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Very long one, this time, because I included the Epilogue. And that means that as a whole, this thing weighs in at 54, 927 words. *happy burbling* Anyway!
Title: The Wind At Midnight
Rating: PG-13 overall, I think.
Characters/Pairings: Bruce/Clark. Lois/Barbara. Bruce, Clark, Dick, Lois, Arthur, Barbara 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: Endings and new beginnings.
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine. Conceit inspired by James Blish's 'Cities in Flight'. Rest is mine.
The Wind At Midnight
Part XIV
Clark watched in the silence as Bruce stepped up onto the base of the repaired Eastern piston, facing the crowd of Dome Engineers, Rampart workers, and the remains of Tim's flyers. The rest of his City was watching via the Glasses, courtesy of a gadget or sixteen from Barbara. The Lord of Gotham stood there for a long, silent minute, his face calm and stern, his eyes shining with tears Clark wondered how many people could see.
He did. He saw them. All his focus was on the man, his Lord, his Bruce. He saw the tears. He saw the way the shoulders were stiff and tense beneath the rich black drape of the cloak of his dress uniform. He was quite a sight, the Lord of Gotham. So different from the battered, exhausted man who had fled through an enemy City at Clark's side. No aged bandages wrapped around the chest in lieu of a shirt, only the deep black of his military coat, the shine of silver braiding. And no blue cloak, heirloom catches, only a sweep of black velvet that glinted gently at the edges where silver thread had been woven into it. No. This was the Nightlord in all his tired glory, standing for his people.
But it was still Bruce, to Clark. He was still that man, for all that he didn't look it. It was there, in the sad humour of the eyes, the glinting passion. It was there in the way Bruce's eyes lingered on him, for the smallest of moments, before he turned back to his people, for this, the last goodbye.
It was a funeral. For all they had lost.
"Gotham," Bruce said, quiet and carrying, Barbara's Glasses catching his voice to carry it out across the City. "My City." He paused, swallowing, his throat heavy with words, and Clark ached to fly to him, to stand beside him and help him do this. But Bruce was the Lord of Gotham. He had been so for a long time, through so many of her struggles. He would stand for her again.
"Here we are again," the Nightlord went on, softly, maybe a little sadly, but there was a smile there, in the corner of his mouth. "Right back where we started, floating damaged over a world that decided to kick us out." He smiled a little, half bitter and half joking. "I feel so rejected." A low murmur went up, laughter and grumbles spreading in rings out from him, and Clark watched the humour in tired, worn faces. So used to fighting, these people.
"But this time, it's different," Bruce continued, when they'd settled back down. "This time, it meant something. This time, my people, my friends ... this time, we accomplished something." His eyes went back to Clark's, warm and vivid, and Clark stared mutely back. "This time," Bruce said softly, "we changed the world. Gotham showed them what was possible. She showed them the way forward. And our people, our friends and loved ones, those who died ... They died for that. More than just to save our City. More than just to protect us. What they did had meaning. And it always will. It always will ..."
He trailed off, bowing his head, his grief and pride so obvious and so powerful that it was echoed all through the City, all through the crowd, and Clark felt those same emotions settle in his own chest, wrap themselves gently around his aching heart. Not for nothing. Despite it all, you did not die for nothing. Oh, Bruce ...
The Nightlord turned, then, to the looming metal piston behind him, his eyes tracing it up into the shadows of the Ramparts, to the mechanical darkness that housed the great Dome that shielded them from the hollow stars. He reached out, laid his hand gently against the metal, and the names that were etched there. The names of the fallen. All the fallen, all who had lost their lives in Luthor's last, desperate gamble. Gothamite and Metropolite alike. Clark knew. He'd seen them, traced the letters with his fingers, the names of men he'd known, the names he saw mourned in Bruce's eyes as his Lord held tight to his shoulder. The names of the dead, etched into the rebuilt City, into the very thing that kept the rest of them alive.
"You will be remembered," the Lord of Gotham finished, quietly, echoingly. "What you died to protect will be fought for, defended, as long as I live, as long as Gotham lives. I swear it."
And around him, around Clark, the voices of the people of Gotham rose into a sad, joyful chorus as they repeated the words, as they echoed their Lord in his promise to the fallen. And Clark, tears streaming silently down his cheeks, lifted his voice with theirs. One of them in grief and pride and promise, his uniform irrelevant, his allegiance of no consequence.
What they had fought for, the lives they had died to protect, all of them, were his to defend for as long as he was able.
---
Clark stood at the window, looking out on a view he had never thought to see in his life. His reflection watched him back, a phantom against the vast wheel of stars, and the glow of a City at home with the darkness. He watched Gotham as she rotated gently, smiling at the life he could still see in her. He heard someone come in behind him, the door of the Rampart apartment opening with deceptive quiet, but there was no mistaking the sound of feet on his carpet. He tilted his head, to watch for their reflection as they entered his room, and smiled when he met Bruce's eyes over his shoulder.
"Commander mine?" Bruce said, softly, asking permission to enter. Clark shook his head with the smallest of smiles, and turned to greet him. And stopped, as he finally saw, close up, the man Bruce had become. When he'd left Bruce before, when Alfred had run him off for treatment, the man had been thin and haunted, dressed in the cloak and some very worn bandages, dirty and tired. Now ... the Lord of Gotham watched him from the doorway, his uniform as black as night, his dress-cloak a sweeping shadow from his shoulders, the only gleam of brightness the rich silver of his braiding and the trim of that velvet sweep, and the quiet shine of eyes that at last looked whole. Clark blinked in awe, shaking his head a little at the sight. He felt rather tawdry, suddenly, his dress whites feeling dusty and ill-kempt.
"My lord," he whispered, surprised to find himself hoarse, wondering at the sudden emotion that seized in his throat.
The Nightlord stepped softly into the room, moving towards Clark with that liquid gait that all his people seemed to have, his face wary and sad as he watched his Commander's eyes. Clark stared back, silent and wondering, until Bruce moved past him to stare blindly out the window. There was silence for a long moment, while Clark struggled to resist the urge to touch the man, hold him until Bruce told him what was wrong. The funeral ... but it was more than that. He could see it.
"J'onn will be here soon," Bruce said, suddenly, his voice quiet and noncommittal. Clark blinked.
"Yes?" he asked, wondering why that was important. He wanted to meet this man, certainly, this alien who knew his origins, who might know Clark's. But there was something more in what Bruce was saying, something J'onn's arrival meant that Clark didn't understand. He waited for Bruce to explain it to him.
"He'll be arriving in the Javelin, or one of them," the Nightlord continued, still not looking at Clark. "She's part of our space fleet, one of sixteen boats we have capable of space flight." Clark nodded, his professional curiosity rearing its head, and he knew his eyes were shining eagerly. But boats, flight ... always his love. "And ..." Bruce started, and paused to swallow. "And planet landings. She'll be heading to Earth for a meeting with the Sea King. Barbara arranged it."
Clark looked at him, feeling his head start to shake, feeling ... he didn't know what he was feeling. Confusion, maybe? Mostly confusion. Shock. Hurt? Maybe that too. But mostly ... confusion. He knew what that meant, knew what choices were suddenly opened to him, choices he had never expected to have again ...
"Then why?" he asked, hearing his voice crack a little. Bruce's shoulders tightened. He knew what Clark meant, but he wasn't going to answer until Clark asked. "Down there ... with Luthor ... why did you want me to leave so badly? Why did you ... Why did you want to send me away?" His hand touched that velvet cloak before he knew he had reached, a plaintive, questioning grip. Why didn't you want me? Why ...
"I had to," Bruce said, suddenly, harshly, turning his head rapidly away so he wouldn't have to see Clark's reflection. In his own, Clark could see that his eyes were tightly closed.
"Why?" he asked again, sadly, simply. He didn't understand this. But Bruce wheeled away, back into the center of the room, his face heavy and hard. He looked hunted, like the man Clark had seen flying through an enemy City. Bruce looked back up at him, and his eyes were hollow.
"I had to," he repeated. "I had to try ... I had to try to let you go. Clark ... look around you, Commander mine. Look where you are. In my City. In my hands. Up here ... I had to give you the choice down there, because up here ... Up here, Commander, no-one could stop me from keeping you." He stopped, looking at Clark, and the longing in his eyes, the conflict ... Clark ached for him. "I could keep you," Bruce finished, softly. "I might never let you go, and you could never escape. Not here. That boat ... she's going back to Earth. And I could keep you."
Clark looked at him for the longest moment, seeing the sadness in him, the pain and desire. Seeing the desperate intimacy of the man. Then, he stepped forward, stepped right up to the Lord of Gotham who stood between him and the door. He looked into Bruce's eyes, his faith shining in his face.
"Then do," he said, very, very quietly. "My Lord, keep me."
And after a second, his expression an agony of longing ... Bruce stepped aside. He bowed his head, his eyes downcast, and opened the path to the door, and the ship that waited beyond. He let Clark go. And Clark, smiling as though his heart were about to break, moved in to wrap his arms around the man and hold him close. His hand came up to stroke absently at Bruce's hair, his heart aching as he felt the man he loved shake against him.
"Such an idiot," he murmured, gently, hearing the echo of Lois in his own voice. "My Lord ... Bruce. Ask me to stay. But ask me to stay, and I will never leave your side." And, hearing some murmur Bruce couldn't hold back, he leaned back a little to look at his face, to see those fierce blue eyes shining at him. "Ask me, and I will be as happy as I have ever been," he finished, soft and sincere, his voice full and heavy with love. His smile turned fierce as he saw it echoed, but Bruce pulled back, pulled away, and moved again to the window. Clark stared after him, trying hard not to be frustrated.
"No," Bruce said, suddenly. "Commander mine, I could not ask you to abandon your City. Gotham and I ... we lost each other, recently. I could not ask that of you." Clark stepped forward, to disagree, to say something, but Bruce was continuing. "However ..." the Nightlord went on, determinedly not looking at Clark. "I thought, hoped, that you might be willing to serve Metropolis in a slightly different capacity, Commander Kent."
"What do you mean?" Clark asked, frowning, reaching out to touch Bruce's shoulder gently and turn him so he could see his face. The Nightlord looked at him with fierce, determined eyes, gleaming with delight and hope, and Clark needed to know what he meant, needed to understand what Bruce wanted so much from him. He would give it, anything he could, but he could not give what he did not understand. "Bruce?"
"Gotham fought for her place out here, did you know that?" the Nightlord answered, quietly, after a long moment. "We had no choice, of course. Fight or perish, and despite our losses, despite our despair, we were not quite ready to die. Not then. Not now. So we fought. We remade our City into something that could sail the stars, something that could stand up to whatever came for her. Gotham has made a place for herself out here, Commander mine, one that we never intended to surrender."
"I know," Clark whispered. He'd seen them. Seen the names, the readiness. He didn't know why this was so important now, but he knew that his Bruce had fought for a long time for his City. Bruce smiled gently at him.
"I know, Clark. I know you do. But there is so much you don't know. Not yet. You didn't know about the Javelins. You didn't know about J'onn. You still don't know that we have been on Earth for many years." He smiled at Clark's stunned look. "Oh, yes. Where do you think most of our people came from? We were decimated, after the Upheaval. We'd lost so many. We had to make it up somehow. So we built the ships, the fleet. And we went back to Earth. Our people have been rotating between the City and Earth, and a couple of other colonies, for nearly a decade, Commander mine." He smiled gently. "Dick was from Earth, you know. And Cassandra. We ... borrowed them. The unwanted. The lost. Those abandoned to the deserts, to the ruins of those Cities that never made it to the skies. Gotham ... she has more of a history with Earth than you, or anyone else, know. And that is going to continue."
"Why?" Clark whispered, confused, sensing ... something. Something in Bruce, some elation, some triumph. "Bruce, what are you doing? What is Gotham ... What is it you want for Earth?"
The Nightlord looked at him, his eyes dark and intense, as fierce and powerful as Clark had ever seen him. "The stars, Commander mine," he said, softly. "For everyone. For humanity. Because we don't have much time, you know. Luthor knew it, I think. Luthor knew that our time on Earth was limited, that he had to find another power, another way to live. He wanted Gotham for that, and he tried to take her. Because Earth is changing. The Cities ... they were not meant to fly. The force of them, pushing their way through the air ... they are changing the world, Commander. Changing the climate, forcing the world into shock. The deserts are spreading, the atmosphere shifting desperately around the intrusions of mankind. Even Arthur's kingdom ... the planet will be a long time recovering from the Upheaval. And humanity might not be able to survive the changes in between."
Clark stared at him, stunned, wondering. He had never thought, never known ... no wonder the Sea King disliked skytrash so. And Bruce ... "What then?" he asked. "What now? What ... what do we do?" The Nightlord smiled, sadly, joyfully.
"We go to the stars, Commander mine. We take ourselves out into the universe, and leave Earth to those who will care for her. Arthur, and those like him. Those who will see her through her rebirth, while we seek our place in the wider universe."
"How?" Clark whispered. So much, so wide ... he had never dreamed of so wide a world as the one that opened in front of him now, never thought to walk so hard and meaningful a road as Bruce asked him to. But at the same time ... he yearned for it, he realised. He always had. That hollow place in his heart, the need Metropolis had never been able to fulfil ... this was it. This was what he had sensed, waiting for him for all those years. And as much as it terrified him, he longed for it.
"Gotham has begun it," Bruce went on, seeing the change in Clark, seeing the elation. He was smiling, almost laughing, the pride Clark remembered from when he had flown for the first time, as fearful and determined then as he was now. "She's taken the first steps, made the beginnings of the path." He smiled a little. "She had very little choice. But we've made contact, out here. Touched civilisations. The Lanterns. The Gods. Others. We've made our place, found acceptance, to a degree. We've had to fight for it. We'll always have to fight for it. But it's there, and now it's time for the rest of Earth to follow us. It's time, Commander, for your people to follow ours."
"Metropolis," Clark realised, his hands beginning to shake. "You mean Metropolis."
"To start with," Bruce nodded. "Metropolis is a City of considerable renown. Luthor, whatever else he may have done, saw to that, and I've no doubt Lord Lois will continue the trend. Metropolis is a symbol for Earth in a way Gotham could never be. We've been gone too long, grown too fearsome for them to trust us. But Metropolis ... It will take time, though. Your City will need time to recover, need time to make herself again what she was before Luthor's madness. And beyond that, she will need time to learn what we have learned, to become as ready for the stars as Gotham. Metropolis has a long road ahead of her, Commander mine. If she chooses to walk it at all. I'll be taking that up with her Lord, of course. But ... in the meantime ... there was the question of your role?"
Clark shook his head, confused, awed, fear and wonder and longing and dread tangling together in his chest. The thought of it ... his City, his Metropolis, a City of the stars ... he could feel the universe unfolding around him, sense a vastness that he had never touched before, a depth of time and challenge that was greater than anything he or his City had ever faced. And maybe it was only his pride ... but he believed it could be done. He believed in Bruce, in Lois, in Gotham and Metropolis and all the desperate brilliance of humanity. It could be done. And he would do anything in his power to help.
"What do I need to do?" he asked, quietly, the depth of his emotion shaking in his voice, his heart pushing so insistently against the walls of his chest that it was a wonder he could speak at all. "What do you need, my Lord?"
Bruce came to him, stood close to him, taking Clark's shaking hands in his own so that he could hold them to his chest, to his heart. He swallowed, shaking his head, the emotion storming through him as powerfully as it did through Clark, the strength of it stunning them both.
"I thought," he started, his voice low and almost drowned. "I wondered if you might be willing to serve your City as an ambassador. Her Ambassador to the Stars. And if you were, if you could do that ... Gotham would be proud to bear you, Commander mine. Anywhere. Everywhere." His voice broke, died, and he could only lean into Clark, only lean against the shaking strength of him. Clark couldn't speak, couldn't say anything, his heart so full it had to burst, had to break, but it didn't ... It wouldn't. Not so long as this man was by his side. Not so long as Bruce was with him.
He could do anything, for that.
"Bruce," he managed, strangled and full. "My Lord ... I will. I do. I ... anything. Anywhere. My Lord ..." And he couldn't continue, couldn't say a thing, his words too deep, too tangled, and all he could do was tip his head forward, hold the man close to him, as close as he could, as near as breathing, meaning so much, holding so much ... He felt the thud as his knees hit the carpet, heard Bruce give a strangled, gasping chuckle, and hugged him tight, hugged him close. His Lord. His Bruce.
The stars wheeled beyond the window, the lights of Gotham dancing as she smiled in at them, as their damaged lady bore them through the turning of the universe, the turning of fate upon a single choice, and Clark held tight to Bruce, and Bruce reached up to kiss him, to give back, the beating of two hearts so strong and fragile and determined. And through all the vastness of the universe, they were no more than two men, and all the weight of the choices they made was no more important than the love that built and bloomed and shattered between them.
They were Gotham and Metropolis.
They were Lord and Commander.
They were Bruce and Clark.
And they loved each other.
The Wind At Midnight
Epilogue
Arthur stood at the summit of the Atlantis Tower, the wind whistling and snatching at his cloak, the chill in the air utterly ignored by the King of the Seas. He was watching the boat as it descended, watching the sleek lines of the alien craft as she swept down through the skies towards him. Gotham's delegation, the Nightlord returning to Earth for negotiations that would change the world. Again. Arthur watched them come, listening to the thunder of the wild seas against the base of his Tower, and smiled fiercely. It was about time.
The Javelin wheeled to a landing, with that same touch of showmanship that the Sea King recognised from her ill-fated sister, and the landing a bare three days before. So much had changed, in that time, so much of the world rewritten ... but the Nightlord was the same arrogant bastard as ever. The thought made him grin. He was looking forward to this encounter.
They disembarked. A far larger party this time. And a far more gracious one. There was the Nightlord, in full dress uniform, rather than the rakish gear from their last meeting. Bruce strode over to Arthur without hesitation, and offered, with a wry and wicked smile, the bow due between equals. Arthur bent his head in return, baring his teeth as he recognised the difference, as he realised exactly how much the Lord of Gotham had intended to rile Luthor the last time around. He was almost gratified by the efforts the man had gone to in order to limit the insult to Luthor alone, and not to him. For a man so proud as Wayne, that soldier's bow must have cost him.
And then, at his side ... the Metropolite. Commander Kent, whose honour Arthur had tested and not found wanting. He smiled, a genuine, proud smile, and took the man's hand as he came up from his soldier's bow to shake it firmly. This man had earned his respect, and Arthur was not too proud to show it. He noticed, too, how the Nightlord's eyes shone with honest pride as he did so, and smiled secretly. So that was it. He had wondered.
And there, the last two members of the party ...
"Commander Grayson!" he boomed, striding past a bemused Nightlord to approach the grinning youth, holding out his hand to clasp the man's forearm in a brotherly welcome. Grayson laughed exuberantly, bowing low with a rakish smile, his hand firm and strong on Arthur's arm.
"Your majesty," he replied, his eyes twinkling. "May I congratulate you on the quality of your aim and timing? You couldn't have chosen a more opportune moment to end your hunt!"
Arthur grinned. "Son of a shark was asking for it. I warned you Atlantis wouldn't stand to be betrayed."
"A warning I have taken firmly to heart, your majesty," Dick laughed, holding his fist to his chest to demonstrate. "Remind me to be careful not to annoy you, yes?" Arthur chuckled.
"I'll do that," he nodded, and turned to the final member of the party, feeling the Gotham Commander fall easily into step beside him. He looked down, at the young woman in her brass chair, at the serious and intelligent eyes that looked knowingly up at him as he surveyed the injury that had caged her, and found himself bowing in instinctive respect. This was beyond the forms and manners of position. This was a recognition of the strength and pride of a spirit that demanded his respect, and Arthur gave it freely, smiling at her stunned look as she awkwardly made her own bow.
"Lady Gordon," he greeted, gently. "Welcome."
"Thank you, your majesty," she replied, still bemused, and Arthur had to smile. Oh, yes. He could respect the people of Gotham, alright. No doubt about it.
"Your majesty?" a dry, impatient voice sounded at his back, and Arthur turned to raise an eyebrow at the Nightlord. "Have our counterparts arrived, or are we early for once?"
"You are not! You're being fashionably late, as usual!" They turned as a man to the door down into the Tower, and the woman who stood there with her hand on her hip and an expression that was trying very hard to be disapproving, but the relief and joy kept getting in the way. Lord Lois Lane of Metropolis strode confidently forward, the white of her full dress uniform seeming to glow in the sunlight, and stopped just short of the main party, pausing only to bow to the King. Arthur bowed back with a wry chuckle. Another woman he'd been rather forced to respect. It seemed a trifle risky to do otherwise.
"Well?" she asked, pointedly, looking at the Nightlord and the man who stood beside him, his face a picture of awe and stunned happiness. "I see you've returned my Commander, Lord Wayne. After kidnapping him in the first place, mind you."
Bruce shook his head, bowing slightly lower than he needed to. "I rather think he stowed away, Lord Lane. I couldn't be rid of him, you see. He's stubborn that way."
"Yes," she smiled, and looked at the Commander in question. "He is. Well, Clark? Aren't you going to say hello?" The man shook his head in confusion, and started to bow as if to his Lord, but her loud harumph stopped him in his tracks. "Oh no you don't!" she exclaimed. "Don't you dare, flyboy! That might be cute with him, but not with me!" And while he stared at her, she held out both arms towards him, her smile suddenly breaking free to shine clear and powerful and relieved on her face. Clark stared at her for a bare second, before straightening and running forward to scoop her up into the air. The Lord of Metropolis laughed breathlessly as he swung her, wrapping her arms around her friend's neck and hugging him tight in relief and joy.
"Lois!" he laughed, holding her almost tight enough to crush her. "My Lord Lois Lane!" He laughed again, so proud and fierce and delighted. "Woman, do you have any idea how incredible you are?"
"Certainly," she sniffed, but she was so happy, so pleased it couldn't be hidden. Though she tried. "And don't you forget it!"
"Never," he swore, hugging her once more before placing her back on her feet, biting his lip as he straightened her rumpled coat. "Never." And as he put her down, as he released her, her eyes went beyond him, to meet the eyes of another proud and beautiful woman, and as deep as the love already shone in her, now it deepened. Seeing it, understanding, the joy as plain in his own features, Clark stepped back beside Bruce, stepped back into the embrace of his lover, and watched as Lois approached Barbara.
"Lord Lane," the Spider smiled, holding up a hand in greeting. Lois took it with a strange smile, holding it lightly as she saw the truth of her friend's condition, as she saw what a Glass had never revealed. Barbara watched her warily, sadly, and blinked as the woman in white knelt smoothly before her, as Lois took that clever hand and kissed it.
"You look beautiful," the Lord of Metropolis whispered. "Regal. I had no idea." Barbara shook her head, smiling, crying, and tipped her head to the side as her shining eyes met those of the other woman.
"You don't look so bad yourself," she whispered, and fell silent, the pair doing nothing only watch each other, while Bruce and Clark, Dick and Arthur all smiled at them. The moment stretched happily into a small eternity, and they were perfectly content to let it. But they had business yet to do, and it wasn't long before they remembered it.
"Shall we?" Lois asked, abruptly, standing again and holding out her hand to Barbara so she could weave her fingers through hers. They looked at the others, at the Nightlord and his future Ambassador, at the Sea King and his Commander, and shook their heads with twin smiles.
"Let's get this show on the road, gentlemen," Lois said, confidence and power in every inch of her. "We've got the fate of a world to decide, after all!"
Oh, yes. The fate of a world to decide, and all the future to live before them. Arthur smiled deeply as he followed them, hearing the sea singing around him, sensing the future unfolding ahead of them.
It was enough to bring even him hope.
