Choosing Unwisely fic 3
Jul. 17th, 2006 12:48 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sylph_ficsDevin's damned book has spawned a series. This is the third in the sequence that starts with Choosing Unwisely, and moves right along to Reconciliation.
This will make absolutely no sense without knowledge of those two.
Title: Crossed Lines and Revelations
Fandom: DC Universe
Pairing: None. Ollie/Dick and Dick/Roy mentioned
Rating: Please, this is me. Between the language, the violence, and the sexual references, I'd say hard R.
Summary: Nothing happens in the Bat's city without his knowledge. Sometimes matters have to be taken into his own hands.
I owe sooo many people sooo much for this fic.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cosmicastaway, who stayed up til 5 am with me talking about how Bruce would react. watchey, who patiently held my hand and told me it didn't suck when I had a panic attack over it. merfilly, who reminded me that though he is a flake in Inheritance Ollie is a capable flake, and read it over to make sure I hadn't done anything stupid. You guys are so very awesome, I owe you all a ton.
Crossed Lines and Revelations
//He should be here by now,// Bruce thought, lips thinned beneath the cowl. //Surely he did not find more trouble to get into....// It had been an interesting last few hours, and the last thing he wanted to do when already tired was cope with his former ward's... unpredictability. //Whenever he's in Gotham, he at least comes by to let Alfred see him, and he's had more than enough time to arrive. Where is he?// It was the work of a few moments to locate the signal of Nightwing's communicator... and he frowned at the screen. //The Arms? Why on earth would he be there?//
The question was answered a few moments later, when a check of the hotel's records revealed that both Oliver Queen and Roy Harper were checked into the Arms. //This should be interesting...// the Bat thought, almost wryly. Then he realized that Dick's being that close to Ollie for an extended period without the external focus of a mission would lead to nothing good. He'd heard Dick's opinions of Ollie's treatment of Roy more than once--not that Dick knew that--and while he had no doubt of his protege's ability to deal with anything the archer might do or say... it would be best if the situation was ended as... swiftly as possible.
//And how, exactly, are you going to accomplish that?// Snide, but accurate question. Dick was long, long past the age when he had any right to demand his return. He had his own city, his own team, was no longer beneath his roof or his control... and the one tie that would have let him simply summon his (former) partner away from the archers was--not something he could have. Nor was it something he desired... mostly. Their relationship was more than complicated enough without adding--//stop woolgathering and go. You don't have enough data to plan, yet. Assess the situation first.//
He moved back to the Car and headed back towards Gotham. The program he had set to alert him to changes in Nightwing's status remained stubbornly silent, even when he parked the Car in an alley and went to the roof of a building and across the roofs to overlook the hotel. Even to the naked eye Harper's room was empty, dark and abandoned, blinds open. However, when he located Ollie's room the results were quite different, as low light brightened the closed blinds. //Ollie, at least, is there. Now, where is Dick?//
It was a moment's work to change the lenses of the mask, dropping the infrared into place. The heat of the bedside lamp glowed almost white-hot and painful... but it was the bed itself that drew his attention. The orange-red heat-image of too many legs and arms entwined together was vivid in his mind as he swiftly looked away, denial the first reaction. //That can't be Dick.//
A number of reasonable explanations came to mind swiftly. Dick had decided to go out with Roy to enjoy Gotham's nightlife and had changed to civilian clothes in this (relatively) secure location, leaving Oliver Queen to spend his time as he often did, with any willing woman. Ollie's communicator had been damaged in the fight and Nightwing had left Green Arrow his. Both were probable. He activated the mike of his suit and sent a quick beep to the communicator in Nightwing's glove... only silence answered. He sent the request again, and waited... There was still no answer. Unusual, and worrying. While not loud, the tone should have drawn attention.
He frowned and swiftly returned to the Car. What he intended would be easier with its computer than the palm-sized microcomp he carried. He resettled in the seat, and began the process of convincing the microphone in Nightwing's suit to transmit. It took only a minute to manipulate the transmitter... and voices cascaded into his ears, gasps and moans and the noises of skin on skin... both male, both familiar--
He was utterly unprepared for the surge of black, cold-blazing rage that surged through his body at the recognition of those voices. It was not that he was a stranger to rage, or even to hate. They were old, familiar companions--but that it struck now, struck so hard as to leave him almost physically trembling in its grip, open hands suddenly fisted painfully tightly, adrenaline flooding through his system... it nearly controlled him. He was unprepared, unready to deal with it… so for long, long moments he struggled in the grip of it--
"O-Ollie please, now..." His partner's (not anymore) voice in his ears, high and unsteady and almost drugged--one fist put an inch-deep impression into the solid composite of the dashboard before he realized that he moved.
//I'm going to kill him!// The thought hit like a bucket of ice water--it was utterly foreign. That was not a concept he used in jest, not one he allowed to be used around him. He had spent more than two thirds of his life fighting against those that took human lives. It was the one unceasing, un-variable constant of his life, and yet... //I'm going to kill him.// repeated in his mind, cold and hard and implacable. He shook his head, attempting to force the thought back, but it still beat at the back of his brain with leathery, rustling wings. //Dead... dead for this...// He shook his head. //No. I will not.//
He shied away from examining the reasons for long moments, turning off the sounds of Ollie--of Ollie and Dick. //Of him fucking your boy.// Apparently he could not escape his adherence to precision even when he would prefer to. He attempted to calm himself, but that black rage would not be so easily dismissed. He was coldly furious, blazing with hate in a way he was unfamiliar with.... This surpassed every hate he knew other than the one for his parents' killer--and it was focused, cold and deadly, on one of his own teammates. //Never a teammate again. Not after this. Not after he--// he paused, trying to put his mind into order. //Not after he what? Dick was begging, Ollie didn't coerce him.... Perhaps not overtly, but he should never have touched him. Consent or no, Dick is off limits.//
//Why? He doesn't--(He's mine).// The Bat froze, brought face to face with the demon in his closet his rage had summoned. He never allowed himself to think in those terms, had blocked every thought of it for years on end, ignored and repressed and denied it, believed he'd conquered it....
Obviously, he had not, and later, he would consider that. Now, though, all of his instincts were screaming for blood, because someone with just enough similarities to himself had taken his--//No. Not mine. I raised him, I should not desire him... (Give it up. Dick is mine by training and choice in all but fact. Ollie should never have touched him.)//--partner. His shining, center-ring boy, and Queen had--he could not finish the thought again. A further realization struck him, one that brought nausea almost as strong as the rage... //This is my fault. Dick's... vulnerability to Ollie... is my fault. Ollie can be commanding, controlling... And I raised Dick to obey...//
The thought was sickening... but yet it only made his rage burn more fiercely. That Ollie had used the gaps in Dick's defenses he had put there, the few vulnerabilities Dick had--he wanted the man dead, for this trespass... or at the very, very least, he wanted him to hurt.
//Vengeance, Dark Knight?// That thought helped, somewhat, to cool his temper. He had yet to allow his personal desire for vengeance take him across the line between hero and villain. Oliver Queen's behavior was not going to change that... yet neither could he allow this to stand unanswered. It might be wisest to do so... but he simply could not.
Suddenly, the tracking program pinged its quiet electronic alert, and he glanced to the display--//What happened?// he wondered, as he watched the dot of the comm move, then suddenly swing rapidly away from the hotel. //He's back on the bike,// Batman realized. //What happened to make him run?//
He was running, the Bat noted as the display changed to track the communicator, expanding to show more of the city, //Heading straight for Bludhaven... Dick, what's wrong?// Worry for his former partner almost made him turn the Car towards the 'Haven... Almost, but until he was more composed, it would be... unwise to be in such close proximity to Dick, lest--//(Lest your control break and you admit to what has always been known? He would not deny you...) And that is why I will not. He deserves better.... Oliver, however, is another story.//
The desire to deal with him now, to avenge insult to what was his promptly burned in him... but he knew better. In his current, uncontrolled state, he might well do something he would later regret, especially considering Ollie's knack for pushing his buttons on the best of days--which this definitely was not. Even with that knowledge, it was still a struggle to start the Car and move away from his target... and the trip back to the Cave gave him entirely too much time to consider ways of enacting retribution.
Once back in the Cave, he set about checking on Dick--he was still in motion. He settled at the computer, pushing the cowl back, and started delicately borrowing some of Oracle's older equipment. One formerly latent transmitter and the living-room camera were reactivated, and the Bat went to remove the suit and eat the sandwiches his now-sleeping butler had left. He was two-thirds of the way through logging the events of this weekend when noise and motion alerted him to Dick's arrival home.
He took a soft, hissing breath as that black rage ran through his veins again at the look on Dick's face. He looked... heartbroken, shattered, drawn in on himself--//like he looked when you fired him,//--and small in a way he simply shouldn't. //Damn you, Oliver Queen. What did you do to him?//
"Oh, god..." Dick's voice should never sound that broken, that... hopeless. "Roy's never going to forgive me..."
Bruce's eyes widened at that. //Harper. Knows about....// That explained a great deal.
Dick kept talking to himself as he headed to bed, stopping long enough to ring the hotel and leave a message, and as the Bat gained more of the story, the list in the back of his mind grew exponentially longer. The making of said list was pure self-appeasement, most of its contents were vile enough that he would never lower himself to their actual use, but it was oddly soothing.
***
The knowledge that Dick and Roy had reconciled, that the redhead was taking care of Dick again, had done a great deal to calm the Bat's seething rage--or so he thought. His certainty that he had the desire to beat Oliver Queen's face into a pulp under control lasted for almost 74 hours. He'd managed to convince himself it would be a waste of time and effort, or so he thought. It had helped that Queen had checked out of the Arms early the first morning and made rapid tracks back to Star City. Out of sight was, occasionally, out of mind, and Gotham's underworld was reacting to the weekend chaos in its usual unruly fashion, giving him more than enough to do.
The trouble in the city was the sole reason he was slightly annoyed when J'onn requested his presence on the Tower. The Manhunter did not call idly, however, so he had transported up and headed to the conference room indicated. He stepped through the door, sweeping the room with his eyes //J'onn. Clark. West--Queen.// The name was an angry hiss within his mind as he located the Emerald Archer on the far side of the conference room and his body tightened in reaction, the same black rage boiling--and J'onn flinched back from his presence, pulling completely away from his mind, a distressed look on his alien face. Clark, too, seemed to notice there was something wrong, if the look on his face was an accurate indication. //Too obvious--or he was watching J'onn. Possibly both.//
"I'm here," his voice was his usual tone, brisk and precise despite the reawakened urge to beat the cheerfully smiling archer into a bloody pulp. "What is it?" He did his best to shield his mind from J'onn, attempting to protect the Manhunter from the seething rage he could not suppress.
J'onn turned his hand towards the Bat's chair and waited until everyone was seated, then began explaining why he'd called them. It was an assistance request from a few systems over, nothing that unusual for the Justice League... and there was no way he was going. In one of the transports with Queen for a solid week? No. He calmly cited the unrest in Gotham, the recent situation and the fallout thereof for his unavailability... and could see in his friend's faces that J'onn and Clark did not believe it for a moment.
"When will you be leaving?"
"Next week, it's going to take that long to prepare everything and line up covers," Superman answered.
"Y'know, Bats, things might be settled back down from our dust-up in Gotham by that poi..." the archer's voice trailed off into silence quite nicely as he turned the full force of his glare on the chattering, philandering fool, letting his lip curl back.
"Um, Bats? You're supposed to save that for the bad guys," the Flash stepped in brashly, having apparently realized that there was something going on. The Bat permitted himself a soft noise of amusement and cleared his expression to look sideways at the fidgeting speedster, which seemed to be enough for Wally. The sharp look from Clark told a very different story, however. //Just stay out of it, Boy Scout,// he thought... but knew it was futile. Asking Clark to stay out of an interpersonal conflict was much like asking the tide not to come in, and just as useful. He wasn't certain if it was the rural upbringing or Kryptonian nature, but Clark meddled.
J'onn spoke into the uneasy silence. "That was all, and I know you have other obligations. I must return to the Monitor Womb," ending the conference without directly dismissing them--yet before the words had died off into silence, Flash nodded. "Sorry but I've-gotta-get-back," his speech slurred together in its speed as he stood and was out the door in mere moments. J'onn left almost as rapidly, apparently still in discomfort... and the door closed, leaving he, Clark, and Queen together. One look at Clark's face and he knew some kind of 'play nice' speech was about to start. His eyes narrowed. "Clark, leave."
"Bruce, I--"
"Leave. And don't listen." Oh, wasn't that an interesting look? He'd seen Superman sulk, but it was always so... amusing. Yet, the stubborn alien wasn't moving. He stood, and Queen stood as well, moving closer--//stupid, stupid man//--coming up to him to argue with him over his behavior, tone pissed off and indignant, "Look, Bats, I don't kn--"
His eyes shot sideways, look freezing Ollie as he spoke over him. "Shut. Up. You and I need to talk. Clark, out."
"Is there anythi--"
"Clark."
"I'm not leaving, not when you're this..."
Bruce's lips twisted in frustration. He could not shame Dick by bringing Clark into the small number of people who knew what had happened, but he was unlikely to see Ollie for some time.... "Queen. Stay. Out. Of my city, and out of Bludhaven." He could hear the deep-space cold of his voice, and it was exactly the tone he'd intended. He could settle for this, for warning off the interloper, it would be enough... not satisfying, but it would suffice.
"What, why? You didn't seem to mind having me there with Deathstroke!" The blond's baffled question sent his rage up another level.
"Did you really think anything happens in my city that I don't know? Stay out of my territory." Carefully precise emphasis, leaving out the words he most wanted to say.... He watched the expressions chase themselves across that classically handsome face, confusion slamming into shock that slowly bled to something he believed was a numb kind of dismay, and he felt himself smile, the tight curl of his lips that had nothing to do with happiness and everything to do with victory. //Yes. I know...//
It was long, long moments before Queen could speak, could get past whatever emotions the revelation had created in him, and as expected, it was an attempt to argue when he did speak. "Who the hell gave you the right to dictate where I go? It's not like it meant anyt--"
The rest of that sentence was lost in a cry of pain as the blow he'd wanted to land for the last four days (since the moment he heard his boy's--//your son, your partner, not your lover!//--voice cry out for this man) landed, and his rage burned hot, now, //"Not like it meant anything," Queen?! When you. Fucked. My. Boy/partner/son/brother, it meant nothing?!// Silence was his trademark, but he heard himself snarl as he followed Queen's step backwards, second blow building in ribs and shoulder--and suddenly strong hands were locked around his biceps, pulling him back, startled deep voice in his ears, "Bruce have you lost your mind?!"
"Clark. Let. Go." It would be both useless and embarrassing to struggle against the grip that could bend steel, crush granite, so he stood perfectly still. //Let me go, damn it. I'm not finished.//
"No! What is going on with you? Striking a tea--" His voice was baffled, confused and upset, not having the pieces to understand, and Bruce would not give them to him.
Spitting noise and the sound of blood hitting the floor, and "Bats is just being a jackass," from in front of him. "Found out his boy isn't such a kid anymore and is taking it out on me...."
Batman could almost hear the connections snap into place and the shocked intake of breath against his back confirmed it, as did the shocked, "Ollie?!" It was nice to know Clark agreed with him. "Clark, let go," he tried again.
"No. Look, I... if I'm right, I'm with you, but this isn't you."
"Oh, the hell it isn't, Clark," from Ollie as he wiped blood from his lip with the back of a gauntlet, pressing to staunch the bleeding. "It's just like him. I mean, really, we all know he's not the most stable Leaguer around..."
The toss of that blond head was intolerable, and the Bat said again, coldly, "Let go of me, Clark." He felt Clark shake his head behind him and turned slightly to argue.
"Let him go, Clark." That was Ollie's voice, and he couldn't quite believe it. There was something in that tone that Batman couldn't quite recognize, couldn't place... He might think it was regret, if not for the fact that this was Oliver."Second hit's not gonna land as easy as the first, though, Bats, if you want to settle this this way!" The archer's weight shifted and his hands came up, ready and waiting for it. The look on his face, though, would be worth later consideration.
"You two," Clark said, voice dripping disapproval, but the arms holding him dropped away, freed him--and he moved. Green Arrow was right, frustrating as the thought was. He knew the blond's capabilities--but that meant he knew his weaknesses, as well. Three long steps and he was into range and striking again.
***
The world's greatest hero felt completely helpless as he let his hands drop away from Bruce's arms and watched his best friend strike at their teammate and friend, wincing at the crack as Ollie blocked the blow. //...How did this happen?// He asked God, not expecting an answer. It was hard for him to believe the scant information he had, //Ollie just wouldn't, would he? Not with his history...//
He watched the fight with the awe watching Bruce so often brought. He was no artist when it came to a fight--his strength had made learning the fine points of physical conflict rather unnecessary, and he knew he couldn't for a moment have done what Ollie was doing. He was weathering the black storm that was Batman by dodging and blocking the brutal series of attacks, face twisted in concentration... and pain when one of those vicious blows went straight through his guard, but he wasn't stopping. He was not only blocking, but was striking back at Batman when he saw some invisible-to-Clark minute gap in his defenses... It was impressive--//and it's so damned stupid!//
~Superman? What is occurring? I feel... great unrest. I am unable to reach Batman presently, his emotions are... painfully strong.~
He thought back at J'onn with a vocal sigh. ~Batman and Green Arrow are... settling a score, apparently. I'll make sure nothing permanent happens, but they're not going to stop.~
He'd never been on the receiving end of a telepathic sigh. It was a strange sensation, and one that distracted him from his thoughts. ~Thank you for the information....~
~Of course.~ He felt J'onn pull away, and relaxed momentarily. This did not need to go farther.
He could hardly stand to watch, and the only sound was the crack of muscle on muscle or armor. That Batman was silent was typical, but Ollie? Ollie was a good fighter--he hadn't known how good before, honestly. That he was still on his feet and not bleeding and broken said volumes about his skill--but Batman was in that small class of fighters simply called masters, and unlike the great majority of situations he faced, this time he had only one person in his sights.
He'd known from the moment Bruce walked through the door that there was something horribly wrong. Rage was a smell, if it was strong enough, and the way his jaw and shoulders had set, tensed, the small flex of his hands--all of those had been loud as a tornado siren to Clark, but he hadn't known why.... He'd seen J'onn react, and that had been more telling yet. For Batman to allow his emotions to break past his shields was a rare and dangerous thing.... It had taken him far too long to realize the cause of Bruce's rage. He'd have derailed him somehow if he'd known, but he'd realized too late that it was Ollie himself that was the problem.... If he was honest with himself, he understood Bruce's anger. Ollie was their own age, old enough to be Dick's father if he'd had him young, had a son almost Dick's age, and the imbalance was obvious. //I can't believe you'd do this, Ollie....//
He was sure that there was still something he was missing, some reason beyond the obvious anger of a father for his son that was driving Bruce so hard--but he could not think of it, couldn't follow the tracks in Bruce's brain that had him in this violent rage... And he was certain he did not want to know, whatever it was. The issues their childhoods growing up heroes had given the boys saddened him to think about on the best of days. //Hero. Hero-worship... Oh, god. I've got to be wrong.// Horrible grammar but an accurate assessment of the situation.
He flinched at the sound of a kick landing high in Ollie's ribs, the noise of bone starting to splinter, and prayed //Ollie, go down. I can stop him, if you'll just stop..//
Some power had heard him this time, and the archer fell with the force of the kick and didn't try to roll to his feet, looking up from masked eyes. "I... never meant to hurt him, Bruce...."
Clark's shoulders tightened at the growl from Bruce, but he didn't move. The Bat had stopped when Ollie fell--//thank You//--and was standing there coldly. Clark was the only one that could hear the jackhammer rate of his heart or how hard he was breathing without seeming to. "I meant it. Stay away from my son. I don't think you have a clue how badly you hurt him.... And you might consider--" Clark tensed. He knew that silky, poisoned pitch of Bruce's voice. Whatever Batman was about to say, it, not the beating, was the true coup de grace, the knife to the heart "--what finding his lover in his father's bed did to your son."
He hadn't known a human could naturally turn that pale, or that shade of green, but both hues washed across the downed archer's face. "Oh, god..." the soft, hurting disbelief in that voice told him Ollie was as stunned as he was to hear that Dick and Roy were involved. //Oh, what a mess....//
Bruce had turned as soon as he finished speaking, and the small, viciously pleased smile on his face nearly turned Clark's stomach. //He enjoyed that,// he realized, and it honestly frightened him... but he said nothing as the Bat walked out of the conference room. He wasn't sure there was anything to say... and he had more pressing concerns. Like making sure none of the injuries Ollie had taken in the fight were life-threatening.
"I didn't know," soft voice, almost as though Ollie had forgotten he was there. "I never knew...."
"Why did you have me let him go?" Clark asked as he moved to help the battered archer to his feet, scanning him for broken bones or other damage.
"This was fast, fairly efficient... and now it's over.... I sure didn't think he'd react like this, though. Hell, I didn't think... and I just paid for it. Oh, damn, did I pay for it. Is that right sixth rib broken, or just cracked? Hurts like a bitch."
Clark bit back his instinctive protest about the language and simply answered. "Just cracked. Come on. Let's get you down to medical and they can give you something for it. And put some stitches in, you need them." He snorted as the figure he was supporting on their way through the halls winced--and cursed as the movement jarred cracked bones.
By the time he'd assisted Ollie to the medical bay and made certain the conference room was cleansed of blood, Batman was long, long gone, and Clark had no desire to follow him. Bruce knew where he lived, and that his ears were always open. If he wanted company, to talk, or anything else... he knew how to find it.
The End
I beg for feedback, guys, please, please let me know if you liked it, you hated it, or you think I need to be shot.
This will make absolutely no sense without knowledge of those two.
Title: Crossed Lines and Revelations
Fandom: DC Universe
Pairing: None. Ollie/Dick and Dick/Roy mentioned
Rating: Please, this is me. Between the language, the violence, and the sexual references, I'd say hard R.
Summary: Nothing happens in the Bat's city without his knowledge. Sometimes matters have to be taken into his own hands.
I owe sooo many people sooo much for this fic.
cosmicastaway, who stayed up til 5 am with me talking about how Bruce would react. watchey, who patiently held my hand and told me it didn't suck when I had a panic attack over it. merfilly, who reminded me that though he is a flake in Inheritance Ollie is a capable flake, and read it over to make sure I hadn't done anything stupid. You guys are so very awesome, I owe you all a ton. Crossed Lines and Revelations
//He should be here by now,// Bruce thought, lips thinned beneath the cowl. //Surely he did not find more trouble to get into....// It had been an interesting last few hours, and the last thing he wanted to do when already tired was cope with his former ward's... unpredictability. //Whenever he's in Gotham, he at least comes by to let Alfred see him, and he's had more than enough time to arrive. Where is he?// It was the work of a few moments to locate the signal of Nightwing's communicator... and he frowned at the screen. //The Arms? Why on earth would he be there?//
The question was answered a few moments later, when a check of the hotel's records revealed that both Oliver Queen and Roy Harper were checked into the Arms. //This should be interesting...// the Bat thought, almost wryly. Then he realized that Dick's being that close to Ollie for an extended period without the external focus of a mission would lead to nothing good. He'd heard Dick's opinions of Ollie's treatment of Roy more than once--not that Dick knew that--and while he had no doubt of his protege's ability to deal with anything the archer might do or say... it would be best if the situation was ended as... swiftly as possible.
//And how, exactly, are you going to accomplish that?// Snide, but accurate question. Dick was long, long past the age when he had any right to demand his return. He had his own city, his own team, was no longer beneath his roof or his control... and the one tie that would have let him simply summon his (former) partner away from the archers was--not something he could have. Nor was it something he desired... mostly. Their relationship was more than complicated enough without adding--//stop woolgathering and go. You don't have enough data to plan, yet. Assess the situation first.//
He moved back to the Car and headed back towards Gotham. The program he had set to alert him to changes in Nightwing's status remained stubbornly silent, even when he parked the Car in an alley and went to the roof of a building and across the roofs to overlook the hotel. Even to the naked eye Harper's room was empty, dark and abandoned, blinds open. However, when he located Ollie's room the results were quite different, as low light brightened the closed blinds. //Ollie, at least, is there. Now, where is Dick?//
It was a moment's work to change the lenses of the mask, dropping the infrared into place. The heat of the bedside lamp glowed almost white-hot and painful... but it was the bed itself that drew his attention. The orange-red heat-image of too many legs and arms entwined together was vivid in his mind as he swiftly looked away, denial the first reaction. //That can't be Dick.//
A number of reasonable explanations came to mind swiftly. Dick had decided to go out with Roy to enjoy Gotham's nightlife and had changed to civilian clothes in this (relatively) secure location, leaving Oliver Queen to spend his time as he often did, with any willing woman. Ollie's communicator had been damaged in the fight and Nightwing had left Green Arrow his. Both were probable. He activated the mike of his suit and sent a quick beep to the communicator in Nightwing's glove... only silence answered. He sent the request again, and waited... There was still no answer. Unusual, and worrying. While not loud, the tone should have drawn attention.
He frowned and swiftly returned to the Car. What he intended would be easier with its computer than the palm-sized microcomp he carried. He resettled in the seat, and began the process of convincing the microphone in Nightwing's suit to transmit. It took only a minute to manipulate the transmitter... and voices cascaded into his ears, gasps and moans and the noises of skin on skin... both male, both familiar--
He was utterly unprepared for the surge of black, cold-blazing rage that surged through his body at the recognition of those voices. It was not that he was a stranger to rage, or even to hate. They were old, familiar companions--but that it struck now, struck so hard as to leave him almost physically trembling in its grip, open hands suddenly fisted painfully tightly, adrenaline flooding through his system... it nearly controlled him. He was unprepared, unready to deal with it… so for long, long moments he struggled in the grip of it--
"O-Ollie please, now..." His partner's (not anymore) voice in his ears, high and unsteady and almost drugged--one fist put an inch-deep impression into the solid composite of the dashboard before he realized that he moved.
//I'm going to kill him!// The thought hit like a bucket of ice water--it was utterly foreign. That was not a concept he used in jest, not one he allowed to be used around him. He had spent more than two thirds of his life fighting against those that took human lives. It was the one unceasing, un-variable constant of his life, and yet... //I'm going to kill him.// repeated in his mind, cold and hard and implacable. He shook his head, attempting to force the thought back, but it still beat at the back of his brain with leathery, rustling wings. //Dead... dead for this...// He shook his head. //No. I will not.//
He shied away from examining the reasons for long moments, turning off the sounds of Ollie--of Ollie and Dick. //Of him fucking your boy.// Apparently he could not escape his adherence to precision even when he would prefer to. He attempted to calm himself, but that black rage would not be so easily dismissed. He was coldly furious, blazing with hate in a way he was unfamiliar with.... This surpassed every hate he knew other than the one for his parents' killer--and it was focused, cold and deadly, on one of his own teammates. //Never a teammate again. Not after this. Not after he--// he paused, trying to put his mind into order. //Not after he what? Dick was begging, Ollie didn't coerce him.... Perhaps not overtly, but he should never have touched him. Consent or no, Dick is off limits.//
//Why? He doesn't--(He's mine).// The Bat froze, brought face to face with the demon in his closet his rage had summoned. He never allowed himself to think in those terms, had blocked every thought of it for years on end, ignored and repressed and denied it, believed he'd conquered it....
Obviously, he had not, and later, he would consider that. Now, though, all of his instincts were screaming for blood, because someone with just enough similarities to himself had taken his--//No. Not mine. I raised him, I should not desire him... (Give it up. Dick is mine by training and choice in all but fact. Ollie should never have touched him.)//--partner. His shining, center-ring boy, and Queen had--he could not finish the thought again. A further realization struck him, one that brought nausea almost as strong as the rage... //This is my fault. Dick's... vulnerability to Ollie... is my fault. Ollie can be commanding, controlling... And I raised Dick to obey...//
The thought was sickening... but yet it only made his rage burn more fiercely. That Ollie had used the gaps in Dick's defenses he had put there, the few vulnerabilities Dick had--he wanted the man dead, for this trespass... or at the very, very least, he wanted him to hurt.
//Vengeance, Dark Knight?// That thought helped, somewhat, to cool his temper. He had yet to allow his personal desire for vengeance take him across the line between hero and villain. Oliver Queen's behavior was not going to change that... yet neither could he allow this to stand unanswered. It might be wisest to do so... but he simply could not.
Suddenly, the tracking program pinged its quiet electronic alert, and he glanced to the display--//What happened?// he wondered, as he watched the dot of the comm move, then suddenly swing rapidly away from the hotel. //He's back on the bike,// Batman realized. //What happened to make him run?//
He was running, the Bat noted as the display changed to track the communicator, expanding to show more of the city, //Heading straight for Bludhaven... Dick, what's wrong?// Worry for his former partner almost made him turn the Car towards the 'Haven... Almost, but until he was more composed, it would be... unwise to be in such close proximity to Dick, lest--//(Lest your control break and you admit to what has always been known? He would not deny you...) And that is why I will not. He deserves better.... Oliver, however, is another story.//
The desire to deal with him now, to avenge insult to what was his promptly burned in him... but he knew better. In his current, uncontrolled state, he might well do something he would later regret, especially considering Ollie's knack for pushing his buttons on the best of days--which this definitely was not. Even with that knowledge, it was still a struggle to start the Car and move away from his target... and the trip back to the Cave gave him entirely too much time to consider ways of enacting retribution.
Once back in the Cave, he set about checking on Dick--he was still in motion. He settled at the computer, pushing the cowl back, and started delicately borrowing some of Oracle's older equipment. One formerly latent transmitter and the living-room camera were reactivated, and the Bat went to remove the suit and eat the sandwiches his now-sleeping butler had left. He was two-thirds of the way through logging the events of this weekend when noise and motion alerted him to Dick's arrival home.
He took a soft, hissing breath as that black rage ran through his veins again at the look on Dick's face. He looked... heartbroken, shattered, drawn in on himself--//like he looked when you fired him,//--and small in a way he simply shouldn't. //Damn you, Oliver Queen. What did you do to him?//
"Oh, god..." Dick's voice should never sound that broken, that... hopeless. "Roy's never going to forgive me..."
Bruce's eyes widened at that. //Harper. Knows about....// That explained a great deal.
Dick kept talking to himself as he headed to bed, stopping long enough to ring the hotel and leave a message, and as the Bat gained more of the story, the list in the back of his mind grew exponentially longer. The making of said list was pure self-appeasement, most of its contents were vile enough that he would never lower himself to their actual use, but it was oddly soothing.
***
The knowledge that Dick and Roy had reconciled, that the redhead was taking care of Dick again, had done a great deal to calm the Bat's seething rage--or so he thought. His certainty that he had the desire to beat Oliver Queen's face into a pulp under control lasted for almost 74 hours. He'd managed to convince himself it would be a waste of time and effort, or so he thought. It had helped that Queen had checked out of the Arms early the first morning and made rapid tracks back to Star City. Out of sight was, occasionally, out of mind, and Gotham's underworld was reacting to the weekend chaos in its usual unruly fashion, giving him more than enough to do.
The trouble in the city was the sole reason he was slightly annoyed when J'onn requested his presence on the Tower. The Manhunter did not call idly, however, so he had transported up and headed to the conference room indicated. He stepped through the door, sweeping the room with his eyes //J'onn. Clark. West--Queen.// The name was an angry hiss within his mind as he located the Emerald Archer on the far side of the conference room and his body tightened in reaction, the same black rage boiling--and J'onn flinched back from his presence, pulling completely away from his mind, a distressed look on his alien face. Clark, too, seemed to notice there was something wrong, if the look on his face was an accurate indication. //Too obvious--or he was watching J'onn. Possibly both.//
"I'm here," his voice was his usual tone, brisk and precise despite the reawakened urge to beat the cheerfully smiling archer into a bloody pulp. "What is it?" He did his best to shield his mind from J'onn, attempting to protect the Manhunter from the seething rage he could not suppress.
J'onn turned his hand towards the Bat's chair and waited until everyone was seated, then began explaining why he'd called them. It was an assistance request from a few systems over, nothing that unusual for the Justice League... and there was no way he was going. In one of the transports with Queen for a solid week? No. He calmly cited the unrest in Gotham, the recent situation and the fallout thereof for his unavailability... and could see in his friend's faces that J'onn and Clark did not believe it for a moment.
"When will you be leaving?"
"Next week, it's going to take that long to prepare everything and line up covers," Superman answered.
"Y'know, Bats, things might be settled back down from our dust-up in Gotham by that poi..." the archer's voice trailed off into silence quite nicely as he turned the full force of his glare on the chattering, philandering fool, letting his lip curl back.
"Um, Bats? You're supposed to save that for the bad guys," the Flash stepped in brashly, having apparently realized that there was something going on. The Bat permitted himself a soft noise of amusement and cleared his expression to look sideways at the fidgeting speedster, which seemed to be enough for Wally. The sharp look from Clark told a very different story, however. //Just stay out of it, Boy Scout,// he thought... but knew it was futile. Asking Clark to stay out of an interpersonal conflict was much like asking the tide not to come in, and just as useful. He wasn't certain if it was the rural upbringing or Kryptonian nature, but Clark meddled.
J'onn spoke into the uneasy silence. "That was all, and I know you have other obligations. I must return to the Monitor Womb," ending the conference without directly dismissing them--yet before the words had died off into silence, Flash nodded. "Sorry but I've-gotta-get-back," his speech slurred together in its speed as he stood and was out the door in mere moments. J'onn left almost as rapidly, apparently still in discomfort... and the door closed, leaving he, Clark, and Queen together. One look at Clark's face and he knew some kind of 'play nice' speech was about to start. His eyes narrowed. "Clark, leave."
"Bruce, I--"
"Leave. And don't listen." Oh, wasn't that an interesting look? He'd seen Superman sulk, but it was always so... amusing. Yet, the stubborn alien wasn't moving. He stood, and Queen stood as well, moving closer--//stupid, stupid man//--coming up to him to argue with him over his behavior, tone pissed off and indignant, "Look, Bats, I don't kn--"
His eyes shot sideways, look freezing Ollie as he spoke over him. "Shut. Up. You and I need to talk. Clark, out."
"Is there anythi--"
"Clark."
"I'm not leaving, not when you're this..."
Bruce's lips twisted in frustration. He could not shame Dick by bringing Clark into the small number of people who knew what had happened, but he was unlikely to see Ollie for some time.... "Queen. Stay. Out. Of my city, and out of Bludhaven." He could hear the deep-space cold of his voice, and it was exactly the tone he'd intended. He could settle for this, for warning off the interloper, it would be enough... not satisfying, but it would suffice.
"What, why? You didn't seem to mind having me there with Deathstroke!" The blond's baffled question sent his rage up another level.
"Did you really think anything happens in my city that I don't know? Stay out of my territory." Carefully precise emphasis, leaving out the words he most wanted to say.... He watched the expressions chase themselves across that classically handsome face, confusion slamming into shock that slowly bled to something he believed was a numb kind of dismay, and he felt himself smile, the tight curl of his lips that had nothing to do with happiness and everything to do with victory. //Yes. I know...//
It was long, long moments before Queen could speak, could get past whatever emotions the revelation had created in him, and as expected, it was an attempt to argue when he did speak. "Who the hell gave you the right to dictate where I go? It's not like it meant anyt--"
The rest of that sentence was lost in a cry of pain as the blow he'd wanted to land for the last four days (since the moment he heard his boy's--//your son, your partner, not your lover!//--voice cry out for this man) landed, and his rage burned hot, now, //"Not like it meant anything," Queen?! When you. Fucked. My. Boy/partner/son/brother, it meant nothing?!// Silence was his trademark, but he heard himself snarl as he followed Queen's step backwards, second blow building in ribs and shoulder--and suddenly strong hands were locked around his biceps, pulling him back, startled deep voice in his ears, "Bruce have you lost your mind?!"
"Clark. Let. Go." It would be both useless and embarrassing to struggle against the grip that could bend steel, crush granite, so he stood perfectly still. //Let me go, damn it. I'm not finished.//
"No! What is going on with you? Striking a tea--" His voice was baffled, confused and upset, not having the pieces to understand, and Bruce would not give them to him.
Spitting noise and the sound of blood hitting the floor, and "Bats is just being a jackass," from in front of him. "Found out his boy isn't such a kid anymore and is taking it out on me...."
Batman could almost hear the connections snap into place and the shocked intake of breath against his back confirmed it, as did the shocked, "Ollie?!" It was nice to know Clark agreed with him. "Clark, let go," he tried again.
"No. Look, I... if I'm right, I'm with you, but this isn't you."
"Oh, the hell it isn't, Clark," from Ollie as he wiped blood from his lip with the back of a gauntlet, pressing to staunch the bleeding. "It's just like him. I mean, really, we all know he's not the most stable Leaguer around..."
The toss of that blond head was intolerable, and the Bat said again, coldly, "Let go of me, Clark." He felt Clark shake his head behind him and turned slightly to argue.
"Let him go, Clark." That was Ollie's voice, and he couldn't quite believe it. There was something in that tone that Batman couldn't quite recognize, couldn't place... He might think it was regret, if not for the fact that this was Oliver."Second hit's not gonna land as easy as the first, though, Bats, if you want to settle this this way!" The archer's weight shifted and his hands came up, ready and waiting for it. The look on his face, though, would be worth later consideration.
"You two," Clark said, voice dripping disapproval, but the arms holding him dropped away, freed him--and he moved. Green Arrow was right, frustrating as the thought was. He knew the blond's capabilities--but that meant he knew his weaknesses, as well. Three long steps and he was into range and striking again.
***
The world's greatest hero felt completely helpless as he let his hands drop away from Bruce's arms and watched his best friend strike at their teammate and friend, wincing at the crack as Ollie blocked the blow. //...How did this happen?// He asked God, not expecting an answer. It was hard for him to believe the scant information he had, //Ollie just wouldn't, would he? Not with his history...//
He watched the fight with the awe watching Bruce so often brought. He was no artist when it came to a fight--his strength had made learning the fine points of physical conflict rather unnecessary, and he knew he couldn't for a moment have done what Ollie was doing. He was weathering the black storm that was Batman by dodging and blocking the brutal series of attacks, face twisted in concentration... and pain when one of those vicious blows went straight through his guard, but he wasn't stopping. He was not only blocking, but was striking back at Batman when he saw some invisible-to-Clark minute gap in his defenses... It was impressive--//and it's so damned stupid!//
~Superman? What is occurring? I feel... great unrest. I am unable to reach Batman presently, his emotions are... painfully strong.~
He thought back at J'onn with a vocal sigh. ~Batman and Green Arrow are... settling a score, apparently. I'll make sure nothing permanent happens, but they're not going to stop.~
He'd never been on the receiving end of a telepathic sigh. It was a strange sensation, and one that distracted him from his thoughts. ~Thank you for the information....~
~Of course.~ He felt J'onn pull away, and relaxed momentarily. This did not need to go farther.
He could hardly stand to watch, and the only sound was the crack of muscle on muscle or armor. That Batman was silent was typical, but Ollie? Ollie was a good fighter--he hadn't known how good before, honestly. That he was still on his feet and not bleeding and broken said volumes about his skill--but Batman was in that small class of fighters simply called masters, and unlike the great majority of situations he faced, this time he had only one person in his sights.
He'd known from the moment Bruce walked through the door that there was something horribly wrong. Rage was a smell, if it was strong enough, and the way his jaw and shoulders had set, tensed, the small flex of his hands--all of those had been loud as a tornado siren to Clark, but he hadn't known why.... He'd seen J'onn react, and that had been more telling yet. For Batman to allow his emotions to break past his shields was a rare and dangerous thing.... It had taken him far too long to realize the cause of Bruce's rage. He'd have derailed him somehow if he'd known, but he'd realized too late that it was Ollie himself that was the problem.... If he was honest with himself, he understood Bruce's anger. Ollie was their own age, old enough to be Dick's father if he'd had him young, had a son almost Dick's age, and the imbalance was obvious. //I can't believe you'd do this, Ollie....//
He was sure that there was still something he was missing, some reason beyond the obvious anger of a father for his son that was driving Bruce so hard--but he could not think of it, couldn't follow the tracks in Bruce's brain that had him in this violent rage... And he was certain he did not want to know, whatever it was. The issues their childhoods growing up heroes had given the boys saddened him to think about on the best of days. //Hero. Hero-worship... Oh, god. I've got to be wrong.// Horrible grammar but an accurate assessment of the situation.
He flinched at the sound of a kick landing high in Ollie's ribs, the noise of bone starting to splinter, and prayed //Ollie, go down. I can stop him, if you'll just stop..//
Some power had heard him this time, and the archer fell with the force of the kick and didn't try to roll to his feet, looking up from masked eyes. "I... never meant to hurt him, Bruce...."
Clark's shoulders tightened at the growl from Bruce, but he didn't move. The Bat had stopped when Ollie fell--//thank You//--and was standing there coldly. Clark was the only one that could hear the jackhammer rate of his heart or how hard he was breathing without seeming to. "I meant it. Stay away from my son. I don't think you have a clue how badly you hurt him.... And you might consider--" Clark tensed. He knew that silky, poisoned pitch of Bruce's voice. Whatever Batman was about to say, it, not the beating, was the true coup de grace, the knife to the heart "--what finding his lover in his father's bed did to your son."
He hadn't known a human could naturally turn that pale, or that shade of green, but both hues washed across the downed archer's face. "Oh, god..." the soft, hurting disbelief in that voice told him Ollie was as stunned as he was to hear that Dick and Roy were involved. //Oh, what a mess....//
Bruce had turned as soon as he finished speaking, and the small, viciously pleased smile on his face nearly turned Clark's stomach. //He enjoyed that,// he realized, and it honestly frightened him... but he said nothing as the Bat walked out of the conference room. He wasn't sure there was anything to say... and he had more pressing concerns. Like making sure none of the injuries Ollie had taken in the fight were life-threatening.
"I didn't know," soft voice, almost as though Ollie had forgotten he was there. "I never knew...."
"Why did you have me let him go?" Clark asked as he moved to help the battered archer to his feet, scanning him for broken bones or other damage.
"This was fast, fairly efficient... and now it's over.... I sure didn't think he'd react like this, though. Hell, I didn't think... and I just paid for it. Oh, damn, did I pay for it. Is that right sixth rib broken, or just cracked? Hurts like a bitch."
Clark bit back his instinctive protest about the language and simply answered. "Just cracked. Come on. Let's get you down to medical and they can give you something for it. And put some stitches in, you need them." He snorted as the figure he was supporting on their way through the halls winced--and cursed as the movement jarred cracked bones.
By the time he'd assisted Ollie to the medical bay and made certain the conference room was cleansed of blood, Batman was long, long gone, and Clark had no desire to follow him. Bruce knew where he lived, and that his ears were always open. If he wanted company, to talk, or anything else... he knew how to find it.
The End
I beg for feedback, guys, please, please let me know if you liked it, you hated it, or you think I need to be shot.
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Date: 2006-07-17 09:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-17 11:15 am (UTC)*g* Using Clark was a total cheat, cause I can't write action for crap, but people seem to like it.
There probably will. The 'verse doesn't seem to want to leave me alone.
You're very welcome! It insisted, and as I've said recently, I need a "slave to plotbunnies" banner or something.