Fic: Spring Buds
Dec. 16th, 2009 07:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
starsandseaTitle: Spring Buds
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: Clark/Bruce, Alfred
Word Count: 6328
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Author's Note: For the WFGE. Prompt F46 Smallville, DCU or DCAU AU where a young Clark, who hadn’t met Bruce yet, is studying in Gotham and needs a part time job. Bruce hires him as a gardener. Things can get hot between them. Unbetaed, so point and I shall correct! :)
Clark gaped at the towering entrance to Wayne Manor. It loomed over him, dark and foreboding. If this was just what the front gate looked like, then what must the house be like? The black wrought iron gates were closed. Though them, he could see a gravel driveway, impeccably kept grass, and a long - very long - avenue of trees.
Clark started to suspect that he wasn't going to get this job. What had he been thinking, that he could get a part time job as a gardener in this type of place? He was only the son of a farmer.
Anything else that Clark was, other than a student, he refused to think about. It wasn't as if those... other abilities... were going to help him here.
He sighed, wondering if he should just turn away now, before he humiliated himself completely. But he needed a job. At least it would be an experience. Or so he tried to convince himself. Clark hung his head. No. He couldn't just give up. He had to try, besides, he had said he would be here, to be interviewed by... Mr. Pennyworth, that was it, and so he would be. He had already committed himself, and there could be no going back now.
Clark took a deep breath, then pressed the button for the intercom before he could change his mind. It was answered immediately, and he half wondered if someone had been watching him on a security camera.
"Hi, I'm Clark Kent. I'm here for the gardening job interview...?" He adjusted his glasses. The gates opened.
"Drive straight up to the house, please," a crisp, British voice commanded.
"Uh, thank you." Clark decided not to point out that he didn't have a car - not with how much money he had! No, it was buses or trains for him. Or just walking. He didn't think about flying.
Sighing again and shaking his head, Clark started up the long, long, driveway.
*****
The house was definitely impressive. No, it wasn't a house, Clark emended. It was... was... a palace. The type of house he had only ever seen on TV or in films, or imagined in his mind. Somehow, he thought his imagination wouldn't have done it justice.
Clark swallowed, feeling his nerves increase. The driveway was empty. It looked like he was the only one here. He glanced around. More impeccably kept lawns and trees. He could distantly hear the roar of the sea; the smell of brine was heavy in the air. Even if, by some miracle, he got this job, it would be very different gardening than he was used to.
Clark paused in front of the steps leading up to the grand door of Wayne Manor. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to use the front door or one of the side ones. If he could find one. He pushed his glasses up his noise again. The front door it was.
He raised the heavy door knocker - it looked like it was in the shape of a crest of some kind. He had the distinct impression that he had stepped back in time, only confirmed when the door opened and an elderly gentleman, dressed perfectly in a suit greeted him.
"Mr. Kent?"
Clark nodded, somewhat dumbly.
"I was beginning to fear you had got lost, Mr. Kent."
"I... I don't have a car," Clark blurted out, then felt his cheeks heating. But the other man just nodded at him, stepping aside so he could enter the house.
"I am Mr. Pennyworth, Master Bruce Wayne's butler. I shall be conducting your interview."
Clark nodded. "Um, thank you," he said, trying not to stare at his surroundings.
"If you would follow me?" The man started off, and Clark quickly followed him, afraid of becoming lost in this place. It didn't feel like a home. It felt... dead. In mourning.
He knew what had happened, of course. Everyone knew what had happened. How Thomas and Martha Wayne had been murdered in front of their young son, Bruce. How the orphan boy's face had been on the cover of every newspaper, all over the television for weeks. Clark could remember thinking how unimaginable it all was, that this boy, only two years younger than himself, that he had lost so much. And his courage and dignity in front of the media, in front of all of the eyes of the world. Clark had remembered thinking that he could never be that strong.
And then, when his parents, his Ma and Pa, had at last told him the truth, about who and what he really was...
"If you would wait in here, Mr. Kent, while I get us some refreshments. Is there anything I can get you?"
"Oh. Um, water is fine, thanks."
The butler nodded at him, then disappeared. Clark very carefully sat down in a chair that looked like it had never actually been used, was just... there as decoration. Because a chair was needed there. He wondered if anyone had even sat on it before.
The windows of this room looked out over what must be the formal gardens. And Clark felt his insecurities and doubts resurfacing. What had he been thinking? But before he could berate himself further, Mr. Pennyworth reappeared, carrying a tray of refreshments.
He watched as the older man poured out some tea for himself, the aroma strong in the air. Clark carefully took a sip of water - his mouth had suddenly gone dry. There were cookies on the tray too, but Clark didn't touch them, no matter how delicious they looked or smelt.
Mr. Pennyworth was watching him, and Clark forced himself to meet his eyes. "You said on your resume that you are the son of a farmer, and worked on the family farm, Mr. Kent?"
Clark nodded. "Please, call me Clark, sir. And yes, I lived all my life on my Ma and Pa's farm. As soon as I was old enough I started to help out."
Mr. Pennyworth nodded, still watching him closely, and Clark tried not to squirm. "You have practical experience, then."
Clark nodded again. "I admit, I know more about farming than actual gardening, but my Ma has a garden - for flowers and herbs. We were pretty self-sufficient."
Mr. Pennyworth nodded, sipping his tea. "And why did you apply for this job?"
Clark took a deep breath. Now, more than ever, he was convinced he had made a mistake in applying for this job, but he couldn't just walk out now. He could only be honest. "I... " He stopped and took another deep breath. "I'm studying at Gotham University, for a journalism degree, and this is my first time in a city like this. But farming... gardening... is what I've always done, and I miss it. I like to plant things and watch them grow. Feel the earth in my hands. It's just... right. It's in my blood."
He stopped there, feeling his face heat heat again. He wasn't lying, he told himself. It was in his blood. If he had been the true son of Martha and Johnathan Kent it would have been. It still was. He needed to feel linked to this Earth. He was... still so very, very confused about everything, about the fact that he wasn't even... wasn't human. No matter how hard he tried, no matter what he did... He would never be human.
Clark swallowed his bitterness with another sip of water. And there was the even more blunt reason that he needed this job. Any job. He needed money. He should have gone for the job in the library, instead.
Mr. Pennyworth was just looking at him, and Clark fought hard not to look away. He felt as if he'd been hauled up in front of the principal, but worse, somehow. But then the older man nodded, and smiled at him. "Very well, Mr. Kent. Would you like the see the gardens you would be tending to?"
Clark tried not to let his surprise and shock show - he was sure he would have been shown the door. "I... Yes! Yes, please, Mr. Pennyworth."
The butler stood, and Clark quickly followed him. They went out a side door, after travelling though a myriad of corridors, all gleaming wood and priceless antiques. He tried not to gape too much.
It had turned blustery outside; the smell of the sea was even stronger. Clouds had gathered as well, though the sun was still managing to break through here and there.
Mr. Pennyworth showed him around the areas he would be working in; the formal gardens with their high walls to be sheltered from the harsh sea winds, all carefully laid out. The rose garden, the scent from the last blooms hanging in the air, and the orchids, their branches bare, and the vegetable and herb gardens, mostly bare now, in late Fall, then finally the greenhouses, with their exotic flowers, most of which Clark had to admit he had never heard of.
The wider estate was described to him then, the long, long lawns, the tennis courts and stables were pointed out to him, and Clark confirmed that he could look after horses, should the need arise. The estate was huge - bigger than Smallville - and Clark was feeling more than a little overwhelmed by it all. But he found himself enjoying himself, to his surprise, and relaxing, though he was sure that Mr. Pennyworth was just being polite to him.
They returned inside, to the Manor, to the room they had been in before. Mr. Pennyworth excused himself to make more tea, and to get some paperwork that Clark needed to sign - both non-discloser agreements and background check agreements. He signed them, hoping that the paperwork would hold up at his end.
He didn't want to know what would happen if it was ever truly discovered that he didn't have a birth certificate, and that, although he was adopted, there were no official records of that, either.
And then the interview was over, with no hints of if he had got to job, or if he had just made a massive fool of himself. Clark sighed as he walked down the driveway to the grand entrance. He had tried. He had even enjoyed himself - and how many people could say that they had had a personal tour of the gardens of Wayne Manor?
Mr. Pennyworth had said that he could contact him tomorrow, to let him know if he had got to job or not. And, despite all of Clark's worries and doubts, he was smiling as he walked to the bus stop.
*****
Bruce watched the last of the interviewees leave the ground of Wayne Manor and pause for a moment, before heading off in the direction of the nearest bus stop. He was younger than the rest, only a couple of years older than him, and the only one with no qualifications. A poor collage student, trying to get a part time job.
Bruce was ready to dismiss him out of hand, but there was something about him... Something that had been evident, even through the security feeds, that had been absent from the candidates. They all knew the theory, all the right things, all the correct Latin names of even most of the rarer plants, but this one... He loved the plants. That much was clear.
Bruce sat in his study, pondering this, until Alfred came in with tea and cookies. The tea was carefully poured and Bruce started nibbling on a chocolate chip cookie. He waited for Alfred to speak, curious to know his take on the applicants. To know if Alfred agreed with him or not.
"All the candidates have the correct qualifications, sir, save for Mr. Kent. But what he lacks in knowledge, he makes up with enthusiasm and practical skills."
Bruce nodded. "I'm concerned about his collage life."
"You mean that he is studying to be a journalist, sir?"
Bruce nodded again. Alfred sat back in his chair, taking a sip of his tea. "That does bare considering, but I do not think it will be a problem. Mr. Kent strikes me as a very honest young man."
"Not the best thing to be when you're a journalist."
"Indeed, sir."
Bruce looked out the window nearest his desk and saw a storm rolling in off the sea. There would be heavy rain tonight. Might be a good time to check out those new ropes. And get used to crawling around rooftops in the cold and wet. After he had done background checks on all the candidates, of course. Probably more invasive than they realized, when they had signed the documents.
"If I had to choose between them, sir, I would go for Mr. Kent."
Bruce looked at Alfred in slight surprise and suspicion. He wouldn't put it past the man to be choosing Kent because they were a similar age, and Alfred wanted him to have a friend. There was Harvey, of course, but he was busy studying for his law course, and they didn't get to see each other so much these days. Some part of Bruce wondered if he wasn't using Harvey's busyness as an excuse for having driven him away himself, but he pushed that thought down.
"He shows a great deal of promise, sir, and he has a passion and true caring for the plants that the others lacked. Though I admit, I think it would be good for you to have someone your own age around the house, Master Bruce."
Bruce looked at Alfred, then nodded, turning his attention to his computer, beginning his background checks.
He didn't hear Alfred quietly leave.
*****
Two days later, and Clark was back at Wayne Manor, still stunned to have got the job. His Ma and Pa had been ecstatic at the news. Clark didn't know why or how he had got it, but Pa had said that they must have known a good thing when they saw it, and his Ma agreed.
Clark wasn't sure what to think, save to be grateful. He would have to work out a schedule, of course, with his lectures and getting his coursework done, but he was confident that it could be worked out. And he was looking forward to working - real, physical work, again. He was surprised how much he had missed it, how his... powers (he still wasn't sure what to call them) had seemed to become more difficult to control since he left Smallville, and wasn't doing any physical labour like he was used to. Which made Clark worry about what he was going to do when he would (hopefully) become a real reporter.
But that was years ahead now. And he was still trying to decide how to use his powers. It was a difficult balance, trying to help where he could, but not give away his secret. It was surprisingly draining, but he couldn't just not help people.
These were things that Clark mulled over as he worked in the greenhouse, deadheading the geraniums that that had been brought in for Winter, or as he washed out the plant pots in the potting shed - in reality a true building, not a 'shed' at all. Along with a myriad of other tasks that could be completed on his first day, since it was poring with rain and a strong wind was cutting though the estate.
Mr. Pennyworth had apologised, and promised to give him a proper tour once the weather improved. They had worked out a schedule, and Mr. Pennyworth had even offered to pick him up and drive him to Wayne Manor, should he ever have a problem with transport.
Clark had stammered out his thanks, still intimidated by the British man, but more and more being reminded of his Ma and Pa though their interactions.
Of Bruce Wayne he had yet to see any sign, and he wondered if he was even in Gotham, or if he was off travelling somewhere, as Clark had heard rumours of him doing. Even more so since he had come to live in Gotham, where the media was obsessed by their 'Prince'. It depressed Clark. Even more so that this was the profession he wanted to enter into.
He was straightening up after ensuring that a plant had enough water, when he first saw Bruce Wayne.
He was a distant figure, but that was no problem for Clark, who found his... telescopic vision (he wished he could come up with a less corny word for it) kicking in. His... boss, he supposed, was running, utterly drenched, his workout clothes plastered to his skin, though it didn't seem to bother him, if he even noticed.
He looked... different to how he looked in TV or in the newspapers. More vulnerable. Of course, this was his own home, Clark had yet to see evidence of any other staff, though he was sure they existed. He was allowed to be vulnerable here. To let his guard down.
Clark watched him until he disappeared into the house, then guiltily realized what he had doing, and got back to work.
*****
He saw Bruce Wayne more times after that, always in the distance, jogging, occasionally horse riding, or sometimes just flashes of him though windows.
Clark started to relax more around Alfred, even going so far as to exchange recipes with him on behalf of his Ma. And he was doing job, looking after the plants and flowers, assessing for storm damage after they had blown through, and, of course, studying.
Clark supposed he was happy, though he was lonely and missed Smallville and Pete and Lana. He still talked to them, on the phone or by e-mail, but it just wasn't the same. He wished he could make a friend, a true friend here, not just have classmates. But his job kept him busy, and commuting, and he was trying to stop crime, where he could... not that it seemed to make much difference.
He was wondering if he shouldn't have gone for Metropolis instead. But Gotham had the worst crime rate in the country, surely if he should be anywhere, using his powers for good, he should be here? He didn't know. He had a feeling that Gotham didn't like him very much, which was just ridiculous, but he couldn't shake off the feeling that he didn't belong here.
So, he threw himself into his work. Until the day he met Bruce Wayne.
*****
Clark was digging up a border, preparing to plant it with 'green manure' or 'Hungarian Rye Grass' as it was also known for the Winter, his focus on the damp, dark soil and writing an essay in his head.
So he wasn't aware of the figure watching him until they cleared their throat. Clark looked up with a guilty start, and saw Bruce Wayne standing there.
He almost dropped the spade. "Oh! Um... Hello, Mr. Wayne." He bit his lip, wondering if he had said the wrong thing - if he should have have spoken at all.
The other man was just watching him, face emotionless, but his steel blue were intense. "Mr. Kent." He said at last, nodding at him.
Clark was acutely aware of his dirt stained clothes, his old jeans and plaid shirt that had definitely seen better days. Wayne, in contrast, was wearing impeccably tailored slacks and a soft woolen jumper in dark blue and black and they fitted him perfectly. Clark swallowed, and prayed he wasn't blushing.
"Alfred says you're doing a good job," Wayne looked away, indicating the garden, but the intensity never left.
Clark tried not to squirm. It seemed that Wayne had picked up a bit of Mr. Pennyworth's mannerisms. "Thank you, sir. I'm enjoying my work here."
Wayne nodded at him, then made a carry on gesture, before walking off, breeze ruffling his hair.
Clark swallowed again, shoulders sagging, and went back to his digging, his emotions suddenly in turmoil, and not sure why the sudden appearance of Wayne had startled him so much. Apart from the fact that he was, after all, Clark's employer. You got nervous when you spoke to your employer for the first time, didn't you? And the fact that it was Bruce Wayne, one of the richest men on the planet...
They were complete opposites and Clark was utterly out of his depth. But none of that explained why he couldn't forget the sight of those blue eyes.
They carried on haunting him for the rest of the day.
*****
Bruce sipped his coffee thoughtfully, as he watched Kent work in the garden. It looked like he had just finished digging the boarder. Which was good, since it looked like more rain was coming in, fresh off the sea.
He wasn't sure why he was so interested in Kent. Why he had employed him in the first place. Sure, the holes in the background checks had been curious, but they could be explained. There was something else though, something Bruce couldn't identify.
Maybe it was just the curiosity of actually feeling these emotions - it had seemed like so long since he had actually felt anything. Or anything this strong, at least. There had just been a... void where his emotions should have been, were he knew that any rational, any sane person should be feeling them. But he hadn't been.
His days were so often filled with the same routine - train, read, train, read, train, test practical knowledge - that even just having someone else around was going to shake it up. Or... maybe he had been feeling, just not this intensely? Bruce didn't know.
It started to rain, but Kent didn't seem to be in any hurry to get inside. He was still happily working away, a smile on his face. Bruce shook his head. Kent was intriguing - he wanted to find out just why those black holes in his background were there - but it was dangerous, too. Dangerous to get too close to him.
Bruce sighed, finishing his coffee. He had work to do.
*****
Some weeks went by. It grew colder and the first snows fell. Clark did his best to look after the plants, to stop them from dying. Then he spent some time repairing some of the broken and damaged fences around the estate, and helped look after the horses, once or twice, when one of the stable boys was ill.
School got harder, but that just made Clark more determined to do better. And Gotham stayed the same, the crime rate only increasing, if such a thing were possible. He tried not to think of himself as a failure, because of that. Gotham obviously needed something he didn't have. Something he could never be. But that didn't stop him from trying to make a difference, however small.
He was aware that he would probably have made a difference if he revealed who, or rather, what, he was... But he wasn't ready for that, not yet, and besides, it wasn't in his nature to draw attention to himself.
He got on okay with his lecturers, and his classmates, and even fully relaxed around Mr. Pennyworth now. He saw Bruce... Mr. Wayne... around a few times and they exchanged greetings, but never more than that. He was aware he was being watched, though. He wasn't sure what to make of that.
Even as young as he was, Bruce Wayne was still immensely powerful, and the thought that he suspected something about Clark... well, it made him very nervous.
He flew home for Thanksgiving dinner, then quickly back to Gotham. Christmas approached, and with it deadlines and more essays. Things in the garden were quiet, and he received cards from both Mr. Pennyworth and Bruce Wayne - handwritten at that. He gave them cards in return, and saw them displayed in the kitchen once. He went back home, properly, for the holidays, and had a good Christmas on the farm.
At Wayne Manor, Bruce and Alfred had a small, but poignant meal, with heartfelt presents, and talked about the future.
More snow fell as the new year was chimed in. Clark returned to Gotham and the gardens of Wayne Manor.
And Bruce returned to watching him.
*****
Clark walked into the potting shed, one cold and snowy February day, to find Bruce Wayne sitting inside. He stopped, startled, and Wayne looked up at him briefly, then back at... whatever he was doing. It looked like a plan of the formal gardens. There were pictures of two roses, one a beautiful yellow/orange colour, the other a soft pink.
But it was the brief glimpse of Wayne's eyes that caught Clark, that made him feel as if he had received a blow to the chest. They were full of pain and agony, grief and sorrow, unending pools.
Clark carefully put his bag down, suddenly wary and careful, trying to be as gentle and nonthreatening as possible, not unlike how he acted around a skittish horse, he realized.
Wayne cleared his throat, and his eyes were guarded now. But the pain still lingered - no amount of control, of however fine a mask could hide that completely. "Alfred said I should talk to you about where to plant to these roses."
His voice was soft, softer than it had been on any occasion that Clark had heard it before. He felt his heart break, and he wasn't sure why.
"Okay... Is there... anywhere especially you would like them to go?"
"They have to be together." Wayne's voice was suddenly hard, a commanding voice, and Clark felt himself nodding before he had even finished speaking.
"Okay," he said again. "Would you like them to be in the Rose Garden, or somewhere else?"
"I..." The harshness seemed to fall away from Wayne, then, even as a mask crumpled away from his face. "They're new. In the memory of my Mother and Father, a decade after..." His voice broke, and his shoulders sagged as he turned away.
Clark felt his eyes going wide. If he had thought that his heart had broken before, he was wrong. How cruel, to be so constantly reminded... "Of course. We'll... we'll find a perfect place for them."
That was all Clark could think of to say, and he had never felt like such a failure before. But what could you say? He didn't know.
Wayne nodded, glancing at him, then looked back at the pictures of the roses. "Thank you."
*****
They spent a lot of time looking and discussing every suitable place - Wayne - Bruce - was determined to get it just right and Clark was more than happy to oblige.
They eventually settled on a place, near a bench and fountain, at the centre of the Wayne Manor Maze. Clark noted the symbolism, but didn't say anything. It just made him sad. He wasn't sure if he should offer to help Bruce plant the flowers or not, or if he even wanted him around. Silence seemed to be the best option.
But Bruce smiled at him when they had decided on a place, and thanked him quietly, before going back inside.
Clark returned to his other work. But before he left for the day, Mr. Pennyworth found him and relayed an invitation for dinner, the following night. Clark wasn't sure what to do, but the older man took pity on him and explained that Bruce wanted to thank him properly.
Clark nodded and hoped he wasn't blushing too much - or looking like a deer caught in the headlights - and said he would be there the following night. Alfred nodded, and left with a pleased look on his face.
Clark got back to his dorm in a haze, unsure if he was feeling nervous or excited or both.
*****
Bruce waited in the parlor for Clark Kent to arrive. He wasn't sure why he had asked him to dinner, save as a way of thanking him for putting up with his... obsessive nature as they decided on a perfect place for the new roses named in honor of his parents.
Bruce took a deep breath, trying to clam himself, feeling absurdly fragile. Even after all this time, it still surprised him how much he missed them. How much it still hurt. The void of emotion he normally felt couldn't swallow this. This was too much, for even that.
It was going to be a difficult year. And it had only just got started. He hoped he would be able to get through it. He wasn't sure. He would increase his training, would be able to go abroad, soon, to start training in Asia. And that would give him reason to be away from Gotham - Gotham, who cradled him, breaking him into pieces, never able to put himself back together again.
Bruce shook his head. Some host he was going be. He took anther deep breath, and pulled a mask on, squaring his shoulders, easing his face so it relaxed, a slight smile on his lips. Perhaps Kent - Clark - didn't deserve this, having dinner with a man hiding behind a mask. He would be feeling awkward enough already. But Bruce didn't know if he could go through with this otherwise.
He heard the doorbell ring, and put the mask on more firmly, surprised at the regret he felt.
*****
Clark was terrified. He was going to make a mistake, like using the wrong set of knives and forks, he knew it. Why they couldn't just have one set, he didn't know.
Bruce was acting differently as well. More cheerful than he had expected. Not at all like the Bruce who had practically gone over every inch of his gardens to find a perfect spot for his parent's roses. He heartbeat and breathing were faster as well, as Clark had come to learn often signified when someone was lying.
He couldn't help feeling hurt and rejected, which was ridiculous - it wasn't as if he and Bruce were friends. He had just hoped... they had seemed to have made a connection...
Clark wanted a friend. He had been stupid to think that someone like Bruce Wayne would ever be his friend. A part of Clark, a part that wasn't exactly Clark, wasn't exactly human, murmured that Bruce would be his friend if he told him - showed him - his real strengths, showed him who he really was... But he refused to use his powers like that.
"I'm sorry," Bruce said suddenly, startling Clark. His eyes flew to Bruce's face, to see him looking a little chagrined.
"I haven't been a very good host at all for this dinner. How about you tell me about your home? About your family, and Smallville?"
Clark blinked. "I... sure." He smiled. And started talking.
*****
Clark had left around midnight. Bruce had insisted on driving him back to his dorms, then, after he had dropped him off, spent part of the night just driving around Gotham, mulling over their conversation, familiarizing himself with Gotham at night.
Bruce eventually returned to Clark's dorms. And nearly crashed the car when he saw what Clark Kent was doing.
*****
Clark had got through his lectures without falling asleep, for which he was thankful. He wasn't used to being up half the night, talking about himself. And then there had been that trouble in the alley, which he couldn't just ignore...
But he was in a really good mood when he started his walk up the long driveway to Wayne Manor, and it's gardens. His good mood continued, even though he didn't get to see Bruce that day.
He had a curious feeling of being watched intently, but whenever he turned around there was no one there. Only the wind and the ever present roar of the sea, of Spring rainfalls, so often with Winter still clinging to them in snow and ice.
But when a week had gone by and he still hadn't seen Bruce, Clark started to worry. Had he done or said something at the dinner? Had he offended him, somehow? He was only slightly reassured that Alfred claimed not to know what was wrong.
And school was picking up as well, with exams, and essays due. He requested to be given some time off - this was, after all, supposed to be a part time job - which was granted. And yet, Clark couldn't help but feel a little hurt by that. Almost as if he... didn't really matter.
Until the day he walked into the potting shed and found Bruce Wayne there waiting for him.
*****
Clark sat down, slowly, watching Bruce, who was watching him. He felt nervousness assault him suddenly.
"I didn't come back here straight away, the other night, you know." Bruce said, only increasing Clark's fears. Oh, God... If Bruce had seen...
"I saw something very interesting." Bruce placed some print outs of security footage on the old wooden table. Clark swallowed. They only showed a blur. And the other images weren't in focus anyway...
"And then I started doing research. I discovered that in the last 5 months there have been reports of an anonymous 'do gooder' quietly stopping crimes in Gotham."
Clark swallowed again, terribly unsure what he should be doing, feeling his life unravelling before him.
"And I've always been curious about the gaps in your history... And how you don't have a real birth certificate."
"T-there was a fire-" Clark started, licking his dry lips.
"Yes, I know all about the 'fire' that destroyed your birth certificate, Mr. Kent."
There was silence.
"Do you want to tell me what, exactly, is going on?"
Clark didn't know where to look, what to do, what to say. Oh God... this was one of his worst nightmares... And what would happen to happen to his Ma and Pa...? Oh God. He fought the urge to run. "I... I'm just trying... to help, Mr. Wayne."
He didn't feel secure enough to call the other man 'Bruce'. Who said nothing, just looked at him.
"I..." Clark looked away. There was another silence.
"Is it all a lie?"
Clark looked at Bruce in shock. "No! Of course not, I..." He trailed off again. It was all a question of trust. And yes, he did trust Bruce... but he wasn't sure if he trusted him this much, yet. The secret that he had never told anyone. Asking to give that up was...
"I'm just trying to help," he repeated forlornly.
There was an even longer silence. Bruce picked up the photos of the security footage, and looked at them.
"How did you even find all of this out, anyway? How come you have those?" Clark pointed at the photos, suddenly angry, reacting in fear.
"I have my resources," was all Bruce said, but his eyes flashed dangerously for a moment.
Clark subsided again, suddenly remembering just how powerful Bruce was; he didn't need to be an alien with enhanced abilities under a yellow sun to be able to destroy his life. Clark swallowed again.
"Tell me." Bruce's voice had softened somewhat, and Clark found himself wavering. He did want to tell someone, he had yearned for it for so long, to be able to tell someone what he could do, to have someone who could understand him, someone who could be his equal... And he had known, all along, that he could never have that, that he could never be that open because it was too dangerous, and yes, his Ma and Pa knew, but it just wasn't the same...
"Please," Bruce added.
And Clark started talking.
*****
Clark told him about how his parents had found him, how it had become clear, very quickly, that he was stronger than adult humans, that he could see and hear things much too far away... And he told Bruce how his parents had finally told him, told him who and what he was, and all his hopes and fears and how, he really truly, just wanted to use abilities to help people.
He felt exhausted afterwards, completely drained, but at the same time he felt that a massive weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
There a along silence, and Clark tried not to feel nervous, desperately wanting to know what Bruce's reaction would be, but at the same time, dreading it.
When he finally did speak, he didn't say what Clark expected him to. Instead, he spoke about his parent's deaths, about how lost and confused he had been, how angry when it became clear that their killer wasn't going to be found, and how he had sworn that no one else was going to suffer the same pain, if he could help it, that no child should ever know the pain and grief that he had suffered.
Bruce spoke about how he had trained his body and mind, was still training them, so that he would make a difference to Gotham, one day, that he would clean the city up, give hope to people, and make the criminals run scared.
And as Clark stared at him in amazement, he suddenly understood why Gotham hadn't let him help, because the city was waiting, was waiting for the one whose parents it stole to become its defender.
Bruce looked at him, and smiled. Clark couldn't ever remember seeing a smile like that before, but it suddenly felt as if he world had slipped into place, as if everything was right and all the doubts he had had about his decision to leave Smallville and come to Gotham disappeared.
"I think," Bruce said at last, "that we have a lot still to learn together."
And Clark smiled, seeing the future, bright and glorious before him.
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: Clark/Bruce, Alfred
Word Count: 6328
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Author's Note: For the WFGE. Prompt F46 Smallville, DCU or DCAU AU where a young Clark, who hadn’t met Bruce yet, is studying in Gotham and needs a part time job. Bruce hires him as a gardener. Things can get hot between them. Unbetaed, so point and I shall correct! :)
Clark gaped at the towering entrance to Wayne Manor. It loomed over him, dark and foreboding. If this was just what the front gate looked like, then what must the house be like? The black wrought iron gates were closed. Though them, he could see a gravel driveway, impeccably kept grass, and a long - very long - avenue of trees.
Clark started to suspect that he wasn't going to get this job. What had he been thinking, that he could get a part time job as a gardener in this type of place? He was only the son of a farmer.
Anything else that Clark was, other than a student, he refused to think about. It wasn't as if those... other abilities... were going to help him here.
He sighed, wondering if he should just turn away now, before he humiliated himself completely. But he needed a job. At least it would be an experience. Or so he tried to convince himself. Clark hung his head. No. He couldn't just give up. He had to try, besides, he had said he would be here, to be interviewed by... Mr. Pennyworth, that was it, and so he would be. He had already committed himself, and there could be no going back now.
Clark took a deep breath, then pressed the button for the intercom before he could change his mind. It was answered immediately, and he half wondered if someone had been watching him on a security camera.
"Hi, I'm Clark Kent. I'm here for the gardening job interview...?" He adjusted his glasses. The gates opened.
"Drive straight up to the house, please," a crisp, British voice commanded.
"Uh, thank you." Clark decided not to point out that he didn't have a car - not with how much money he had! No, it was buses or trains for him. Or just walking. He didn't think about flying.
Sighing again and shaking his head, Clark started up the long, long, driveway.
*****
The house was definitely impressive. No, it wasn't a house, Clark emended. It was... was... a palace. The type of house he had only ever seen on TV or in films, or imagined in his mind. Somehow, he thought his imagination wouldn't have done it justice.
Clark swallowed, feeling his nerves increase. The driveway was empty. It looked like he was the only one here. He glanced around. More impeccably kept lawns and trees. He could distantly hear the roar of the sea; the smell of brine was heavy in the air. Even if, by some miracle, he got this job, it would be very different gardening than he was used to.
Clark paused in front of the steps leading up to the grand door of Wayne Manor. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to use the front door or one of the side ones. If he could find one. He pushed his glasses up his noise again. The front door it was.
He raised the heavy door knocker - it looked like it was in the shape of a crest of some kind. He had the distinct impression that he had stepped back in time, only confirmed when the door opened and an elderly gentleman, dressed perfectly in a suit greeted him.
"Mr. Kent?"
Clark nodded, somewhat dumbly.
"I was beginning to fear you had got lost, Mr. Kent."
"I... I don't have a car," Clark blurted out, then felt his cheeks heating. But the other man just nodded at him, stepping aside so he could enter the house.
"I am Mr. Pennyworth, Master Bruce Wayne's butler. I shall be conducting your interview."
Clark nodded. "Um, thank you," he said, trying not to stare at his surroundings.
"If you would follow me?" The man started off, and Clark quickly followed him, afraid of becoming lost in this place. It didn't feel like a home. It felt... dead. In mourning.
He knew what had happened, of course. Everyone knew what had happened. How Thomas and Martha Wayne had been murdered in front of their young son, Bruce. How the orphan boy's face had been on the cover of every newspaper, all over the television for weeks. Clark could remember thinking how unimaginable it all was, that this boy, only two years younger than himself, that he had lost so much. And his courage and dignity in front of the media, in front of all of the eyes of the world. Clark had remembered thinking that he could never be that strong.
And then, when his parents, his Ma and Pa, had at last told him the truth, about who and what he really was...
"If you would wait in here, Mr. Kent, while I get us some refreshments. Is there anything I can get you?"
"Oh. Um, water is fine, thanks."
The butler nodded at him, then disappeared. Clark very carefully sat down in a chair that looked like it had never actually been used, was just... there as decoration. Because a chair was needed there. He wondered if anyone had even sat on it before.
The windows of this room looked out over what must be the formal gardens. And Clark felt his insecurities and doubts resurfacing. What had he been thinking? But before he could berate himself further, Mr. Pennyworth reappeared, carrying a tray of refreshments.
He watched as the older man poured out some tea for himself, the aroma strong in the air. Clark carefully took a sip of water - his mouth had suddenly gone dry. There were cookies on the tray too, but Clark didn't touch them, no matter how delicious they looked or smelt.
Mr. Pennyworth was watching him, and Clark forced himself to meet his eyes. "You said on your resume that you are the son of a farmer, and worked on the family farm, Mr. Kent?"
Clark nodded. "Please, call me Clark, sir. And yes, I lived all my life on my Ma and Pa's farm. As soon as I was old enough I started to help out."
Mr. Pennyworth nodded, still watching him closely, and Clark tried not to squirm. "You have practical experience, then."
Clark nodded again. "I admit, I know more about farming than actual gardening, but my Ma has a garden - for flowers and herbs. We were pretty self-sufficient."
Mr. Pennyworth nodded, sipping his tea. "And why did you apply for this job?"
Clark took a deep breath. Now, more than ever, he was convinced he had made a mistake in applying for this job, but he couldn't just walk out now. He could only be honest. "I... " He stopped and took another deep breath. "I'm studying at Gotham University, for a journalism degree, and this is my first time in a city like this. But farming... gardening... is what I've always done, and I miss it. I like to plant things and watch them grow. Feel the earth in my hands. It's just... right. It's in my blood."
He stopped there, feeling his face heat heat again. He wasn't lying, he told himself. It was in his blood. If he had been the true son of Martha and Johnathan Kent it would have been. It still was. He needed to feel linked to this Earth. He was... still so very, very confused about everything, about the fact that he wasn't even... wasn't human. No matter how hard he tried, no matter what he did... He would never be human.
Clark swallowed his bitterness with another sip of water. And there was the even more blunt reason that he needed this job. Any job. He needed money. He should have gone for the job in the library, instead.
Mr. Pennyworth was just looking at him, and Clark fought hard not to look away. He felt as if he'd been hauled up in front of the principal, but worse, somehow. But then the older man nodded, and smiled at him. "Very well, Mr. Kent. Would you like the see the gardens you would be tending to?"
Clark tried not to let his surprise and shock show - he was sure he would have been shown the door. "I... Yes! Yes, please, Mr. Pennyworth."
The butler stood, and Clark quickly followed him. They went out a side door, after travelling though a myriad of corridors, all gleaming wood and priceless antiques. He tried not to gape too much.
It had turned blustery outside; the smell of the sea was even stronger. Clouds had gathered as well, though the sun was still managing to break through here and there.
Mr. Pennyworth showed him around the areas he would be working in; the formal gardens with their high walls to be sheltered from the harsh sea winds, all carefully laid out. The rose garden, the scent from the last blooms hanging in the air, and the orchids, their branches bare, and the vegetable and herb gardens, mostly bare now, in late Fall, then finally the greenhouses, with their exotic flowers, most of which Clark had to admit he had never heard of.
The wider estate was described to him then, the long, long lawns, the tennis courts and stables were pointed out to him, and Clark confirmed that he could look after horses, should the need arise. The estate was huge - bigger than Smallville - and Clark was feeling more than a little overwhelmed by it all. But he found himself enjoying himself, to his surprise, and relaxing, though he was sure that Mr. Pennyworth was just being polite to him.
They returned inside, to the Manor, to the room they had been in before. Mr. Pennyworth excused himself to make more tea, and to get some paperwork that Clark needed to sign - both non-discloser agreements and background check agreements. He signed them, hoping that the paperwork would hold up at his end.
He didn't want to know what would happen if it was ever truly discovered that he didn't have a birth certificate, and that, although he was adopted, there were no official records of that, either.
And then the interview was over, with no hints of if he had got to job, or if he had just made a massive fool of himself. Clark sighed as he walked down the driveway to the grand entrance. He had tried. He had even enjoyed himself - and how many people could say that they had had a personal tour of the gardens of Wayne Manor?
Mr. Pennyworth had said that he could contact him tomorrow, to let him know if he had got to job or not. And, despite all of Clark's worries and doubts, he was smiling as he walked to the bus stop.
*****
Bruce watched the last of the interviewees leave the ground of Wayne Manor and pause for a moment, before heading off in the direction of the nearest bus stop. He was younger than the rest, only a couple of years older than him, and the only one with no qualifications. A poor collage student, trying to get a part time job.
Bruce was ready to dismiss him out of hand, but there was something about him... Something that had been evident, even through the security feeds, that had been absent from the candidates. They all knew the theory, all the right things, all the correct Latin names of even most of the rarer plants, but this one... He loved the plants. That much was clear.
Bruce sat in his study, pondering this, until Alfred came in with tea and cookies. The tea was carefully poured and Bruce started nibbling on a chocolate chip cookie. He waited for Alfred to speak, curious to know his take on the applicants. To know if Alfred agreed with him or not.
"All the candidates have the correct qualifications, sir, save for Mr. Kent. But what he lacks in knowledge, he makes up with enthusiasm and practical skills."
Bruce nodded. "I'm concerned about his collage life."
"You mean that he is studying to be a journalist, sir?"
Bruce nodded again. Alfred sat back in his chair, taking a sip of his tea. "That does bare considering, but I do not think it will be a problem. Mr. Kent strikes me as a very honest young man."
"Not the best thing to be when you're a journalist."
"Indeed, sir."
Bruce looked out the window nearest his desk and saw a storm rolling in off the sea. There would be heavy rain tonight. Might be a good time to check out those new ropes. And get used to crawling around rooftops in the cold and wet. After he had done background checks on all the candidates, of course. Probably more invasive than they realized, when they had signed the documents.
"If I had to choose between them, sir, I would go for Mr. Kent."
Bruce looked at Alfred in slight surprise and suspicion. He wouldn't put it past the man to be choosing Kent because they were a similar age, and Alfred wanted him to have a friend. There was Harvey, of course, but he was busy studying for his law course, and they didn't get to see each other so much these days. Some part of Bruce wondered if he wasn't using Harvey's busyness as an excuse for having driven him away himself, but he pushed that thought down.
"He shows a great deal of promise, sir, and he has a passion and true caring for the plants that the others lacked. Though I admit, I think it would be good for you to have someone your own age around the house, Master Bruce."
Bruce looked at Alfred, then nodded, turning his attention to his computer, beginning his background checks.
He didn't hear Alfred quietly leave.
*****
Two days later, and Clark was back at Wayne Manor, still stunned to have got the job. His Ma and Pa had been ecstatic at the news. Clark didn't know why or how he had got it, but Pa had said that they must have known a good thing when they saw it, and his Ma agreed.
Clark wasn't sure what to think, save to be grateful. He would have to work out a schedule, of course, with his lectures and getting his coursework done, but he was confident that it could be worked out. And he was looking forward to working - real, physical work, again. He was surprised how much he had missed it, how his... powers (he still wasn't sure what to call them) had seemed to become more difficult to control since he left Smallville, and wasn't doing any physical labour like he was used to. Which made Clark worry about what he was going to do when he would (hopefully) become a real reporter.
But that was years ahead now. And he was still trying to decide how to use his powers. It was a difficult balance, trying to help where he could, but not give away his secret. It was surprisingly draining, but he couldn't just not help people.
These were things that Clark mulled over as he worked in the greenhouse, deadheading the geraniums that that had been brought in for Winter, or as he washed out the plant pots in the potting shed - in reality a true building, not a 'shed' at all. Along with a myriad of other tasks that could be completed on his first day, since it was poring with rain and a strong wind was cutting though the estate.
Mr. Pennyworth had apologised, and promised to give him a proper tour once the weather improved. They had worked out a schedule, and Mr. Pennyworth had even offered to pick him up and drive him to Wayne Manor, should he ever have a problem with transport.
Clark had stammered out his thanks, still intimidated by the British man, but more and more being reminded of his Ma and Pa though their interactions.
Of Bruce Wayne he had yet to see any sign, and he wondered if he was even in Gotham, or if he was off travelling somewhere, as Clark had heard rumours of him doing. Even more so since he had come to live in Gotham, where the media was obsessed by their 'Prince'. It depressed Clark. Even more so that this was the profession he wanted to enter into.
He was straightening up after ensuring that a plant had enough water, when he first saw Bruce Wayne.
He was a distant figure, but that was no problem for Clark, who found his... telescopic vision (he wished he could come up with a less corny word for it) kicking in. His... boss, he supposed, was running, utterly drenched, his workout clothes plastered to his skin, though it didn't seem to bother him, if he even noticed.
He looked... different to how he looked in TV or in the newspapers. More vulnerable. Of course, this was his own home, Clark had yet to see evidence of any other staff, though he was sure they existed. He was allowed to be vulnerable here. To let his guard down.
Clark watched him until he disappeared into the house, then guiltily realized what he had doing, and got back to work.
*****
He saw Bruce Wayne more times after that, always in the distance, jogging, occasionally horse riding, or sometimes just flashes of him though windows.
Clark started to relax more around Alfred, even going so far as to exchange recipes with him on behalf of his Ma. And he was doing job, looking after the plants and flowers, assessing for storm damage after they had blown through, and, of course, studying.
Clark supposed he was happy, though he was lonely and missed Smallville and Pete and Lana. He still talked to them, on the phone or by e-mail, but it just wasn't the same. He wished he could make a friend, a true friend here, not just have classmates. But his job kept him busy, and commuting, and he was trying to stop crime, where he could... not that it seemed to make much difference.
He was wondering if he shouldn't have gone for Metropolis instead. But Gotham had the worst crime rate in the country, surely if he should be anywhere, using his powers for good, he should be here? He didn't know. He had a feeling that Gotham didn't like him very much, which was just ridiculous, but he couldn't shake off the feeling that he didn't belong here.
So, he threw himself into his work. Until the day he met Bruce Wayne.
*****
Clark was digging up a border, preparing to plant it with 'green manure' or 'Hungarian Rye Grass' as it was also known for the Winter, his focus on the damp, dark soil and writing an essay in his head.
So he wasn't aware of the figure watching him until they cleared their throat. Clark looked up with a guilty start, and saw Bruce Wayne standing there.
He almost dropped the spade. "Oh! Um... Hello, Mr. Wayne." He bit his lip, wondering if he had said the wrong thing - if he should have have spoken at all.
The other man was just watching him, face emotionless, but his steel blue were intense. "Mr. Kent." He said at last, nodding at him.
Clark was acutely aware of his dirt stained clothes, his old jeans and plaid shirt that had definitely seen better days. Wayne, in contrast, was wearing impeccably tailored slacks and a soft woolen jumper in dark blue and black and they fitted him perfectly. Clark swallowed, and prayed he wasn't blushing.
"Alfred says you're doing a good job," Wayne looked away, indicating the garden, but the intensity never left.
Clark tried not to squirm. It seemed that Wayne had picked up a bit of Mr. Pennyworth's mannerisms. "Thank you, sir. I'm enjoying my work here."
Wayne nodded at him, then made a carry on gesture, before walking off, breeze ruffling his hair.
Clark swallowed again, shoulders sagging, and went back to his digging, his emotions suddenly in turmoil, and not sure why the sudden appearance of Wayne had startled him so much. Apart from the fact that he was, after all, Clark's employer. You got nervous when you spoke to your employer for the first time, didn't you? And the fact that it was Bruce Wayne, one of the richest men on the planet...
They were complete opposites and Clark was utterly out of his depth. But none of that explained why he couldn't forget the sight of those blue eyes.
They carried on haunting him for the rest of the day.
*****
Bruce sipped his coffee thoughtfully, as he watched Kent work in the garden. It looked like he had just finished digging the boarder. Which was good, since it looked like more rain was coming in, fresh off the sea.
He wasn't sure why he was so interested in Kent. Why he had employed him in the first place. Sure, the holes in the background checks had been curious, but they could be explained. There was something else though, something Bruce couldn't identify.
Maybe it was just the curiosity of actually feeling these emotions - it had seemed like so long since he had actually felt anything. Or anything this strong, at least. There had just been a... void where his emotions should have been, were he knew that any rational, any sane person should be feeling them. But he hadn't been.
His days were so often filled with the same routine - train, read, train, read, train, test practical knowledge - that even just having someone else around was going to shake it up. Or... maybe he had been feeling, just not this intensely? Bruce didn't know.
It started to rain, but Kent didn't seem to be in any hurry to get inside. He was still happily working away, a smile on his face. Bruce shook his head. Kent was intriguing - he wanted to find out just why those black holes in his background were there - but it was dangerous, too. Dangerous to get too close to him.
Bruce sighed, finishing his coffee. He had work to do.
*****
Some weeks went by. It grew colder and the first snows fell. Clark did his best to look after the plants, to stop them from dying. Then he spent some time repairing some of the broken and damaged fences around the estate, and helped look after the horses, once or twice, when one of the stable boys was ill.
School got harder, but that just made Clark more determined to do better. And Gotham stayed the same, the crime rate only increasing, if such a thing were possible. He tried not to think of himself as a failure, because of that. Gotham obviously needed something he didn't have. Something he could never be. But that didn't stop him from trying to make a difference, however small.
He was aware that he would probably have made a difference if he revealed who, or rather, what, he was... But he wasn't ready for that, not yet, and besides, it wasn't in his nature to draw attention to himself.
He got on okay with his lecturers, and his classmates, and even fully relaxed around Mr. Pennyworth now. He saw Bruce... Mr. Wayne... around a few times and they exchanged greetings, but never more than that. He was aware he was being watched, though. He wasn't sure what to make of that.
Even as young as he was, Bruce Wayne was still immensely powerful, and the thought that he suspected something about Clark... well, it made him very nervous.
He flew home for Thanksgiving dinner, then quickly back to Gotham. Christmas approached, and with it deadlines and more essays. Things in the garden were quiet, and he received cards from both Mr. Pennyworth and Bruce Wayne - handwritten at that. He gave them cards in return, and saw them displayed in the kitchen once. He went back home, properly, for the holidays, and had a good Christmas on the farm.
At Wayne Manor, Bruce and Alfred had a small, but poignant meal, with heartfelt presents, and talked about the future.
More snow fell as the new year was chimed in. Clark returned to Gotham and the gardens of Wayne Manor.
And Bruce returned to watching him.
*****
Clark walked into the potting shed, one cold and snowy February day, to find Bruce Wayne sitting inside. He stopped, startled, and Wayne looked up at him briefly, then back at... whatever he was doing. It looked like a plan of the formal gardens. There were pictures of two roses, one a beautiful yellow/orange colour, the other a soft pink.
But it was the brief glimpse of Wayne's eyes that caught Clark, that made him feel as if he had received a blow to the chest. They were full of pain and agony, grief and sorrow, unending pools.
Clark carefully put his bag down, suddenly wary and careful, trying to be as gentle and nonthreatening as possible, not unlike how he acted around a skittish horse, he realized.
Wayne cleared his throat, and his eyes were guarded now. But the pain still lingered - no amount of control, of however fine a mask could hide that completely. "Alfred said I should talk to you about where to plant to these roses."
His voice was soft, softer than it had been on any occasion that Clark had heard it before. He felt his heart break, and he wasn't sure why.
"Okay... Is there... anywhere especially you would like them to go?"
"They have to be together." Wayne's voice was suddenly hard, a commanding voice, and Clark felt himself nodding before he had even finished speaking.
"Okay," he said again. "Would you like them to be in the Rose Garden, or somewhere else?"
"I..." The harshness seemed to fall away from Wayne, then, even as a mask crumpled away from his face. "They're new. In the memory of my Mother and Father, a decade after..." His voice broke, and his shoulders sagged as he turned away.
Clark felt his eyes going wide. If he had thought that his heart had broken before, he was wrong. How cruel, to be so constantly reminded... "Of course. We'll... we'll find a perfect place for them."
That was all Clark could think of to say, and he had never felt like such a failure before. But what could you say? He didn't know.
Wayne nodded, glancing at him, then looked back at the pictures of the roses. "Thank you."
*****
They spent a lot of time looking and discussing every suitable place - Wayne - Bruce - was determined to get it just right and Clark was more than happy to oblige.
They eventually settled on a place, near a bench and fountain, at the centre of the Wayne Manor Maze. Clark noted the symbolism, but didn't say anything. It just made him sad. He wasn't sure if he should offer to help Bruce plant the flowers or not, or if he even wanted him around. Silence seemed to be the best option.
But Bruce smiled at him when they had decided on a place, and thanked him quietly, before going back inside.
Clark returned to his other work. But before he left for the day, Mr. Pennyworth found him and relayed an invitation for dinner, the following night. Clark wasn't sure what to do, but the older man took pity on him and explained that Bruce wanted to thank him properly.
Clark nodded and hoped he wasn't blushing too much - or looking like a deer caught in the headlights - and said he would be there the following night. Alfred nodded, and left with a pleased look on his face.
Clark got back to his dorm in a haze, unsure if he was feeling nervous or excited or both.
*****
Bruce waited in the parlor for Clark Kent to arrive. He wasn't sure why he had asked him to dinner, save as a way of thanking him for putting up with his... obsessive nature as they decided on a perfect place for the new roses named in honor of his parents.
Bruce took a deep breath, trying to clam himself, feeling absurdly fragile. Even after all this time, it still surprised him how much he missed them. How much it still hurt. The void of emotion he normally felt couldn't swallow this. This was too much, for even that.
It was going to be a difficult year. And it had only just got started. He hoped he would be able to get through it. He wasn't sure. He would increase his training, would be able to go abroad, soon, to start training in Asia. And that would give him reason to be away from Gotham - Gotham, who cradled him, breaking him into pieces, never able to put himself back together again.
Bruce shook his head. Some host he was going be. He took anther deep breath, and pulled a mask on, squaring his shoulders, easing his face so it relaxed, a slight smile on his lips. Perhaps Kent - Clark - didn't deserve this, having dinner with a man hiding behind a mask. He would be feeling awkward enough already. But Bruce didn't know if he could go through with this otherwise.
He heard the doorbell ring, and put the mask on more firmly, surprised at the regret he felt.
*****
Clark was terrified. He was going to make a mistake, like using the wrong set of knives and forks, he knew it. Why they couldn't just have one set, he didn't know.
Bruce was acting differently as well. More cheerful than he had expected. Not at all like the Bruce who had practically gone over every inch of his gardens to find a perfect spot for his parent's roses. He heartbeat and breathing were faster as well, as Clark had come to learn often signified when someone was lying.
He couldn't help feeling hurt and rejected, which was ridiculous - it wasn't as if he and Bruce were friends. He had just hoped... they had seemed to have made a connection...
Clark wanted a friend. He had been stupid to think that someone like Bruce Wayne would ever be his friend. A part of Clark, a part that wasn't exactly Clark, wasn't exactly human, murmured that Bruce would be his friend if he told him - showed him - his real strengths, showed him who he really was... But he refused to use his powers like that.
"I'm sorry," Bruce said suddenly, startling Clark. His eyes flew to Bruce's face, to see him looking a little chagrined.
"I haven't been a very good host at all for this dinner. How about you tell me about your home? About your family, and Smallville?"
Clark blinked. "I... sure." He smiled. And started talking.
*****
Clark had left around midnight. Bruce had insisted on driving him back to his dorms, then, after he had dropped him off, spent part of the night just driving around Gotham, mulling over their conversation, familiarizing himself with Gotham at night.
Bruce eventually returned to Clark's dorms. And nearly crashed the car when he saw what Clark Kent was doing.
*****
Clark had got through his lectures without falling asleep, for which he was thankful. He wasn't used to being up half the night, talking about himself. And then there had been that trouble in the alley, which he couldn't just ignore...
But he was in a really good mood when he started his walk up the long driveway to Wayne Manor, and it's gardens. His good mood continued, even though he didn't get to see Bruce that day.
He had a curious feeling of being watched intently, but whenever he turned around there was no one there. Only the wind and the ever present roar of the sea, of Spring rainfalls, so often with Winter still clinging to them in snow and ice.
But when a week had gone by and he still hadn't seen Bruce, Clark started to worry. Had he done or said something at the dinner? Had he offended him, somehow? He was only slightly reassured that Alfred claimed not to know what was wrong.
And school was picking up as well, with exams, and essays due. He requested to be given some time off - this was, after all, supposed to be a part time job - which was granted. And yet, Clark couldn't help but feel a little hurt by that. Almost as if he... didn't really matter.
Until the day he walked into the potting shed and found Bruce Wayne there waiting for him.
*****
Clark sat down, slowly, watching Bruce, who was watching him. He felt nervousness assault him suddenly.
"I didn't come back here straight away, the other night, you know." Bruce said, only increasing Clark's fears. Oh, God... If Bruce had seen...
"I saw something very interesting." Bruce placed some print outs of security footage on the old wooden table. Clark swallowed. They only showed a blur. And the other images weren't in focus anyway...
"And then I started doing research. I discovered that in the last 5 months there have been reports of an anonymous 'do gooder' quietly stopping crimes in Gotham."
Clark swallowed again, terribly unsure what he should be doing, feeling his life unravelling before him.
"And I've always been curious about the gaps in your history... And how you don't have a real birth certificate."
"T-there was a fire-" Clark started, licking his dry lips.
"Yes, I know all about the 'fire' that destroyed your birth certificate, Mr. Kent."
There was silence.
"Do you want to tell me what, exactly, is going on?"
Clark didn't know where to look, what to do, what to say. Oh God... this was one of his worst nightmares... And what would happen to happen to his Ma and Pa...? Oh God. He fought the urge to run. "I... I'm just trying... to help, Mr. Wayne."
He didn't feel secure enough to call the other man 'Bruce'. Who said nothing, just looked at him.
"I..." Clark looked away. There was another silence.
"Is it all a lie?"
Clark looked at Bruce in shock. "No! Of course not, I..." He trailed off again. It was all a question of trust. And yes, he did trust Bruce... but he wasn't sure if he trusted him this much, yet. The secret that he had never told anyone. Asking to give that up was...
"I'm just trying to help," he repeated forlornly.
There was an even longer silence. Bruce picked up the photos of the security footage, and looked at them.
"How did you even find all of this out, anyway? How come you have those?" Clark pointed at the photos, suddenly angry, reacting in fear.
"I have my resources," was all Bruce said, but his eyes flashed dangerously for a moment.
Clark subsided again, suddenly remembering just how powerful Bruce was; he didn't need to be an alien with enhanced abilities under a yellow sun to be able to destroy his life. Clark swallowed again.
"Tell me." Bruce's voice had softened somewhat, and Clark found himself wavering. He did want to tell someone, he had yearned for it for so long, to be able to tell someone what he could do, to have someone who could understand him, someone who could be his equal... And he had known, all along, that he could never have that, that he could never be that open because it was too dangerous, and yes, his Ma and Pa knew, but it just wasn't the same...
"Please," Bruce added.
And Clark started talking.
*****
Clark told him about how his parents had found him, how it had become clear, very quickly, that he was stronger than adult humans, that he could see and hear things much too far away... And he told Bruce how his parents had finally told him, told him who and what he was, and all his hopes and fears and how, he really truly, just wanted to use abilities to help people.
He felt exhausted afterwards, completely drained, but at the same time he felt that a massive weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
There a along silence, and Clark tried not to feel nervous, desperately wanting to know what Bruce's reaction would be, but at the same time, dreading it.
When he finally did speak, he didn't say what Clark expected him to. Instead, he spoke about his parent's deaths, about how lost and confused he had been, how angry when it became clear that their killer wasn't going to be found, and how he had sworn that no one else was going to suffer the same pain, if he could help it, that no child should ever know the pain and grief that he had suffered.
Bruce spoke about how he had trained his body and mind, was still training them, so that he would make a difference to Gotham, one day, that he would clean the city up, give hope to people, and make the criminals run scared.
And as Clark stared at him in amazement, he suddenly understood why Gotham hadn't let him help, because the city was waiting, was waiting for the one whose parents it stole to become its defender.
Bruce looked at him, and smiled. Clark couldn't ever remember seeing a smile like that before, but it suddenly felt as if he world had slipped into place, as if everything was right and all the doubts he had had about his decision to leave Smallville and come to Gotham disappeared.
"I think," Bruce said at last, "that we have a lot still to learn together."
And Clark smiled, seeing the future, bright and glorious before him.
