This is my first, very first attempt at a Batman/Superman fic. I'm dedicating this story to ladyblkrose for her whining, and nagging to get me to write something, and to me_ya_ri for her beta work, and support.
Title: Cold Hands, Warm Heart
Pairing: Clark/Bruce (implied)
Disclaimer: If I owned any of this, I’d have a better computer. Nothing is mine. Alas, alack.
Warning: Nothing really, just a few swear words, even though ladyblkrose would want smut.
Word Count: 1,491
Spoilers: None of which I know.
Summary: Bruce notices a temperature change.
Feedback: Comments, though not required, are appreciated, and they will make me feel good. At least I’ll know someone took the time to read.
Cold? Cold. No, not just cold, cold steel. His hands were cold.
“Why am I feeling cold steel?” He mussed to himself. “I wasn’t near any steel a moment ago. Or at least I don’t remember any.” That was the crux, remembering. What exactly did he remember? “I was…I was…Yes, I was disarming a bomb.”
Well that was a start. Batman opened his eyes fully in an attempt to ascertain his location. “I should be in the old Fun Times factory.” He said to himself. “How did I end up here, and where exactly is here?” He questioned.
Batman surveyed his surroundings. He was on a bridge. A bridge over a river from the sound of the water. In the moonless night, Batman could just see the water below him.
“Yes, this is the rail bridge that crosses the Gotham River about a quarter mile from the factory. The question still remains, how did I get here.”
Batman pulled himself to his knees, feeling weak and shaky from what he could only figure was the blast from the bomb. The scent of black powder still clung cloyingly in the air. The smell of burnt…was that flesh, wafted into his range, like the smell of freshly cooked bacon.
“Shit! What the fuck went wrong?”
Batman took a moment to attempt to remember the last few minutes. Hours? Moments.
Right as he thought he was about to remember the evening’s events, a low rumbling caught his attention. Batman almost immediately recognized the sound.
He was with his parents at the Gotham Convention Center for a transportation show. He loved the multitude of airplanes, boats, and cars, but what he enjoyed the most was the trains. The steam engines from the 1900’s were his favorite. He remembered his train set, still assembled in his old playroom at the manor. He would run the set for hours.
That was before.
Batman’s brain brought him back to the present.
The rumbling was now significantly louder and closer. Batman looked ahead of him. There was nothing but open track for over two hundred yards.
He glanced, almost tentatively, behind him.
“Yep. Just as I suspected. Damn! How stupid can I be?” Batman growled at himself. “Train tracks almost always equal…TRAIN!”
Batman lunged to his feet, and began running for the far end of the bridge. He instinctively knew that it was nothing more than a pipe dream that he would be able to reach the other end before being run down by the ever quickly gaining train. Batman, in an attempt at self-preservation, launched himself off the bridge, almost forgetting to fire a grapple hook. The hook attached to the underside of the bridge, and Batman swung freely under the bridge, and into a high arc, from which he propelled himself to the bank of the river.
Or at least on any other day that’s where he’d land.
Tonight, well, tonight he landed just short of the river bank and into the brackish water of the Gotham River. Batman landed with a decidedly ungraceful splash-thunk into the all too shallow and muddy water. He pulled himself out of the mire, and crawled to somewhat drier land. He lay on his back attempting to breath, the taste of the mostly stagnant, highly contaminated water, and oddly fermented mud, hung in his mouth. Batman had the fleeting thought of the contents of the Gotham River, and its mud, but thought it was best not to dwell on it at the moment.
“I have to get the hell out of here, get back to the cave, and figure out what the fuck happened.”
Batman reached for the remote in order to summon the Batmobile to his location. To his dismay, the blast, or fall, or whatever happened, had conveniently destroyed the device.
“Shit! Damn! Fuck it to hell! Batman cursed. “Fine, I’ll walk.”
Batman pulled himself out of the mud, the black-brown sludge clinging to his suit. Batman trudged up the embankment, and to the street. He easily got his bearings, and headed towards home.
As Batman entered the cave, he could hear hurried and anxious voices.
“It wouldn’t have come back without him unless something was wrong.”
“Even he would have called for help. He’s not that stubborn.”
“What if he couldn’t? He could be really hurt, or unconscious.”
“Damn! Where was he last?”
“His communicator isn’t on, or working and I’m having trouble locating his signal.”
“Damn! I should have gone with him! I’m supposed to be with him. I’m Robin, I’m his partner. I should have been with him.”
“You’re too injured to be out there. You would have been a detriment.” Batman all but mumbled.
“Batman!” His two comrades said in unison.
“Where have you been?! We’ve been trying to contact you. The Batmobile came back to the cave without you. That’s not supposed to happen unless you send it, or something is very wrong.” Dick said as he crossed the floor towards his mentor.
Batman’s only response was a slight, and annoyed sounding ‘humph’, and a swift kick to the car’s rear passenger side tire.
“Really, Bruce, are you okay? We were worried about you.” Superman added. “What happened? Why are you so filthy? And why do you smell like, well, trash, mud, decay, old beer…”
“The Gotham River.” Batman interrupted.
“Yes, the Gotham River.” Superman replied.
“No, yes, I landed in the river, or more precisely, the edge of the river.” Batman corrected.
“Well, what happened? Did you get the Joker?” Robin asked worriedly.
The Joker, that’s why he was at the factory. Now, if he could only remember what happened, and how it all went so wrong.
“Master Bruce.” Alfred’s concerned voice interrupted his train of thought.
The looks on the faces of Superman, Robin, and Alfred told Bruce that they were more than just worried about him, and he was beginning to believe that there might be some merit to their concern.
“Br…Bruce?” Clark inquired. “Are you alright? Do you have a head injury?”
Bruce sighed. “Maybe. I’ll let Alfred scan me.”
With the way everyone began rushing around, Bruce was certain that one statement must have been the trigger for Armageddon. Bruce begrudgingly let Clark take him gently by the arm, with his other around his waist, and lead him to the table in the medical area. Bruce, knowing that resistance was futile, and would only lead to an unwanted argument, allowed the overly tentative and plaintive assistance to continue with only a scowl.
“Bruce, just because the scan found no injury or other anomalies, doesn’t mean that you’re okay.” Clark calmly stated, but to Bruce he seemed to be on the verge of hysterics.
“I’m fine,” was Bruce’s only response, as he made his way to the computer terminal.
“Clark’s right Bruce. Something could really be wrong.” Dick attempted to argue.
“I’m fine.” Bruce snapped, and then sighed. “I need to write my report, and then I will rest. Deal?”
Clark and Dick looked at each other, and said, “deal.”
After several false starts, and three hours, Bruce conceded defeat, and made his way to his bedroom.
Clark lay sprawled on the bed, taking up his usual three-fourths. Bruce sat on a nearby chair with the intention of taking off his shoes. Instead, he found himself watching, staring at Clark as his lover slept. Clark must have had a busy night for him to still be asleep.
Bruce’s thoughts went back to the first time he and Clark met. The moon was full that evening. The light shone in his eyes, making his blue spheres sparkle. Clark was infuriatingly joyful; always smiling and laughing. The charity event was for an animal shelter. Bruce was making his rounds with some young and beautiful socialite hanging on his arm, and his every word. Clark was there to write some fluff piece on the shelter. Bruce remembered the precise moment their eyes met. If someone had suggested love at first sight, he would have laughed in that person’s face. But, there he was, Clark Kent, reporter, looking like he had never heard of an iron, or even a steamer, and wearing those ridiculously big glasses. Then, the unthinkable happened. Clark Kent smiled. At him.
Bruce woke with a pronounced startle.
“Crap! What?!” he snapped.
“Sorry.” Clark said sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t scare me.” Bruce said grouchily. “What’s wrong?”
“I was worried. I woke up, and you hadn’t come to bed. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s just go to bed.”
Bruce finished getting undressed, and followed Clark into bed. Clark instinctively curled around Bruce.
Bruce realized, as he was drifting off, that if he was being honest with himself, not only did he enjoy the feeling of Clark’s arms wrapped around his arms, back, and waist, but he couldn’t imagine his evenings, no his life without them, and his heart was warm.
- Current Location:Home
- Current Mood: accomplished