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Title: The Wind At Midnight
Rating: PG-13 overall, I think.
Characters/Pairings: Will be Bruce/Clark. Bruce, Clark, Barbara, Lois 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: Our two heros and the dataqueens plot. And flirt. Just a little, though. Business before pleasure, after all.
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine. Conceit inspired by James Blish's 'Cities in Flight'. Rest is mine.
The Wind At Midnight
Part VI
"Yes," Bruce said softly. "Let's talk about that."
"Indeed," Lois cut in, her voice sharpening. "And I hope you don't mind if Clark and I weigh in on this little discussion? Because it does appear that we have a hefty interest in how this turns out."
Bruce blinked at her, then tipped his head in wry acquiesance. "Of course, Ms Lane," he murmured, and turned back to Barbara with a frown. "After overhearing certain conversations recently, I will agree that matters have become a little more complicated, for both Cities."
The Spider's gaze sharpened as she came to attention. "In what way, Bruce?"
The Nightlord's hands clenched unconsciously into fists as he considered his answer, and his face darkened. Clark, understanding, reached out to lay a calming hand on his shoulder, and was pleased when grateful blue eyes cut up to meet his for a brief moment, before Bruce turned his attention back to the matter at hand.
"In short?" he began brusquely. "If I escape, or die, before Luthor gets control or access to control of Gotham, he intends to blow her out of the sky rather than let her escape." Barbara stiffened in her seat, expression cooling rapidly to one of calm outrage and determination. "While Arthur, on the other hand, apparently intends to avenge Atlantean honour by blowing Metropolis out of the sky, also if I die." He smiled ruefully. "My life has apparently just become the lynchpin in deciding the fates of two Cities. I'm not sure how to feel about that."
"How about very, very worried?" Lois suggested dryly, her furrowed brow announcing clearly that she was taking her own advice. "You're absolutely sure about Luthor? How?"
"He's sure," Clark confirmed heavily. "He slipped a microGlass into Luthor's appartments as we passed. We both heard him." Both Lois and Barbara pricked their ears at that.
"Which frequency?" the Spider asked, even as Lois chimed in with: "What range?" Clark blinked a bit, as Bruce smiled and pulled out the radioGlass he'd used on the Palace roof.
"Usual frequency," he murmured to Barbara, and offered Lois the reciever. "Tied to this Glass. Should still reach it, but the range is very low. You'd be better using one of your own devices."
"What makes you think I have them?" Lois asked coyly, taking the proffered Glass. Bruce merely looked at her. "But you're right. And I'm sure if I activate them, the Spider here will pick them up too, and not bother trying to track this one?"
"Would I do that to you?" Barbara smiled.
"In a heartbeat, darling," Lois purred, her fingers already moving over her board. "I've learned to accept the fact, and not let it spoil our working relationship."
"Ever gracious, my dear. Thank you."
"If you two are done flirting?" Bruce cut in, in tones drier than any desert. Both women sent him such withering looks that Clark was tempted to duck away out of the line of fire, and then Lois curled her fingers onto her hip to send him his own look.
"Look who's talking," she said pointedly, and Clark looked at Bruce in bemusment. Bruce looked back, and shrugged as if to say, women, what are you going to do?
"As I was saying," the Nightlord went on, effectively flattening that avenue of conversation. "If we could get back to the issue of my death equalling the destruction of two Cities, and work from there? I'd like to have a plan of action before Luthor starts getting bored and trigger-happy."
"Obviously, our first priority has to be keeping you alive," Clark said, slowly, his hand tightening instinctively on Bruce's shoulder. "If you die, everyone pays."
Lois and Barbara nodded, even if Bruce himself looked dubious. "And Metropolis is not the best place to manage that one," her Dataqueen noted softly. "We need to get him out of the City, flyboy, and before we come back in range of the Atlantis Tower." Clark nodded rapidly.
"If I can get him to the boat hangar, I can manage that one," he started, when Bruce raised one hand imperiously.
"Wait!" he barked. "Before we go any farther. There's more than one City at stake here, remember?"
"What does that mean?" Lois asked sharply, and it was Barbara who answered her, in calm, reasonable tones.
"It means that even if Bruce's escape guarantees Metropolis' safety, Gotham might still be at risk. If Luthor sees that he's lost him, with no chance of getting him back, it may push him into doing something rash."
"Like trying to blow Gotham out of the sky," Bruce finished harshly. "And with Arthur in the mood he is, I'm guessing that won't turn out to be very healthy for Metropolis, either." Lois and Clark looked at each other, and nodded in dismay. "Even Dick's little game to shake his confidence in my importance might backfire if we push him too far. And actually, while we're on the subject, Barbara, if you could tell him how pleased I am to have such a loyal, dutiful son?"
"You heard that, huh?" she murmured, a glimmer of a smile returning to her grave features. "I think he knows, Bruce."
The Nightlord nodded, his own features lightening briefly too. Then he was back to business, turning slightly so he could look at Clark. "So we have two goals," he said quietly, and his expression turned sad. "And I'm afraid one of them, Clark, requires you to be far more traitorous than I think you can manage."
Clark looked back at him, and swallowed. "We have to get rid of Luthor, don't we?" he said, and it wasn't really the question he tried to pretend it was. To stop war erupting between the three Cities involved, the Lord of his City, his Metropolis, was going to have to be stopped, and Clark was going to have to help do it. And in doing so, he was going to have to betray everything he had ever been taught to accept as right. Bruce met his gaze steadily, and there was sorrow in his eyes, for forcing Clark to this. And despite everything, that sorrow lifted Clark's heart, to see that much caring, for him, in the eyes of this man.
"No," came a slow, considering voice, and all of them turned to stare at Lois in surprise. The dataqueen tapped her fingers lightly on the board, her eyes watching the two of them with an odd expression, and determination settled over her features. "No, we don't. Or rather, you don't, Clark."
"Explain," Bruce demanded, his gaze zeroing in on her face. Lois shrugged it off easily, one hand coming up to tap lightly at her chin, the way it did when a plan had begun to resolve itself in her quick and rather devious mind. Clark knew the mannerism well, having seen it more than once, and always on memorable occasions.
"Luthor has to go, we're all agreed?" she said finally, not bothering to count the nods. "He's risked too much, damaged too much, and put too many lives in danger. It's not the act of traitor to be rid of him, not when Metropolis' continued existance depends on it. But that's not going to matter to any of you, I'm afraid. Because that, my friends, is going to be my concern."
Clark stared at her, stunned and a little dismayed. "Lois," he started, and she cut him off with a smile, seeing the concern for her safety in his eyes. He supposed it wasn't really hidden. "Are you sure you can?" he finished finally, and tried not to wince at the arch look he got in reply.
"Clark, dear, if I can regulate air traffic over Metropolis when your boys are in the air, I think I can be trusted to organise a revolution," She smiled gently at him. "Besides, you never were all that interested in politics, were you? No. You leave that part to me. You've got your own job to do."
"Namely?" Bruce cut in, still sharp, but his eyes had warmed considerably towards her. Lois perched one hip on her databoard, and curved her lips into a confident smirk.
"Namely, Nightlord, to get your aristocratic ass out of my City, and back where you came from."
Clark spluttered, and tried not to laugh as Bruce raised both eyebrows in a mix of affront and grudging amusement. Behind Lois, Barbara wasn't nearly so restrained. "Well, that's telling you, my Lord," she murmured, eyes twinkling merrily beneath their veiling lenses.
"Yes, thank you," Bruce drawled. And then the humour in his eyes receded a little, and they focused on some distant thing in calculation. "Can anyone tell me where we are?"
Lois blinked, then turned towards one of the external Glasses. "Cruising the 1pm line, over the West Pacific. Roughly over the Japanese sinkhole, by the looks of things." He nodded.
"And Gotham?"
Barbara took that one. "Stationary over the West Atlantic. Paris just passed us to the south, riding 11pm west towards Mexico."
"Eleven hours?" the Nightlord mused, blinking in surprise. "Has it been that long? But never mind. So. East, we have ten hours back to Gotham, flying into the night. And west, fourteen, and we'd have to outpace Metropolis herself. How fast can you do the run, Clark? Assuming, of course, that you agree to do it at all."
Clark blinked, then smiled softly, and stroked his thumb gently over the back of Bruce's shoulder. "I told you I'd promised to see you safe, didn't I?" he murmured, and smiled deeper as something in the Nightlord's gaze went warm and liquid, before Bruce hurriedly hid it. "Give me the right boat, and I can take you anywhere on the planet in under six hours, my Lord."
"Give him any boat and he'll do it," Lois muttered. "I really don't understand why men insist on having better toys, when the basics do the job just as well."
"Says the controller of the best datacenter outside of Gotham herself," Barbara commented innocently behind her. Lois huffed loudly, and both Clark and Bruce hurriedly assumed equally straight and innocent expressions. It didn't fool her in the slightest.
"Better equipment allows for more security, and a more comfortable cushion for planning," Bruce cut in repressively, deadpan. "The more we can rely on the boat as well as Clark's skills, the tighter we can cut the timing, and the more risks and unexpected elements we can cope with."
Clark, ignoring the hint of knowing in his voice, still trying to forget that he apparently had more skills in the air than he'd thought he had, zeroed in on one particular statement. "Why might we need to cut the timing?"
Bruce looked up at him, and then turned his head slowly towards Lois, a hint of steel glimmering in his eyes. "Because," he said slowly, watching her. Clark followed his gaze. "I think there is more to Ms Lane's plan than she's told us, no? So far, so straight-forward, and I get the impression you're rather more devious than that."
"Why, thank you," Lois murmured, meeting his eyes coolly, her smirk still confidently in place. "And you're correct, of course. I get the impression you often are. You and Clark will have more to do than just cruise home, I'm afraid. I can't get things in motion in time here, unless ..."
"Unless you have a distraction," Clark exclaimed, catching on. Lois smiled sharply at him.
"Got it in one, flyboy. Time it right, make it flashy enough, and Luthor might send enough of his guys out to reclaim their missing captive to make my job easier. We don't have too many options, or I wouldn't suggest it, but ..."
"But more than our lives are at stake," Bruce finished wearily. Clark frowned down at him in concern, remembering suddenly how injured the man was. Bruce caught his gaze, and blinked, his shoulders instinctively straightening and the tiredness vanishing miraculously from his eyes. But it was too late. Clark had seen it, and he wondered suddenly exactly how much of it Bruce had been hiding. Exactly how hurt and tired was the Nightlord, and how had Clark managed to forget that he was at all? It was the air of capability, that's what it was, the impression the man instinctively gave that he was capable of anything you might ask of him. It was an incredible disguise, but that was no excuse! No excuse for Clark to ignore how vulnerable he was.
"Bruce?" he started softly, and the Nightlord shifted warily. "Are you sure you're up to this?"
Bruce stiffened, his brows drawing down into a rigid frown. "Of course!" he snapped, looking away quickly from Clark's knowing gaze. "I'm fine, Commander. So if we could get back to business ...?"
"How hurt is he?" Barbara cut in suddenly, and Clark looked up at the screen in surprise. The Spider was watching her Lord in blatant concern, her sharp eyes scrutinising him from head to toe. "You didn't mention it was more than just some roughing up!"
"It's not bad," Bruce growled back, and Clark frowned.
"What about that chest wound?" he asked, and Barbara swung to stare at him incredulously.
"Chest wound?" she barked. "As in ribs? Lungs? What, exactly, are we talking here, Bruce?"
"It's nothing!" the Nightlord growled, defensively. "I'm not incapacitated. I just caught some debris on the way down after the boat exploded. Heavy bruising, mostly, but a rib's upset, and there were some minor lacerations. It's nothing I can't work around, and the doctors here took care of most of it." Clark flinched, and stared at him in awe and a bit of anger.
"You didn't think to tell me this earlier?" he asked, quietly. Bruce turned to snarl up at him, and paused in surprise at the expression on his face. It must have been a little shock, alright. Clark didn't particularly care. "When you took that hit from Corben, and then my weight on the ledge ... you didn't think that telling me your chest was that badly hurt might be a good idea?" he went on, and to his own surprise, found his fists were clenched. Bruce blinked at him in shock.
"Well," he began, warily. "We did, ah, have another issue to sort out first, if you remember?" Clark flinched again, and growled angrily.
"This is more important!" he hissed. "You should have told me! You should have said it, instead of letting me ... instead of ..." He stopped, whitening, and stared down at his fists in shame. He remembered the feeling of wanting to hit Bruce, after the man had allowed himself to be hurt further on his behalf, just because he'd been frightened of something that had saved his life. Just because ...
"No," Bruce said softly, and reached out to lay one hand over Clark's shaking fist. "It wasn't more important. And you were hardly to blame, Clark." He sighed heavily. "I have so much I have to explain to you, so much I owe you ..." Clark started to shake his head, but Bruce tightened his grip on his hand to stop him. "I do, Clark. And I will repay you, I promise. After we finish this."
Clark blinked, and almost growled again, despite the warmth that seemed to be growing in his own chest. "You're hurt," he said again, pointedly. Bruce smiled, and shrugged.
"But not dead. And that's the most important point, isn't it?" He shook his head at Clark's glare, and looked up at all of them. Clark blinked, remembering all at once that the two women were still there, but he never looked away from those tired blue eyes, even as purpose hardened in them. "With two Cities in the balance if I die, believe me, Clark, I've no intention of allowing myself to be killed. And Ms Lane's plan sounds good enough for the job."
"It can be adjusted," Lois commented softly. "I can help you get into the boat hangar undetected, and you wouldn't have to make any flashy moves until after you're in the boat, where ..."
"Where I can take over," Clark said, firmly. Bruce stared hard at him, but Clark wasn't about to relent and after a moment, the Nightlord let himself slump a little, which Clark was rapidly recognising as a sign of accquiesance and trust. He would have been gratified by it, if it didn't worry him so much. Then he turned to Lois. "But there is one slight problem," he admitted, ruefully. "If we're already in the boat when we're seen, we'll be outside MCDF juristiction. He'll be sending my own boys after me. I trained them well, Lois."
She shook her head with a smile. "I'm sure you did, Clark. But it won't matter. Luthor's too paranoid to send men after their own commander. He'll fully expect them to join you rather than take you. He'll have his own forces to go after you. I'm full sure he has his own private boats secluded through the Rampart. I've had my eye on a couple of places for a while."
"Very probably," Bruce commented. "But Luthor is not acting predictably. I never expected him to go as far as he did on the Tower, remember, and look where that got me. Something's pushing Luthor to act fast on Gotham, and I've yet to figure out what. Until I do, Luthor is a rogue element, and highly unpredictable. He might send the MADF."
"It's not that much of a worry," Clark said quickly. "I'm still the fastest thing in the sky. I'll get you through, Bruce." It wasn't boasting. It was just that he was the fastest thing in the sky, or the fastest he'd ever encountered, anyway. And there was apparently a reason for that, too, which Clark really was going to have to let himself think about some time soon. He knew that. But there were bigger concerns first. "It's just ... I don't like the thought of having to fight my own, you know?" Bruce smiled sadly at him.
"Will it be alright, if we do some of the fighting for you?" Barbara asked, and both men looked up to see her databoards moving around her as her fingers darted over them. "I can arrange to have Tim take his fleet out for you, after leaving enough time for Gotham to conceivably have heard the news. If you can make it that far?"
Lois frowned, her own fingers tapping. "Might be wise. But leave that a minute. First, we need to figure out when you're going."
Bruce blinked at her. "As soon as possible, I presume," he said, dryly. Lois shook her head, and eyed both him and Clark for a second. Clark raised an eyebrow in question.
"Lois?" he asked, carefully. She started, as if she'd been deep in thought.
"Right!" She shook herself. "No. You can't leave right away. I'll need an hour or so to lay the groundwork, get things moving before you make your grand exit."
Bruce frowned. "The longer we leave it, the closer Metropolis moves back around towards Gotham and the Tower."
Lois shook her head. "Can't be helped. I need the time. And so, my Lord, do you." She stared at him pointedly, and Bruce had to tighten his jaw, but he didn't disagree. Which was probably a good idea, if Clark had any say in the matter. "I was thinking if we left it for about two hours or so," she went on. "Metropolis is steady at 1pm, and it'll take her the fourteen to come around. Well, thirteen to come in range, maybe. Even going back east, if you leave in two to three hours, you should make it with plenty of time to spare. A ten hour cushion should do, right Clark?"
Clark shrugged. "I said six hours would be all I needed, and I meant it. Even if we have to manouver along the way, I can get us there in under eight, so it's plenty. But why east? That'll be the long way around by then."
"But logical," Bruce noted. "I am the Nightlord, after all. Heading back through the night would be exactly what I'd be expected to do, and we don't want to alarm Luthor too much before the time is right. It'll mean we'd need a full boat, with engines, rather than just a lightsailer. Can you ...?"
"Not a problem," Lois announced. And then turned that strange, appraising stare back on the two of them. "Alright," she said softly. "I'll have everything ready by then. So ... Clark, I think you should show Lord Wayne to his bed now, don't you?"
Clark spluttered, as a wicked grin made itself known on her sharp little features. "What!?"
"Indeed!" Bruce echoed beside him. Lois just grinned.
"Well, you quite obviously need the rest, my Lord," she murmured, faintly laughing. "And Clark knows where the crashroom is. I was simply suggesting that he escort you there, that's all. Why? Something wrong with the idea?"
"Not at all," Clark muttered quickly, trying to stem his sudden blush, and glaring as she smirked at him. Bruce looked up at him in wary confusion, and Clark shrugged uncomfortably, his face burning. "No. I'll ... Right. Ah. Lord Wayne?"
Bruce blinked at him, then, slowly, a smile curled its way over his face, and he stood. Clark hurriedly put out a hand to steady him, wrapping it carefully around his elbow, and was pleasantly surprised when Bruce didn't glare at him for it. Bruce made it to his feet, and stood for a small second just looking at him, his eyes sparkling with humour and something deeper that Clark couldn't name. Something that warmed him, right down to his toes. "What happened to calling me Bruce, Commander?" the Nightlord murmured gently, and smiled at Clark's blush.
"Ah, automatic reaction?" he asked, and ducked his head. Bruce laughed lightly.
"I see. Well then, lead on, Commander mine! Lead on!" He bowed just a touch, an oddly playful gesture, and motioned for Clark to take the lead. Which Clark did, glaring steadily as Lois snickered, and Barbara watched them with her chin cupped in her hand and her eyes smiling gently down at them. "In two hours, ladies," Bruce nodded, a brief return to seriousness.
"Three hours," Barbara agreed, moving her hand to nod. Lois tipped them a salute, and then shooed them away. She had turned back to her board before they'd even stepped outside the door.
In the corridor, Clark paused, and just looked at the Nightlord for a long minute. Just thinking. Eleven hours, he had said. Eleven hours since the Tower, and their first sight of each other. Just half a day, and this injured, tired man at his side had changed his life and his world in more ways than he could currently count. It was ... amazing. And more than a little frightening.
Bruce tilted his head, his eyes querying, and Clark shook his head. "This way," he said softly, angling down the corridor. Bruce nodded, smiling oddly, and motioned silently that he'd follow. Shrugging, Clark started down the hall, trying to ignore the comfortable itch that defined the man's presence as he fell in behind him. He had a feeling he was starting to get far too used to that presence.
Odd, then, that it didn't worry him half as much as it should.
Part VII: http://icarus-chained.livejournal.com/31862.html#cutid1
