Rescued (SuperBat fic)

23

He sniffles and sneezes as he steps off the elevator. He halts with the sneeze. It makes his shoulders shake. It's as cute as it is disgusting. He's grey and unsteady on his feet
"Clark, what are you doing here?" 
He looks down at me, his eyes red and watery. 
"I wanted you."
"To feed you soup?"
He shakes his head and mutters, "I was picturing my head on your lap." 
"Sure."
I pull him close and kiss his forehead. As I pull away, I narrow my eyes and look at the dust on his suit.
"Is that -"
"Kryptonite," he moans. 
I grab hold of his wrist and tow him into the en-suite. He leans back against the glass wall of the shower, slides down to the floor and curls into a ball. 
I run the bath and watch him.
He retches quietly and puts his hands over his mouth. 
I add a touch of bubble bath to the water, skim my hand through it to check the temperature, then turn off the taps. 
He is slow to raise his head when I stand above him. I extend my hands and he takes them. I pull him off the floor and walk back to the tub. He stands still and shivering as I drag his suit down his body. I hold him up as he steps out of it. 
I place him in the water and watch him sink low. He dunks his head below the waterline and comes up slowly. I grab a loofah and crouch behind him to scrub his chest and shoulders. He rolls his neck and sets his head back on the edge of the tub with his lips parted.
Damn, he's cute like this.
I hold back and touch him with just the loofah.
He moans quietly as I scrub the dust out of his snail trail.
"I feel a little better already," he mutters.
His eyes flutter open. When he looks up at me, he seems cross-eyed.
"Bruce," he mutters. "You know what would make me feel better?" 
"What?"
"Kiss me," he whispers.
I chew the inside of my cheek.
"Clark." 
"Bruce." 
I let go of the loofah. It rolls down his abdomen and drifts across the water. He catches it and holds it over his cock, clutches it with tight fists.
"Clean yourself up." 
I put a hand on his shoulder and push myself up. My knees crack as I rise. 
Clark has the balls to chuckle. 
I pat his shoulder once and then leave the room. I pace around in the kitchen, tapping my fingers off the counters until I figure out what to do. My eyes land on the kettle. 
I drop a chamomile teabag into a mug, a rooibos bag into another and set a light under the kettle. Then I stand hunched over the counter waiting for Clark to emerge. 
He comes through in just his boxers, still drying himself off, his hair a damp, spiky mess. 
"Cute," I mutter.
He jolts a shoulder.
"I try."
"Don't be funny," I mutter.
He meets my eyes.
Just as he opens his mouth, the kettle whistles. He stays quiet as I pour out the water and is quick to lift his mug. He holds it in both hands and lowers his nose to the mug to breathe in the scent of the tea.
"Clark." 
He lifts his head to acknowledge me.
"I am glad that you feel comfortable enough to come here, to me, when you need help. But to come now, when you haven't spoken to me in weeks, I mean..."
"You said you loved me." 
"And I meant it." 
"Bruce."
Back when we were in the honeymoon phase, it was cute when he got tongue-tied. 
"Clark, spit something out, for God's sake."
"I can't say that word, not right now, but I know that you are important to me."
I take a sip of my tea and watch him. 
He shifts on his feet and starts to sip his tea. The towel slips off his arm and lands curled up on the floor. Beads of water slide down his neck, over his muscles. The grey waistband of his boxers grows a little damp as I study him. 
"So, what? Do you want to come back?" 
He sips more of his tea.
Eventually, he says, "To you, yes. I'm sure of you." 
I shake my head.
"That's not good enough, is it?"
"No babe."
I glance down at my watch. But I don't say it, what's about to happen. I want to see how he reacts when he's surprised with it. 
Out in the hallway, the elevator dings. Dick's running footsteps come closer and closer until he bursts around the corner and bounces over to me. I pull him against my side and ruffle his hair for a moment. He steps back from me and looks over at Clark, who bends quickly and gathers the towel up to hold it in front of his chest.
"Dick, this is my..." 
I search for an appropriate word. 
"This is Clark."
Clark waves dumbly, his jaw a little low and loose.
"What's he doing here?" 
"I was just taking care of him. Now we're having a conversation." 
Dick nods slowly.
"So kiddo, go hang out, start your homework and I'll be in to ask about your day in a few minutes." 
He nods and backflips out into the hallway, out of sight and earshot. 
When I look back at Clark, he's smiling a little.
"You're so good with him," he says.
"I have no idea what I'm doing," I tell him, chuckling. "But we're getting along well."
Clark puts down his tea and plants his palms on the counter.
"He does seem like a great kid," he says softly. "He's cute." 
He pushes away from the counter, drops the towel once again and comes around to stand in front of me. But when he reaches out to hold my hands, I step back. 
"Don't," I whisper. "Not if you don't mean it." 
My phone buzzes in my jeans. When I pull it out, I see the Justice League chat blowing up. I turn my wrist to show Clark the screen. 
"Alfred!"
He appears as Clark and I are scrambling to get dressed. 
"Take care of Dick for me."
He nods and clears the elevator for the ride down to the Batcave before he disappears to Dick's little wing of the apartment.
We meet the gang in the centre of town, outside the musty Italian casino. One of its neon letters flickers and another has gone out completely. Diana has an arm inside a busted-out pane of glass to unlock the door, pushes it open as we walk up. 
"What's going on?" I ask. 
"The guys who killed Dick's parents," Clark mutters. "They hide out here." 
I search his eyes for something. 
"You did this?" 
"Nobody wanted to give a name," he says. "Sorry it's taken so long." 
I shake my head and take up stance next to Diana. We lead the others in, through the lobby and onto the floor. We fan out along the rows of slots and regroup at the double doors at the back. 
As we peek in the porthole windows at a probably illegal, poorly lit poker game, Clark hands me across a picture of Dick and his parents. 
"Show them this," he whispers. "Slap it down on the table." 
Diana kicks in the doors. The men start in their seats. 
I hold up the picture and stare down the barrels of their handguns. 
"Who killed these people?" I shout.
Diana throws her lasso around the bunch. When she tightens it, they lose their balance, upend the table and fall to the floor in a heap. 
Three of them pipe up, "I did." 
And the other two mumble, "I stood guard." 
"Definitely the right guys then," I mutter. "Good work Clark." 
He shrugs. 
I feel my breaths growing heavy as I look down at these fat, pathetic men, at their bulging suits, at the overlarge watches on their wrists. 
"Why?!" 
He looks up at me, fear written all over his face. 
"They owed us, they owed us, alright." 
"And that's enough reason, is it? They had nothing to give you!" 
"Pearls," he spits. "She could have given us her pearls, her jewellery." 
I grab one of the guns off the floor, check the safety and point it at the guy who spoke first.
I see the gun shaking in my hand. I skim my finger over the trigger and test its resistance.
I hear a whisper behind me. 
"Bruce."
His voice is soft, too soft. 
"Bruce this isn't why I brought you here." 
"Go outside and recharge then." 
And as soon as the words are out, I regret snapping at him. I am surprised when several bodies leave the room. 
I look across at Diana. She shakes her head. 
I feel the heat of my anger all through my body. 
I think about Dick, in my apartment surrounded by a handful of his things, adjusting to a life these fuckers knocked him into, crying at night for the parents I can't replace. 
I point the gun at the ceiling and fire the clip into it, screaming. 
I drop the gun. 
I toss Diana my ropes and hold the lasso tight as she binds each of them individually. I dial Commissioner Gordon's number and give him the address. The sirens are closing in within minutes and the room is then once again full with the gang and uniforms.
I stand on the street and breathe.
What did I just do? 
I rub my palms together.
A hand lands on my shoulder.
It's Clark.
He says, "You didn't hurt anyone."
"I wanted to." 
I shrug off his hand and take out my phone. I dial Dick's number and wait. 
"Bruce," he answers. "Are you going to be home soon?" 
"Yes kiddo," I tell him. "I just wanted to let you know that the police have found the guys who hurt your parents, they're in custody." 
He sobs and sniffles on the other end of the line. 
"Go and ask Alfred for a hug. I'll be home soon." 
I hang up. 
"No-one wants to leave you alone right now," Clark says. "Where can we all hang out?"
"I know just the place."