Steampunk Part V

[icarus_chained]

Enjoy!

Title: The Wind At Midnight
Rating: PG-13 overall, I think.
Characters/Pairings: Will be Bruce/Clark. Bruce, Clark, Lois, Barbara, Jimmy this chapter.
Summary: Almost a quarter of a century ago, the cities of Earth were torn from the earth by some mystic upheaval and set flying, before threatening to fall back. To prevent the incredible loss of life if they fell, structures known as Ramparts were rapidly constructed, containing the material apparently most susceptible to the new mystical gravities of earth: silver. A new world order was built, as the deserts created on the surface during the Upheaval denied cultivation, based on Cities and flightpaths and park-grown food, a world in tentative political and physical balance. And now that balance is threatened.
Chapter summary: Clark finds out why he feels so light in the air, Bruce meets Lois, and Clark gets introduced to the Spider.
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine. Conceit inspired by James Blish's 'Cities in Flight'. Rest is mine.

The Wind At Midnight

Part V

 

 

Clark stared up at the Nightlord's strained features, and shook his head with a wry smile. "What now?" he answered softly. "Now, my Lord, you let go, before you start to follow me."

Bruce shook his head adamantly. "Not happening!" he growled, his fingers taut around Clark's wrist as he struggled to pull him upwards. But the Nightlord wasn't in the best of conditions, and Clark was not exactly a small man. There was no way Bruce was going to be able to lift him, or even hold him for very long.

"Either I fall or we both do," Clark noted softly, reasonably enough. Bruce snarled at him.

"I'm already aware you're a brave man, Commander," he growled. "So stop trying to prove it, and start trying to get out of this alive!"

Clark looked up at him, at the stubborn cast of straining features, and had to smile. "If you insist, my Lord," he murmured. "Any ideas?" Bruce frowned, and Clark stared in fascination as his blue eyes went distant with calculation. For a moment, despite the perilous knowledge of exactly how far he had to fall that was the blessing and curse of every flyer, he simply had to appreciate the aura of capability about the man. It was almost enough to make him hope.

"As a matter of fact ..." Bruce said slowly, and his eyes focused with an odd intensity on Clark's face. "I think I do. I think, Commander, that instead of either of us going down ... you should come up."

Clark blinked. "Ah, not exactly a new idea, my Lord?" he asked, and Bruce huffed.

"Listen to me! This is hardly a joke!" And when Clark nodded, he went on. "Earlier, when we climbed down from the balcony. You got lighter as we hit the air, remember?"

"I did?" Clark frowned, and above him Bruce rolled his eyes.

"You did. And I'll bet you always feel lighter in the air, don't you? You've always been able to move through the air in ways other people haven't, as if you never really needed the handsail or the boat at all, right?" His eyes glittered oddly as he watched Clark's face, as he watched the affirmation in his eyes. "I don't think you ever did need them, Clark," he finished softly. "It's time for you to come up, Commander. It's time for you to feel lighter again."

Clark looked up at him, at the eyes that gleamed with absolute certainty and confidence in a face snarled by strain, and even if he had no real idea what the other man was talking about, if he believed it so strongly it had to be worth a try. So he closed his eyes, feeling the air around him, and tried to imagine he was flying instead of in very real danger of falling. He tried to remember the feeling of lightness that caught him every time his hands touched a sail, the feeling of power that accompanied every swoop and rise as he flew. He remembered how the rush of wind excited him, how the sun always felt warmer on his face in the air. He remembered why flying had always calmed him, made him feel freer, faster, more powerful. More joyful. He remembered flying ...

"Clark? I think you can stop now," came Bruce's voice, warm and slightly awed. And beneath him.

His eyes flaring open, Clark looked around wildly, to find himself hovering gently in the air over the rooftop, the Nightlord's fierce grip no longer holding Clark over the edge but holding himself three inches off the rooftop, his eyes fixed on Clark's face with a broad and triumphant smile on his own. As Clark met his awed gaze with a panicked one of his own, Bruce started laughing, a rich crow of victory and pride. Even as the shock ripped the sensation of flight from Clark, and Bruce's heels hit the roof with a thud while he swung Clark in to land in a heap at his feet, that fierce elation never left his battered features. As Clark lay there dazed and watched, the Nightlord sank down beside him, one arm guarding an injured chest, and held out a hand for Clark to shake. Bemused, Clark took it.

"Nicely done, Commander!" Bruce wheezed in delight. "Nicely done!"

"What ... What happened?" Clark demanded, confused and not a little frightened. "What did you do?" Bruce raised an eyebrow at that, still grinning.

"I? I did nothing, Commander! It was all you, I'm afraid. Congratulations!"

But Clark scrambled back from him, shaking his head in adamant denial, and suddenly every tale he'd heard about this man, and about the City he'd piloted back from Hell, all of them leapt to the front of his mind. Because who else but a demon could manage what he'd just done? "What did you do!" he yelled, and all traces of humour fled from the Nightlord's eyes as he registered Clark's very real fear.

"Clark?" Bruce asked softly, his features becoming concerned. "What's wrong?" Clark shook his head.

"What did you do to me?" he whispered. "I'm not a demon. I'm not a monster."

"Clark, what are you talking about?" Bruce pressed, and there was a snap of urgency in his voice.

Suddenly, Clark was furious. He surged to his feet and took the two steps needed to loom dangerously over the other man before he'd even registered that he was moving at all, his hands clenching themselves into fists. Bruce looked up at him sharply, that one arm jerking instinctively higher to guard his wounded chest, but for once the wounds and bruises didn't deter Clark. Against the fear that squalled in his breast, nothing could have.

"Humans can't fly!" he spat, and watched as comprehension dawned in those intelligent eyes. "What. Did. You. DO!"

Clark wasn't prepared for what happened then. Bruce did not get angry, or try to give him a comforting lie, or even try to calm him. Instead, those blue eyes clouded with pity, and the Nightlord looked away as if terribly saddened. "I'm sorry, Clark," he said quietly, and looked up to meet Clark's confused gaze sadly. "It's been so much a part of my life, that I forget how much you people don't know. I didn't think how it would affect you if I was right. I'm sorry. I should have warned you."

Clark's anger leeched away, and he sank back down to sit beside the other man with a sigh. "Warned me of what?" he asked tiredly. "That you thought I might be a demon?"

"I thought no such thing!" the Nightlord cut in angrily, though he flinched a little when Clark's shoulders tightened. "And neither should you!" His voice softened. "Clark ... I have seen things, these past twenty years, that people here are still afraid to consider. I've grown to know people with abilities, like yours, and those abilities do not make them monsters. Look at Arthur! Do you think him a monster, just because the sea has made him strong enough to rule her?"

"I do not live underwater," Clark said quietly. "And I do not want to know where you have been, Nightlord. It's not a thought that makes me feel any better."

Bruce looked at him in confusion for a moment, before understanding filled those blue eyes, and he looked away with a bitter smile. "Ah. I see. You are one of those who hold the opinion that I have taken my City to Hell and back, yes? And this would be where I get my knowledge of demons, of course. I am sorry. I should have realised this immediately, and not wasted either of our times trying to explain!"

"Stop it! Clark said sharply, cutting through the venemous tirade. "No-one knows where you've been, Lord Wayne. If we presumed Gotham sank to Hell in the Upheaval, what of it! Where else was she supposed to have gone?"

Bruce turned to stare at him for a minute, his gaze suddenly sharp and heavy with meaning. He looked at Clark as if searching for something inside him, as if weighing every act that had come before and would come after. Clark stared back, determined and incomprehending. He didn't know what Wayne was, what he wanted or what they were going to do now. But he did know he wasn't going to be intimidated by the man.

Suddenly, Wayne nodded to himself, and without looking at Clark, pulled himself labouriously to his feet. Clark sprang up after him, hands reaching out instinctively to steady him and then stopping, an inch from his shoulder. Bruce smiled sadly, and turned to walk to the roof edge. The same edge Clark had almost plummited to his death over minutes before, and where this same man had risked his life to catch him. Clark stared after him, heart heavy.

"Gotham did not go to Hell, Commander," Wayne said at last, looking out over Clark's City as if, for a moment, he saw his own. "She went somewhere else altogether. I ... I cannot tell you now. Not so close to Luthor. But I will. When the time is right, I will. You deserve to know." He turned back to Clark, as serious as the Commander had ever seen him. "For now, just believe me when I tell you that the ability to fly by no means makes you a demon. What you have is a gift, an ability, nothing more, and what counts with abilities is what you use them for, not what they are. You don't feel any more urge to do evil than you did before, do you?"

Clark blinked, then looked down in sudden shame. "You mean, besides wanting to hit you just now?" he asked, and was oddly reassured that the bruises that shifted with the man's small grin were once again the deterant to violence that they should have been all along.

"That, I think we can forgive," Bruce noted wryly, then drew himself up with weary pride. "Trust me, Commander. As much as I have had to trust you, trust me now!"

And put like that, how could Clark refuse. Dipping his head, he spread his hands in a helpless shrug, and nodded. "I do trust you," he said softly, and tried a small smile. "Though I've no idea why."

"Good." Bruce's shoulders slumped in relief. "That makes two of us. Now, Commander, can you please tell me where to point that handsail, before someone thinks to check why our friend just took a header off the Palace roof?" Clark started abruptly, and looked hastily towards the door Corben had locked. No sound came through it, and Bruce smiled gently at him. "You're not really used to all this sneaking around in your own city, are you?" he noted, and Clark flushed.

"Not really, no," he said shortly, and retrieved the sail. "I've a better idea, though. How about I fly, and you just ..."

"Hold on tight?" Bruce grinned, then sobered. "You know, it'll fly slower with two ..."

"Not when I'm flying," Clark said quickly, and his expression clearly stated that he was not going to even think about the other option. He didn't want to think about the fact that there was another option at all! Bruce looked at him for a minute, and nodded slowly.

"Alright," he said softly. "Alright."

And with some relief, Clark felt the man settle behind him with odd ease, and set the sail on a roundabout course to the closest thing to normalcy he could think of. The great globe of the Planet Center, and the one woman he trusted to be able to set things right.

He just hoped Lois was in the mood for uninvited guests.

---

 

He knew every dodge and side route in the air over Metropolis, having played the training version of hide-and-seek with his boys too many times to count, and even with the unaccustomed weight of Bruce on the back of the board he was still the fastest thing in the skies. They made it undetected to the shelter of the Planet, and Lois was obviously expecting them, because Jimmy was waiting on the roof to show them in. Clark handed the sail to him with a sigh of relief, and smiled as the younger man tried unsuccessfully to hide his awe at Bruce's presence. He even offered the bow due a City Lord before he left them, which a surprised and somewhat amused Bruce returned in equal depth, to Jimmy's obvious delight.

They stepped through the roof entrance, and into the lair proper. Not that Lois would ever call it such a thing, but in his mind Clark always thought of the Planet as 'her lair'. He very carefully never mentioned this to her, mind. But between her and Perry's influence, it was obvious that this was a shrine to the art of data-sharing, with radioGlasses on every corridor junction and the air of expectancy as information ran through the warren of data-sorting beneath them. It was a fascinating place, one where Clark had always felt at home, but they weren't headed into that labyrinth now. They were heading for the penultimate level, the nerve center, through which all the information channelled through the great refraction Glass of the globe above was passed.

They were headed for the home of Lois Lane, Dataqueen of Metropolis.

Who had quite obviously been waiting for them, because they had hardly thought about knocking on her door when her voice came through the small Glass beside it. "Come in, Clark. The door's open. And welcome to Metropolis, Lord Wayne." The two men looked at each other in bemusement, before Clark gestured as if to say 'after you', and with a wry shake of his head Bruce stepped through.

She was in her usual spot, pacing before her Glass wall, her hands darting through the warm golden light of the room to touch levers and switches on the databoard that curved around the room just out from the Glasses themselves. And what Glasses! Clark was always vaguely awed by the range of them, large and small, information refracted through the multiple facets of the globe above from points all over Metropolis and the world just outside. Every time the City moved into a new zone, the Glasses tied to the exterior changed. Currently, it looked like they were passing Singapore, the Asian City moving in the opposite direction, curling in her usual daylight route over the Western Pacific. Clark blinked to realise how far they'd moved, how far they were from Gotham and the confrontation that still echoed in his mind.

Bruce, on the other hand, hardly seemed fazed at all. He moved directly to the databoard, though he took care not to touch it, and waited patiently for Lois to turn to him. Clark nearly winced, because the last time he'd tried that when Lois was busy with something, she'd driven a pointed elbow into his ribs, which had rather gotten her message across even if it hadn't really hurt. Lois did not usually like to be interupted.

However, since she turned to face him almost immediately, it seemed she might make an exception for the Lord of Gotham.

"Lord Wayne," she opened briskly, and held out one hand for him to shake, not bothering to even attempt a bow. Bruce took it with a small smile, and nodded.

"Ms Lane," he murmured. "I've heard great things about you." She raised an eyebrow.

"And I've been hearing terrible things about you," she shot back, and then tipped her head to indicate a chair behind her. It was the one she used when she was feeling tired, a wheeled thing that allowed her almost as good an access to her board as her typical pacing did. "Why don't you sit down before you fall down, and start telling me how to plan to get yourself and both our Cities out of this mess you've made? And Clark, will you please come over where I don't have to crane my neck to talk to you!"

Bemused, Bruce looked briefly to Clark, who was grinning from ear to ear, and did as she said. Clark moved over to stand beside him, and met the sudden piercing stare Lois sent him with an amiable shrug. If Bruce was planning to go toe to toe with her in his condition, he was going to need all the help he could get. Lois frowned at him for a minute, with an appraising look in her eyes that he'd never seen before, before turning back to Bruce.

"So," she started. "You managed to convince flyboy here to help you escape the Palace. Nicely done, I suppose, considering the risks involved." Bruce flinched a little. "What were you planning on for the encore?"

"Ms Lane," Bruce began, one hand coming up instinctively to worry at his temple, before it encountered the lump just under his hairline and he jerked it away in annoyance. "In the first place, I would say this mess is more Luthor's fault than mine. And secondly, I did not persuade him to help. I persuaded him to get me a cloak, and did my best to get rid of him thereafter! No offense, Clark."

"None taken," Clark said, then grinned. "After all, you did see sense and stop trying to prove how brave you are in favour of getting out alive, didn't you?" Bruce sent him a very unfriendly look at that, and Lois blinked in confusion at the pair of them.

"Well," she continued, after a short interlude during which he glared at both of them. "All I will say to the first is that if you didn't expect Luthor to play dirty, you're an idiot."

"Oh, I expected him to play dirty, all right," Bruce cut in. "I just expected him to play a smarter kind of dirty, rather than set his City on a collision course with both Gotham, and in all probability Atlantis as well. I don't expect Arthur was best pleased with his little stunt on the Tower."

"No," Clark murmured, and both Bruce and Lois shot searching glances his way. Raising his hands in instinctive defense, he tried to explain. "When I went to the Tower for the cloak, he sort of told me to tell Luthor that if Bruce died as a result of this, then there was nowhere on the planet he could hide from the power of Atlantis. That's what I meant when I told you that to protect Metropolis, I had to protect you, Bruce. The King of the Seas is, ah, a little pissed off with her at the minute."

Bruce nodded with a frown, as Lois instinctively moved to her board to do a sweep of her information, adding this in through one of the smaller Glasses on the board itself. "I thought something like that might be it," Gotham's Lord mused. "I never thought Luthor would risk so much. I underestimated how much he wants my City, and the secrets she holds."

"Though I can't blame him for that one," Lois commented, still scouring her dataset. "There's a few things about your City I'd like to know myself. Such as how the Spider has access to my refraction net even from the Nightside, when no terrestrial net has that kind of reach?" She turned to face Bruce, an interrogative cast to her features. The Nightlord shook his head.

"If Barbara didn't tell you, I'm certainly not going to," he answered, his own features set and determined. "But while we're on the subject ..."

Lois studied him, as if measuring the will set against her, and after a moment conceded the battle. Aside from anything else, his face bore adequate testimony to his ability to keep secrets from the most ardent of questioners. It was time to try a different tack. "All right," she muttered at last. "I'll see if I can reach her." She turned to her board, moving along it to one of the smaller internal Glasses, one focused on information from the Palace district, muttering to herself. "Let's see. She usually has a mirror around here, especially with recent events ..." The images on the Glass shifted, reflecting multiple views of the Palace. Clark noted that there was indeed a City Patrol hovering near the roof now, and shot Bruce a nervous glance. Bruce shrugged back.

"Ah ha!" Lois punched a switch hard in triumph, the image freezing on the top ten floors of the Palace. "Gotcha, sweetheart! See the slight refraction on the edge of the image? She's got a mirror locked on the beam somewhere, I'd bet on it!" Her fingers flew over a small keypad, and words skipped over the smaller Glass on the board, presumably feeding into the target Glass. "Now just to get her attention, get her to angle that mirror in to speak directly ... There we go!" Lois stepped back from her board in triumph, while the image on the Palace Glass changed altogether.

Clark stared as another room materialised, an warped echo of theirs. A datacenter unparalleled on the planet, quite obviously larger and more intricate than the Planet Center they currently occupied. He could see Glasses covering most of the walls, and the sights he made out covered things he wasn't sure he'd ever seen before. But by far the most impressive aspect of that room was the woman at its center.

The myths hadn't been completely accurate, he noted. The young woman Lois called the Spider and Bruce called Barbara was not limbless, nor was she nested in a clicking mass of brass arms. Instead, she occupied a large, functional chair, most of it obscured beneath the mechanical shifting of the layered databoards that moved in synchronised orbits around her, guided by the touch of clever and very human fingers. She smiled up at them, one hand coming up to adjust the lenses over her eyes and brush a wisp of red hair out of her way.

"Lois," she greeted, her smile edged with cheerful competitiveness. "You're getting worryingly good, you know that?"

"One tries," Lois grinned back, coming around the board to stand before the Glass and perching herself on the far edge of her databoard. "I still have to find out how you manage to get mirrors into my net in the first place. Which I have determined to do, I warn you!"

Barbara tipped her head back with a laugh. "All in good time, my dear! I've got to keep some kind of edge, you know. But I believe you mentioned a rather more pressing issue?"

"I should hope she did," Bruce noted wryly, coming to stand behind Lois on their side of the board. Clark, curious, moved to stand with him, and watched as a number of emotions flickered in quick succession over the woman's face, emotions including concern, anxiety, a hint of anger, and a overwhelming surge of relief. For his part, Bruce's expression softened, some of the tension Clark had barely realised was there faded from the line of his shoulders, and he gave her a slight smile. "How are you and the boys getting on, running my City alone?"

She stared at him, propping her chin in one hand to obscure a wondering smile, and her eyes beneath the lenses shone with relief and honest happiness. It made Clark realise, just for a moment, how indescribably beautiful she was. He had always noticed that, that people who cared always looked more beautiful when they let it show. As both Barbara and Bruce did now. There had been an instant leap of connection between them, the recognition of family, of safety, of the familiar, and it had taken the edge of ironic bitterness from the Nightlord's demeanor, had lifted his features a little beyond the masking injuries, and given him back something Clark had barely realised he was missing. A kind of completeness.

And for some reason, in that instant, Clark wished it was something he had been able to bring to the other man himself. He wished that Bruce could look at him, and find that same wholeness.

"Terribly, Bruce," Barbara murmured softly. "We've been doing terribly. When do you think you'll be home, to fix it?" He smiled wryly, and looked from her to Lois to Clark, and back again, that calculating look back in his eyes.

"Yes," he said softly. "Let's talk about that."


Part VI: http://icarus-chained.livejournal.com/29721.html