Chronology

[shankie]

Wally learns about what's happened in his absence; and he's not pleased. Returning to his life isn't what he expected, as Bruce and Clark go through their own adjustments.


Chapter Twelve: My Own Worst Enemy

Bruce woke up in a fog, which was... unusual. He felt sore, and was a little sticky with sweat, hot and...

Not alone.

He swept back the covers and sat up with a start, staring down as Wally rubbed his eyes and yawned. It hadn't been some hallucination of hypothermia and sedatives. His memory of the previous night was hazy, but the important aspects were becoming clear, and he gaped as Wally blinked and looked up with sleepy green eyes.

"Feelin' better?" Wally asked.

"I... Jesus."

Bruce threw himself on top of Wally, hugging him fiercely, kissing patches of skin he could reach, stunned into silence. Wally grunted a protest that he was suffocating him, and he pulled back a little, trying to find the words to convey what he wanted to say.

Wally rubbed sleep out of his eyes again and beamed like breaking sunshine, and Bruce felt his heart melting with a sharp pain. Guilt, regret, for so many things. Hating himself for looking at that smile and thinking those things.

They stared at each other, until Wally broke into peals of laughter and shook his head.

"Trust me, I'm real. I did the pinch-test myself. No pod-persons here. Unless you have something you want to tell me."

Bruce turned away from him, setting his feet on the floor and leaning on his knees.

"We have to talk."

"You said that last night, you don't have to explain yourself." Wally began rubbing his back, leaning into him a little. "You don't. I don't want to be another piece of guilt you carry around."

"It's a little late for that."

Bruce got up and pressed his lips together, not daring to look back at him as he stood leaning against the window, looking down at the city already illuminated by late-morning sun.

"What are you talking about, I understand if..."

"Just, stop," he said tersely, then whispered, "please."

"I don't..."

"I know you don't."

"You have no idea what I was going to even say!"

"I have a good idea."

"What is this? Are we fighting? What the fuck is going on Bruce?"

He walked swiftly outside and to his office, unlocking the safe, and returning with his letters in hand, bringing himself to look Wally in the eye, wincing internally at the touch of anger in Wally's confusion.

"I want you to read these. I'm going downstairs." He handed them over, and Wally took them slowly, his lips pursed in question.

Then Bruce walked into the hall, shut the door, and leaned back against it with a shuddering sigh. He hesitated there, his fingers burning with the desire to just run back and never leave Wally's side ever again, but he tore them away from the handle and went down to the kitchen.

Alfred had made a pot of coffee and left a note; he'd gone into town to run errands, and the boys had long since left for school.

So he drank it black, relishing the bitter caffeine, listening to the ticking of the clock in the hall as time dragged on. He wondered where Wally had been, wondered just how pained he making those beautiful eyes.

Finally felt ashamed at himself for all those moments he'd looked down at Clark's worried face with a heart of stone.

'Batman, you're a travesty. And now you want Wally to come down here and fix you, like some broken engine, just like the selfish bastard you are.'

He growled at himself and took a long swig, until he was looking at the white bottom of the mug, and slammed it down on the counter.

He felt a gust of air against his back, and sighed, turning around slowly.

Wally was glaring at him.

And then he punched him, thankfully on the cheek that wasn't already bruised, and Bruce fell back against the counter, propping himself up on his elbows.

"You idiot! You crazy fucking self-loathing BASTARD! Just what the hell were thinking you... you... CHRIST." Wally was waving his hands around in blurry gesticulations, and Bruce looked up at him blankly. "When you said that you'd slept with someone, I didn't think you were trying to kill yourself from the inside out! I guess I should have known, huh? World revolves around the great and mighty Batman, and when shit goes down, you really, really hate yourself, don't you? And you just had to go and use one of your best friends to do it? Huh? Couldn't be honest with him, or you, or anyone, cripes you... just... shit!"

Wally began pacing up and down the kitchen tiles, still waving his hands around and shaking his head angrily.

"Did you ever even tell him just how bad he hurt you? No, you didn't, did you. I bet you loved it. I bet that's just what Batman needs, huh? Can't do anything all stable or halfway normal, just let him think... JESUS CHRIST BRUCE what the fuck is wrong with you?"

When Bruce still didn't respond, Wally stopped, looking down with his teeth clenched and his hands pressed tight on his hips.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"I'm sorry."

Wally looked at him narrowly.

"Coming from you, that's some gigantic outpouring of feeling, isn't it? I'll go alert the media." They looked at each other for a long moment, as the second hand ticked by, and Wally growled again, and let out a frustrated sigh. "I have shit to take care of. And so do you. Don't you dare think you're just going to be all fucking crazy and just nothing."

He stepped back and leaned against the refrigerator with his arms crossed over his chest.

"I'm taking some stuff with me. You know how to find me. Not that you'll do anything but slink back to your hole and brood at the world."

When he left, Bruce slumped forward and sighed, touching the newly, forming bruise on his cheek softly.

Wally was gone with the slamming of the front door that shook the house, and this time, he felt he deserved it.

* * *

Clark didn't call the manor, but he almost did. Several times. His hand would wrap around the receiver, he'd look for the will to lift it up and dial, but changed his mind, lifting it away and returning to his work.

No cries for help, no emergencies, no disasters called his attention away from his desk that day, so he sat there all day, through lunch, not listening to Lois' attempts to speak to him, burying himself in his keyboard.

He desperately wanted to know how Wally was doing, if Bruce was alright; but of course he was. He had Wally back, and didn't need him anymore. Bruce had made that perfectly clear, hadn't he? Not that he'd ever needed anyone. That, he'd also made crystal. On many, many occasions.

His 'Enter' key cracked, and Clark sighed, finally looking up.

The day was growing late, and the buzz of the newsroom had fallen to a lull, with more empty desks than manned ones. He supposed they'd gone off to dinner, or home for the day.

He looked at his watch, and sighed; he had monitor duty today, and soon. Soon enough that he saved his documents, emailed off his stories, and shut off his monitor, threw his coat over his shoulders and took the stairs to street level.

Clark had flown in today, and found himself wanting to walk down the street, through the throng of people. He could only distantly remember the last time he'd actually walked the streets of his city, and it came crashing down like a revelation.

He'd barely spoken to Lois in anything but snappish rebukes, barely spent time with a human being not in a costume in... a very long time. He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and looked around him at the faces that passed, some giving him irritated glances, most ignoring him completely as they chatted with each other or strode to some unknown destination.

His arms fell to his sides, and he finally began moving forward again, crossing the street and walking over to a set of benches overlooking the harbor in the distance, shrugging in his coat, despite not feeling the weather.

Today, for whatever reason, the view looked like more than a disaster waiting to happen; more than a catastrophe to be saved.

Clark hated to draw himself away from the sudden inspiring beauty of it, waiting until the last moment to return to his apartment, change, and fly out of the atmosphere and up to the slowly rotating satellite.

The Watchtower technicians greeted him with a smile, and he smiled back warmly, speaking to Vigilante briefly about a movie selection for his movie night with Shining Knight, ultimately suggesting a personal favorite, Casablanca.

He smiled after Vigilante left, before he took the seat in the monitor womb and began his systematic cycling through the screens to get up to speed with the status of the world that evening.

An hour passed in relative quiet before there was a discreet cough behind him, and Clark turned around.

Wally was standing there, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. He wasn't smiling.

"It's good to see you, Wally."

"Thanks. Listen; we need to talk." Clark nodded slowly. "You know where my apartment is in Central City still, right?" He nodded again. "Come by once you're done. We'll have tea."

"Okay."

With that, he was gone, and Clark frowned. 'Tea' sounded a little threatening, and he wondered if the sugar would have glowing green in it.

* * *

There wasn't, actually, any kryptonite. But there was tea.

Clark sat across the table from Wally, looking around the spartan apartment as he sipped Darjeeling. Neither had spoken a word since he got there, in a thick sweater he'd had in the back of his closet for some time; his mother had made it.

He realized he missed her, and hadn't seen her since Christmas. Or even called.

Wally coughed again, and Clark looked at him, setting down the mug.

"I didn't know you drank tea."

"I don't." Wally finished his own mug and pushed it aside. "I'm going to cut to the chase here. Basically you forced yourself on my boyfriend, and I have a problem with that," he said, with venom in his words.

"I didn't... I didn't.... mean it that way."

"Fabulous. That's what happened. And before you say anything else, no, Bruce didn't say that. Or really much of anything. So what else is new."

"I wasn't..."

"Good."

Wally took Clark's mug away, even though he wasn't done, pouring it down the sink and heating up more water by rubbing his hands along the bottom of the kettle. More tea, and he sat down, stirring in lump after lump of sugar with his finger vibrating in the water.

Clark shifted, and wondered if he'd ever felt this uncomfortable before. Not that he could remember.

"I'm waiting for you to explain yourself," Wally said, continuing his even look that threatened to bore through Clark's skull, "in case that wasn't obvious."

Clark nodded and sighed.

"Um... well..." he frowned and looked at the tendrils of deep brown flowing away from the tea bag in his mug. "What do you want me to say?"

"You're a journalist. You write a good story. So spin me a tale."

Clark wondered what had happened to Wally that had brought on this uncommon bitterness, and then frowned again, at himself. It was a stupid thought.

"He wouldn't... talk to anyone. I tried, but... I was worried. Concerned. I wanted to... bring him out of it, I suppose. And the only time he even really looked at me was when, I... well..." Clark waved his hand around.

"Hauled him off and seduced him."

"It wasn't like that!"

"Forgive me for being less than accepting of that statement," Wally said flatly.

Clark shifted and licked his lips nervously, then tightened his hand around the mug. It cracked, and sent hot water over the table that was mopped up in the blink of an eye. Wally pointedly dropped the pieces in the trash, and appeared back in his seat, taking another sip.

"What do you want, Wally? Do you want me to admit to being some kind of incubus? Want me to tell you how awful I am for daring to touch him?"

"Seems that way."

"Damnit Wally, you can't..."

"Can't what? Be angry? Because I am. And you're not getting all of it, trust me."

"What's..."

"Just listen now, I'm done trying to wheedle this out of you. Patience isn't one of my virtues."

"No kidding."

Wally snorted angrily and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Who the hell do you think you are?"

Clark was taken aback by the question, and blinked. Mostly surprised at himself, at the first answer that came to mind; 'Superman, I can do whatever the hell I want, and you're nobody to judge me.' He paused before responding.

"I'm Clark Kent. I was raised in Kansas, in a little town, helping my father run our farm. I played football. I went to college. I fell in love with people I could never have all my life; I became a writer. I'm also Superman, and I help people. I do my best."

Wally looked at him curiously, tilting his head to one side.

"Okaaaaay."

Clark looked at the table, his forehead propped on his hand.

"Could I have some more tea, please?"

He heard Wally get up and fix him more, and looked up when a green mug was pushed at him.

"That doesn't mean I've forgiven you."

"I know."

They sat without speaking until they'd both finished their drinks, and Wally washed the mugs and put them away, and then sat on the counter looking out the window.

"When did you get this table?"

"It was here when I got back."

There was another long pause.

"Are you staying here?"

"For the time being."

Silence.

Clark looked around the apartment at how bare it was, and then saw, through the door to Wally's bedroom, a picture on the nightstand. It had to have been taken this past summer, by some unseen photographer at Wayne Manor that had only later revealed themselves; Wally was looking at the ground, smiling softly, as Bruce kissed his cheek, holding his hand over Wally's knee, adoration in his eyes.

"Can I ask you something, Wally?"

"I suppose."

"What is it between you two?"

"Besides the fact that I want to kill him right now?" Clark nodded and watched his face shift from anger into soft recollection. "I love him with all my heart. I love him more than I love myself. And... when I look at him, and he's looking back at me? I just know that... he really loves me back. Me." Wally pushed his chin up as if pushing off emotion with defiance. "I don't know if that's what you really what you want to hear, but yeah."

Clark followed Wally's gaze out the window, and there was silence again.

"But you're staying here?"

"He's still a stupid fuckhead. So are you, by the way."

"I guess I deserved that."

Wally snorted again.

And there was more silence; but it felt more comfortable this time. Not entirely, but getting there.

"I think you have serious issues, dude."

"Your probably right." Clark fiddled with the edge of his sweater. "Can I ask you something else?"

"Might as well."

"Where did you go?"

Wally jumped off the counter and paced for a while, then leaned against the wall next to the window with his foot propped against it and his arms crossed.

"The future. Beat the crap out of your clone, saw my child, hung out with the Phantom Stranger, saw Bruce turn into a murderer, and other things. Not in that order."

Clark didn't know how to respond to that, and looked down until Wally spoke up again.

"I have no idea what to do with all that. And I'm not sure I like being full of prophecy."

More silence, as Clark contemplated the sudden openness Wally was showing again.

"I did miss you. You do mean a lot to me, Wally."

"I never said I doubted it."

They looked at each other, with a kind of neutrality that came from not quite knowing what to think. Clark was relieved that most of the anger was gone from his voice.

"I think... I'm going to take a leave of absence from the League," Clark finally said, nodding slightly.

Wally nodded thoughtfully.

"I was planning on doing that, myself."

"I'm glad you're back."

Wally almost smiled, and nodded again.

"I'm glad you're always wearing flannel and being mostly yourself, no matter where I am."

Clark looked down at the flannel shirt peeking out from under his sweater, and laughed a little.

"I should go." Clark stood up, setting his hands on the table before he walked over to Wally.

He wanted to hug him, truly, but settled on touching the sleeve of his t-shirt gently.

"I'm sorry."

Wally shook his head and laughed humorlessly, then sighed.

"I'll be seeing you, Clark."

Clark nodded, then let himself out, down to the street, and once again chose to walk through the quiet night for a while, until he reached the edge of the city, and flew off into the sky.


Epilogue: Starting Over

Wally had a lot to do.

He spent a few days visiting friends, catching up on what he'd missed. John and Vixen had broken up, Shayera was being careful not to mention a thing about it, Len had just been released from Iron Heights, his mom had started dating an accountant named Phil, and Ralph had plans to build a new house for him and Sue; which Wally had offered to help with.

He went up to the Watchtower after all that, after getting his job back (apparently Bruce had told them he'd hired him out for some project while he was gone) and re-introducing himself to Central City as the Flash, with Impulse at his side. Because going up there was the last thing he wanted to do.

But there he was, explaining what had happened with Savitar to the council, leaving out most of the... other details.

And then he told them he wanted to take a break from the League. Told them that he needed to get his life back in order, which was true. They all understood, or had been told individually already. They'd keep his quarters for him, and move him to part-time, only calling if they truly needed it.

Bruce didn't say a word through the entire meeting.

Wally didn't leave right away; there was something he'd always liked about it up here, utilitarian as it was, and he stood on the observation deck watching the Earth below, marveling at how amazing the view always was.

A shadow in the shape of Batman fell across the wall beside him, and he sighed, leaning against the window.

"It doesn't mean I don't care about you," he said quietly, "because I do, Bruce. But somewhere this turned into more than just... you and me."

"I understand."

Wally turned around, made sure they were alone, and kissed him gently.

"No, you don't." He trailed his index finger down the visible skin of Bruce's face, noting how it almost hid anything Bruce might have been feeling along with the fading bruises. "I can't live in your shadow right now."

"I never wanted that."

"I know you didn't." He smiled sadly, and kissed the cowl over where he'd punched him, then cradled the back of his head in his hand. "I talked to Bart, he is going to stay with me for a while, but he'll be around. Told me he's your ward now."

Bruce nodded, and swallowed audibly.

"Take care of yourself, okay? Please?"

There was no response, and Wally leaned his forehead against Bruce's chest for a moment, and then pulled away.

"It's not goodbye," he said, then pulled his hand away and left, his heart heavy.

He went home, and fixed spaghetti just in time to have dinner on the table when Bart bounded through the door, wrapping his arms around his waist before they sat down and ate plate after plate.

Bart had a crush on a girl at school, which he didn't exactly say, but was obvious enough to make Wally grin as the yellow eyes lit up with excitement. He'd been using his powers to impress her, even though she had yet to realize just what he was doing, and Wally did the required tisk-tisking, but inside he was still grinning.

His first day back at the garage was tonight; the graveyard shift that did mostly quick jobs that had to be done by morning for the station. His first time doing it, having a late-night routine in Central City.

He looked forward to it.

* * *

It took Jason three hours to break out of Stonegate.

Bruce listened to Alfred relay that over the coms, hardly surprised.

Jason had called him 'Detective', and he'd slept with few women whose children would ever do so.

He had a son. His name was Jason. And he wanted to kill him for what had been done to him. That much, Bruce could remember. He kicked himself for not having noticed it earlier, on that face he'd been seeing in Wayne Enterprises for some time now.

And perhaps he was right; there was a fault to not having made sure that his brief affair with Talia hadn't gone anywhere. It had been sudden, on a boat outside Cairo, before he ever knew who Ra's was, or that he'd ever be Batman. It'd been the only time, and he'd never placed her face before, never realized who it had been until this moment.

Why didn't she tell him? Why hadn't he recognized her?

The wind cut at him, despite the heavy weave of the cape, and he drew it around him closer on his perch.

He missed Wally.

Before, it'd been this sharp gouging pain, but now, truly, it was that feeling, of absence.

He smiled, to know that in a clean, bright city far west, Wally would be smiling. Because that's what he did.

And for now, that was enough.


The End (for now)