspected-that this retirement was too easy, and there was something weird about his parents lounging about in any case-he had to ferret out the whole truth. They've had interaction with the Legion, and have been time traveling, and even these small pieces of information explained a lot. And the talk of choices-well, it had always been clear to his brothers and sister that for all the talk of family, their parent's devotion was singular, insular, too intense for any outsider to share, even their own children. Every child wants to be the center of his parent's universe, but his siblings had to learn to accept-each in his or her own way-that the center of the universe for each parent was the other, and everyone else was a satellite. A well-loved satellite, but still.
Choices, potential disappearances-an investigation was in order. This time, he'd unearth the whole story. His parents had a habit of secrecy, of revealing only the necessary bits, of parceling out history, especially personal history, on a need to know basis. But if they were preparing for a true shift to the younger generation, where either of them could become unavailable for a long period of time, he needed to make his own plans, develop his own sources of information about family matters current and historical.
And he knew exactly who to see to get started, because before the legend, before the crusade, before the masquerade, there were two impetuous young men-and a butler.
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Superman/Batman
Rating: Adult
Status: WIP
Warnings: Slash, explicit m/m sex
Tags: Plot-intensive; Angst
Summary: Seven years after their tumultuous summer in Metropolis, Clark and Bruce meet again in Gotham, under the watchful gaze of Alfred Pennyworth.
The index page with full header for this story is HERE.
Prelude
Sometime in the distant future…on the grounds of Wayne Manor…in Gotham City…
"Dad, so what do you think? If the League offers to mediate, will the president go for it?"
His father didn't bother to look up from his book, and with the sunglasses hiding blue eyes, he couldn't even tell if he'd gotten as much as a sidelong glance in acknowledgment. He really thought the Wayne patriarch was taking this retirement thing a bit too far. It was a feat if anyone could get him away from poolside these days, especially when the afternoon was mid-summer hot and the sky crystal clear, and the water so blue and perfect.
"I think you're the League chairman," came a rumble of a voice with a small shrug of one tan, sweat-glistened shoulder. "You've been trained by the best. Trust your instincts. Make a decision."
"Trust my instincts. Make a decision. The freedom and safety of the known world is at stake and…that's all you'll say?"
His incredulous tone garnered more of a response-though not exactly the one he was hoping to provoke. A tilt of the head, an eyebrow that rose past the frame of his father's expensive sunglasses; mild reproach that stung, not because it was meant in a hurtful way but because his dad's opinion of him was so very important, and his shoes were so impossible to fill.
"This is what you asked for, son. We agreed that me looking over your shoulder would be counterproductive. I believe those were your exact words." A small smile to soften the reproach, lit by the sun. The glint off of the golden ring that was never discussed, the one he recognized from Justice League archive material as a Legion of Super-Heroes flight ring from the 31st century-though he had never seen his father use it to fly.
"You're The Batman of Gotham now. You're everything I ever was and more." He watched as his father's attention clearly shifted to a spot in the distance over his shoulder, and knew this conversation had effectively come to an end. "You don't need my opinion."
He turned; saw the figure approaching from the main house, through the back entrance that had been reserved, in the past, for the exclusive use of the household staff. A mostly nude Superman, sun rays throwing themselves at him in adoration, bouncing off, clinging to his skin, was enough to distract anyone, and his father was no exception.
"Hey, dad," he said to his other parent, getting to his feet as his father placed two glasses of iced tea on the side table, then leaned in, ruffled his hair and kissed his temple.
"Don't offer to mediate," his father said, resting hands on his shoulders. "Maneuver the situation so President Santiago asks the League to step in-and then agree only reluctantly. Perception is something you'll have to manage constantly, and there's a thin line between the League being considered a help or an intrusion in civilian affairs. Besides, if you offer the League's help too freely, they will come running to you with every problem big and small-and that's not something you want to encourage." He watched as his father glanced over at his partner, smiling. "Everyone has to learn to stand and solve problems without intervening aid from up above."
He gave his father a hug. "Thanks, dad. I guess I was just worried…"
"Don't be. You've been trained by the best-"
"That's what I said," came a grumble from behind a book, "but, of course, he wasn't trying to hear me."
"I heard you, dad." He leaned over the lounge chair and kissed his father on the cheek, eliciting a grunt and a finger to straighten sunglasses. "That I was trained by the very best goes without saying. And we agreed that you would step back, not that I couldn't ask you for advice. I would be remiss if I didn't use every resource-you taught me that."
"Good boy."
"You could ask your brother for advice-"
That was not happening. "He's somewhere in Asia. I don't know if he plans to come back at all. And if I ask for his help, I'll never hear the end of it-"
A sigh from the man who was, in fact, the person his brother most resembled temperamentally. Consternation and a book abandoned in a lap. "We raised you to support each other. You're a team-"
"I know. It's just-a little harder in practice, now that we all have our own things going on. If I was in any real trouble, I'd go to him."
From one parent: "Your family is the only thing you can truly trust, son."
And the other: "Family is everything."
His father stepped around him and settled in the matching lounge chair with a contented sigh. Looking down at his parents, he marveled-not for the first time-at how similar they looked, how like a pair of shoes they've become over the years, especially since the retirement. The biggest difference between them used to be skin tone, with his cowled parent tending towards the pale skin that was a by-product of a work schedule heavily skewed to the nighttime hours. But now that his parents spent most of their days lounging by the pool, or out riding the grounds, or on vacation…somewhere or another, they were both bronzed and blue-eyed, dark-haired and perfectly athletic. It was only the line of the jaw that would allow a stranger to tell them apart from a distance. He knew this was one of the reasons their whole family looked so remarkably similar-his brothers, his sister. It was the running joke of the superhero community: that none of them were legitimate offspring; they were all just advanced Fortress robots so that there'd always be a Superman guarding Metropolis and a Batman guarding Gotham.
"Okay, let me get out of here. I have a date-"
"You shouldn't have time for dates."
"Like you never went out once in thirty years."
"Only for show, to maintain my image-"
"That's not what dad says-"
"Your father lies. They think he doesn't but he does-like a rug."
"Just go and have a good time, son. Don't mind him. Every free moment he was chasing me around, trying to get me to go out with him. For three whole months he followed me around like a puppy. Don't let him tell you any different. When do you think we'll get to meet her…?"
He laughed out loud at that one. "No time soon, dad. I'd prefer to know she wants me before I let her meet the two of you." A lesson he'd learned the hard way. His parents looked not a day over thirty-five-neither of them-but that wasn't the problem. The Waynes were a good-looking family, and he knew he could hold his own with the best of them. No, his parents were icons, demigods, like two graven images, and even if a person wasn't privy to their secret identities, they were too fascinating, the experience of being in their presence too intense. It became harder and harder to turn away.
"I won't be home for dinner, but I'll check in before patrol. You'll be here?"
A nod and a wave, and then he started for the house, shaking his head at the conversation kicking up behind him, listening to it with his heightened hearing even as he made his way inside the kitchen and up to his bedroom to change clothes. He couldn't help it, though he knew it was a hard rule that the "youngsters" weren't allowed to eavesdrop on their parents, for any reason. The running banter between the two was the soundtrack of his life, and with all of the changes taking place lately, with his parents agreeing to hang up the costumes and allow the next generation to take over, it was reassuring that some things would never change.
"You baby him, Clark."
"He needed a little advice, Bruce. You could have set his mind at ease."
"I could have, but what will he do when we're not around?"
"Fortunately, we've taken care of that."
A noncommittal grunt. "Each time we come back we run the risk-"
"We've discussed this. Not if we come back to the exact same moment. The Legion-"
"Knows this for a fact. So they claim. But you know I like to be prepared. I want him to be prepared-all of them. One day, we might have to choose, and as much as I love our life here, there would be no choice."
He tuned the rest of the conversation out, feeling incredibly guilty for the accidental confidence he had breached, because he was his father's son, and now that he knew something he had suspected-that this retirement was too easy, and there was something weird about his parents lounging about in any case-he had to ferret out the whole truth. They've had interaction with the Legion, and have been time traveling, and even these small pieces of information explained a lot. And the talk of choices-well, it had always been clear to his brothers and sister that for all the talk of family, their parent's devotion was singular, insular, too intense for any outsider to share, even their own children. Every child wants to be the center of his parent's universe, but his siblings had to learn to accept-each in his or her own way-that the center of the universe for each parent was the other, and everyone else was a satellite. A well-loved satellite, but still.
Choices, potential disappearances-an investigation was in order. This time, he'd unearth the whole story. His parents had a habit of secrecy, of revealing only the necessary bits, of parceling out history, especially personal history, on a need to know basis. But if they were preparing for a true shift to the younger generation, where either of them could become unavailable for a long period of time, he needed to make his own plans, develop his own sources of information about family matters current and historical.
And he knew exactly who to see to get started, because before the legend, before the crusade, before the masquerade, there were two impetuous young men-and a butler.