Fic: Quiet Understandings
Apr. 12th, 2009 07:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
starsandseaTitle: Quiet Understandings
Rating: PGish
Characters: Bruce, Clark, Alfred
Word Count: 1974
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Author's Note: It's Easter, so I post... vampire fic? Heh. Set in the New Partnerships verse. Post TDK. Lots and lots of thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mithen for the beta, and all her help and encouragement! *glomps*
Superman hovered, irresolute, over Gotham. It had been weeks since he had seen Batman. Bruce. And things had changed a great deal.
Batman was now a killer. A murderer.
Yet... He couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe that Bruce would have done such a thing. He was a vampire, yes, and Kal had seen him lost in bloodlust. But he had also seen him nearly starving himself to death, nearly killing himself over it, using his immense will power to stop the powerful urges.
And Alfred Pennyworth had told him that Bruce was no longer satisfied with anyone's blood save Superman's. So why would he kill? It didn't make sense. None of it made sense.
Clark had been using his journalistic skills to investigate what was going on. Perry wanted to know everything that had happened over the month or so since Harvey Dent had become DA for Gotham, how things had gotten so bad, so quickly. Of course, this 'Joker' character had a lot to do with it, but... something was off. Clark, Kal and Superman all knew that. And that was without knowing who Batman was. Of just knowing him.
To add to his worries, Bruce Wayne had hardly been seen since Dent's death. He could be grieving over Rachael Dawes, but... Clark was worried for his friend. So, he took a deep breath, and floated down to the recently fully repaired Wayne Manor, intent on finding out just what exactly had happened, if his friend needed any help, by taking his blood, or in any other way.
*****
Bruce raised his head wearily from looking at his laptop screen when Alfred announced he had a visitor. He was tired. He was still recovering from his wounds. And he needed blood. He could go for a month, maybe more, without any, thanks mainly to the fact that he now drank purely Superman's blood. But that was without him being injured, as he was now.
Alfred had already given him the last of the emergency supplies that Kal had donated. But he was still hungry. He would have to call Clark later, and ask for more of his blood. It was humiliating, having to rely upon someone so much, for your continued life. That it was Kal he was depending on only made it worse, somehow.
Bruce smelt him first. The scent that was only Superman's. Sunshine and blue skies and alien scents and tilled earth. Kal. Clark.
Bruce swallowed, feeling his hunger rising as the smell became more intense as Superman drew closer. He hadn't seen Clark since... everything. Rachael's death, then Harvey, and what he had done. What would Superman say? What would he do? Would he berate him for not doing enough, for not being able to save them?
Or, more chillingly, did Superman believe the lie Batman had implemented? That he was a killer? A murderer?
Kal knew him, yes, but he must be wondering if he had gone mad with bloodlust, at last. He had to be.
Kal's form filled the doorway, his scent all about the room already. Bruce moved his laptop aside, readying himself for whatever direction the conversation would take.
*****
Bruce looked thin. And pale. There were dark rings below his eyes. No wonder he hadn't been seen as Bruce Wayne, the press would have had a field day over it.
"Clark," Bruce nodded at him, and Clark tore his eyes away from his face, saw bandages peeking out from under his shirt.
He frowned. "You're hurt." He felt something twist inside him at the sight of the bandages, and had to stop himself from using his x-ray vision to see how bad the wounds were. He hadn't heard anything at all about Batman being hurt, and suddenly felt incredibly stupid. Of course there would be no reports if Batman was hurt. Why hadn't he visited sooner, to see if Bruce was okay, or if he needed more blood?
"They're healing. But... I'll need more blood. I used the last of it yesterday."
"Of course. Any time. Do you... do you want it now, or...?"
Bruce looked away; it always seemed to make him uncomfortable, talking about needing his blood, though Clark suspected it had more to do with the dependence issue than anything else. "I can wait until later. Thank you."
There was a pause, neither of them knowing what to say. Bruce finally looked back to him. "Why don't you sit down?" He asked at last, gesturing at one of the leather chairs.
"Oh!" He had been too distracted by how ill Bruce looked. "Thank you."
Clark had just sat down when Alfred appeared, carrying a tray laden with tea and chocolate chip cookies. "Thank you, Alfred," Bruce said, as the butler placed the tray on the low glass table between the chairs.
"It was my pleasure Master Bruce, Master Clark." Clark felt himself blushing; he was sure he would never get used to being called 'Master Clark'.
Bruce reached for the tray, then winced, a hand going to his stomach. "Master Bruce. Don't tear your stitches, sir. I would be most put out if I had to sew you up again."
Bruce looked abashed. "Sorry Alfred."
Clark couldn't resist a smile at the exchange, even as his worry for his friend grew. He reached for his own cup of perfectly made tea and the cookies, as Alfred placed Bruce's within easy reach.
"If that will be all, sirs?"
Bruce nodded, taking a sip of his tea. Alfred quietly left the room.
Clark placed his tea down. "Bruce. What's going on?"
*****
Bruce took a careful sip of his tea. "What do you mean?" He asked, knowing full well what Clark meant. And, judging from the way Clark was looking at him, he knew that he knew too.
"I mean in Gotham, Bruce. With Harvey Dent and everyone thinking that you... that Batman is a murderer. What's going on?" Clark leaned forward, he was looking at him earnestly.
Bruce barely resisted the impulse to look away as he tried to decide what to answer. He should have been prepared for this. "The Mob happened. The Joker happened." His voice, he realized, was Batman low.
"That's not what I asked. I want to know what happened."
"What do you want me to say? That I killed Dent, the police officers, and the other two people in cold blood?" Bruce felt a stab of pain in his chest at his question, and he wondered if his stitches had torn, despite Alfred's assistance.
"No one saw Harvey Dent after he had himself arrested, claiming to be Batman. As far as the public are concerned, Dent was later kidnapped by the Joker, along with his fiancee, Rachael Dawes. Dawes was killed," he paused here, and Bruce felt the flash of pain in his chest again, but most of his attention was held by the transformation taking place before him. Gone was Clark Kent; Superman had taken his place, dressed in a geeky reporter's ill fitting suit, glasses covering eyes that were far too blue to be human.
"Harvey Dent was taken to hospital, which was later blown up by the Joker, and then went missing, until Commissioner Gordon found his body - found Batman, who had just killed him and held Gordon's wife and children hostage, nearly killed them, but got away just as police reinforcements stormed the site.
"Dent's funeral was a closed coffin ceremony, supposedly because he was gruesomely murdered. By you." Superman paused again, and looked at him, removing Clark Kent's glasses. "Now, I don't believe you could ever have killed anyone, despite what you might be."
Bruce looked down, away from his beseeching eyes.
"Bruce... what happened? Why do you want people to think you're a killer?"
*****
Kal... Clark... Superman didn't think he was a killer? The relief crashed over Bruce, that Kal didn't believe it, that he didn't think he had given in to his vampire impulses. "I..." he trailed off, not sure what he was going to say in answer to those questions, eventually settling on the only true answer he could give.
"I did what needed to be done. For Gotham."
There was a long pause. Bruce finally looked up at Superman, who was frowning, comprehension slowly starting to light his eyes.
"The people of Gotham need their true hero." Bruce said, remembering when he had first said those words, looking down at Harvey's broken body, his scarred face, turning the unmarred side to the night air.
"Bruce... you...?" The look on Kal's face was shocked, concern hiding behind it.
Bruce said nothing - what more could he say? - and took another sip of his tea, feeling weariness creeping up on him. He needed blood, and soon.
"Bruce..." Kal said his name again, then moved, so he was kneeling at his side, and very carefully captured one of his hands and held it between his own. Bruce looked at him.
"You sacrificed your name, your reputation, just so the people of Gotham would have hope?"
Bruce looked away for a moment, neither confirming or denying what the other man had just said. Instead, he changed the subject. "Kal. I realize this is hardly the thing to say over tea and cookies, but I really do need..."
Kal squeezed his hand, then let go of it, and took off his jacket and tie, before unbuttoning his shirt a bit, moving it away from his neck. "Take as much as you need."
*****
Clark smiled lazily at Bruce, feeling fresh amazement for this extraordinary man. He had sacrificed so much, just so people could still believe, still have hope. He was risking his life even more than he had been before, simply because it was the right thing to do, suppressing his vampire instincts as much as possible - more - all because he didn't want to see people suffer.
"I'm sorry," Bruce murmured, handing him a refreshed cup of tea.
Clark blinked at him. "For what?" Bruce hadn't had to take so much blood this time; he would be back to normal in half an hour or so, even less if he bathed in the sun's rays. He didn't feel like leaving, though, he wanted to stay here with his friend and talk.
"For everything," Bruce continued.
Clark shook his head. "You haven't done anything wrong." Bruce still looked guilty. "I'm more than happy to give you my blood, you know that." Clark said, knowing that Bruce had had issues about this in the past.
Bruce looked away, and Clark stifled a sigh. "Bruce, look at me, please." Bruce turned back to look at him. "You and I... We're the only ones who do this. You're the only person who can even come close to understanding me. Knowing that I have you to talk to, about anything, or your help whenever I need it," he paused and smiled, letting his emotions show. "I don't think you have any idea how much that means to me."
Bruce was still looking at him, like he had asked, his wolf blue eyes dark with emotion. "You're my best friend, and I care about you... a great deal." Clark placed the saucer and teacup carefully upon the low table, then leaned forward to hug Bruce very gently, feeling his arms slowly going around him in turn.
"Thank you, Clark. That... means a great deal to me."
They pulled apart, and Bruce blinked a few times, before smiling at him. Clark smiled back.
Rating: PGish
Characters: Bruce, Clark, Alfred
Word Count: 1974
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Author's Note: It's Easter, so I post... vampire fic? Heh. Set in the New Partnerships verse. Post TDK. Lots and lots of thanks to
mithen for the beta, and all her help and encouragement! *glomps*Superman hovered, irresolute, over Gotham. It had been weeks since he had seen Batman. Bruce. And things had changed a great deal.
Batman was now a killer. A murderer.
Yet... He couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe that Bruce would have done such a thing. He was a vampire, yes, and Kal had seen him lost in bloodlust. But he had also seen him nearly starving himself to death, nearly killing himself over it, using his immense will power to stop the powerful urges.
And Alfred Pennyworth had told him that Bruce was no longer satisfied with anyone's blood save Superman's. So why would he kill? It didn't make sense. None of it made sense.
Clark had been using his journalistic skills to investigate what was going on. Perry wanted to know everything that had happened over the month or so since Harvey Dent had become DA for Gotham, how things had gotten so bad, so quickly. Of course, this 'Joker' character had a lot to do with it, but... something was off. Clark, Kal and Superman all knew that. And that was without knowing who Batman was. Of just knowing him.
To add to his worries, Bruce Wayne had hardly been seen since Dent's death. He could be grieving over Rachael Dawes, but... Clark was worried for his friend. So, he took a deep breath, and floated down to the recently fully repaired Wayne Manor, intent on finding out just what exactly had happened, if his friend needed any help, by taking his blood, or in any other way.
*****
Bruce raised his head wearily from looking at his laptop screen when Alfred announced he had a visitor. He was tired. He was still recovering from his wounds. And he needed blood. He could go for a month, maybe more, without any, thanks mainly to the fact that he now drank purely Superman's blood. But that was without him being injured, as he was now.
Alfred had already given him the last of the emergency supplies that Kal had donated. But he was still hungry. He would have to call Clark later, and ask for more of his blood. It was humiliating, having to rely upon someone so much, for your continued life. That it was Kal he was depending on only made it worse, somehow.
Bruce smelt him first. The scent that was only Superman's. Sunshine and blue skies and alien scents and tilled earth. Kal. Clark.
Bruce swallowed, feeling his hunger rising as the smell became more intense as Superman drew closer. He hadn't seen Clark since... everything. Rachael's death, then Harvey, and what he had done. What would Superman say? What would he do? Would he berate him for not doing enough, for not being able to save them?
Or, more chillingly, did Superman believe the lie Batman had implemented? That he was a killer? A murderer?
Kal knew him, yes, but he must be wondering if he had gone mad with bloodlust, at last. He had to be.
Kal's form filled the doorway, his scent all about the room already. Bruce moved his laptop aside, readying himself for whatever direction the conversation would take.
*****
Bruce looked thin. And pale. There were dark rings below his eyes. No wonder he hadn't been seen as Bruce Wayne, the press would have had a field day over it.
"Clark," Bruce nodded at him, and Clark tore his eyes away from his face, saw bandages peeking out from under his shirt.
He frowned. "You're hurt." He felt something twist inside him at the sight of the bandages, and had to stop himself from using his x-ray vision to see how bad the wounds were. He hadn't heard anything at all about Batman being hurt, and suddenly felt incredibly stupid. Of course there would be no reports if Batman was hurt. Why hadn't he visited sooner, to see if Bruce was okay, or if he needed more blood?
"They're healing. But... I'll need more blood. I used the last of it yesterday."
"Of course. Any time. Do you... do you want it now, or...?"
Bruce looked away; it always seemed to make him uncomfortable, talking about needing his blood, though Clark suspected it had more to do with the dependence issue than anything else. "I can wait until later. Thank you."
There was a pause, neither of them knowing what to say. Bruce finally looked back to him. "Why don't you sit down?" He asked at last, gesturing at one of the leather chairs.
"Oh!" He had been too distracted by how ill Bruce looked. "Thank you."
Clark had just sat down when Alfred appeared, carrying a tray laden with tea and chocolate chip cookies. "Thank you, Alfred," Bruce said, as the butler placed the tray on the low glass table between the chairs.
"It was my pleasure Master Bruce, Master Clark." Clark felt himself blushing; he was sure he would never get used to being called 'Master Clark'.
Bruce reached for the tray, then winced, a hand going to his stomach. "Master Bruce. Don't tear your stitches, sir. I would be most put out if I had to sew you up again."
Bruce looked abashed. "Sorry Alfred."
Clark couldn't resist a smile at the exchange, even as his worry for his friend grew. He reached for his own cup of perfectly made tea and the cookies, as Alfred placed Bruce's within easy reach.
"If that will be all, sirs?"
Bruce nodded, taking a sip of his tea. Alfred quietly left the room.
Clark placed his tea down. "Bruce. What's going on?"
*****
Bruce took a careful sip of his tea. "What do you mean?" He asked, knowing full well what Clark meant. And, judging from the way Clark was looking at him, he knew that he knew too.
"I mean in Gotham, Bruce. With Harvey Dent and everyone thinking that you... that Batman is a murderer. What's going on?" Clark leaned forward, he was looking at him earnestly.
Bruce barely resisted the impulse to look away as he tried to decide what to answer. He should have been prepared for this. "The Mob happened. The Joker happened." His voice, he realized, was Batman low.
"That's not what I asked. I want to know what happened."
"What do you want me to say? That I killed Dent, the police officers, and the other two people in cold blood?" Bruce felt a stab of pain in his chest at his question, and he wondered if his stitches had torn, despite Alfred's assistance.
"No one saw Harvey Dent after he had himself arrested, claiming to be Batman. As far as the public are concerned, Dent was later kidnapped by the Joker, along with his fiancee, Rachael Dawes. Dawes was killed," he paused here, and Bruce felt the flash of pain in his chest again, but most of his attention was held by the transformation taking place before him. Gone was Clark Kent; Superman had taken his place, dressed in a geeky reporter's ill fitting suit, glasses covering eyes that were far too blue to be human.
"Harvey Dent was taken to hospital, which was later blown up by the Joker, and then went missing, until Commissioner Gordon found his body - found Batman, who had just killed him and held Gordon's wife and children hostage, nearly killed them, but got away just as police reinforcements stormed the site.
"Dent's funeral was a closed coffin ceremony, supposedly because he was gruesomely murdered. By you." Superman paused again, and looked at him, removing Clark Kent's glasses. "Now, I don't believe you could ever have killed anyone, despite what you might be."
Bruce looked down, away from his beseeching eyes.
"Bruce... what happened? Why do you want people to think you're a killer?"
*****
Kal... Clark... Superman didn't think he was a killer? The relief crashed over Bruce, that Kal didn't believe it, that he didn't think he had given in to his vampire impulses. "I..." he trailed off, not sure what he was going to say in answer to those questions, eventually settling on the only true answer he could give.
"I did what needed to be done. For Gotham."
There was a long pause. Bruce finally looked up at Superman, who was frowning, comprehension slowly starting to light his eyes.
"The people of Gotham need their true hero." Bruce said, remembering when he had first said those words, looking down at Harvey's broken body, his scarred face, turning the unmarred side to the night air.
"Bruce... you...?" The look on Kal's face was shocked, concern hiding behind it.
Bruce said nothing - what more could he say? - and took another sip of his tea, feeling weariness creeping up on him. He needed blood, and soon.
"Bruce..." Kal said his name again, then moved, so he was kneeling at his side, and very carefully captured one of his hands and held it between his own. Bruce looked at him.
"You sacrificed your name, your reputation, just so the people of Gotham would have hope?"
Bruce looked away for a moment, neither confirming or denying what the other man had just said. Instead, he changed the subject. "Kal. I realize this is hardly the thing to say over tea and cookies, but I really do need..."
Kal squeezed his hand, then let go of it, and took off his jacket and tie, before unbuttoning his shirt a bit, moving it away from his neck. "Take as much as you need."
*****
Clark smiled lazily at Bruce, feeling fresh amazement for this extraordinary man. He had sacrificed so much, just so people could still believe, still have hope. He was risking his life even more than he had been before, simply because it was the right thing to do, suppressing his vampire instincts as much as possible - more - all because he didn't want to see people suffer.
"I'm sorry," Bruce murmured, handing him a refreshed cup of tea.
Clark blinked at him. "For what?" Bruce hadn't had to take so much blood this time; he would be back to normal in half an hour or so, even less if he bathed in the sun's rays. He didn't feel like leaving, though, he wanted to stay here with his friend and talk.
"For everything," Bruce continued.
Clark shook his head. "You haven't done anything wrong." Bruce still looked guilty. "I'm more than happy to give you my blood, you know that." Clark said, knowing that Bruce had had issues about this in the past.
Bruce looked away, and Clark stifled a sigh. "Bruce, look at me, please." Bruce turned back to look at him. "You and I... We're the only ones who do this. You're the only person who can even come close to understanding me. Knowing that I have you to talk to, about anything, or your help whenever I need it," he paused and smiled, letting his emotions show. "I don't think you have any idea how much that means to me."
Bruce was still looking at him, like he had asked, his wolf blue eyes dark with emotion. "You're my best friend, and I care about you... a great deal." Clark placed the saucer and teacup carefully upon the low table, then leaned forward to hug Bruce very gently, feeling his arms slowly going around him in turn.
"Thank you, Clark. That... means a great deal to me."
They pulled apart, and Bruce blinked a few times, before smiling at him. Clark smiled back.
