Fic: 36 Views of Mt. Fuji: Fall (8/9)
Title: 36 Views of Mt. Fuji: Fall (8/9)
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Disclaimer: The boys belong to DC and to each other, but not to me.
Series Notes: 36 Views of Mt. Fuji is a series set early in Batman and Superman's careers, shortly after the S/B annual #1. The full series can be found here.
Rating: PG
Summary: Bruce and Clark return to the real world and deal with the aftermath of their experience, both physical and emotional.
Word Count: 1600
Not speaking of the way,
Not thinking of what comes after,
Not questioning name or fame,
Here, loving love,
You and I look at each other.
--Yosano Akiko
The room snapped into being around Clark, almost preternaturally sharp, each sound distinct amidst the chaos. He heard Katana chanting something in a guttural voice, taut with strain, something about healing. Soultaker was scattering light like a prism, dark and bright. Clark heard J'onn's voice raised in an alien drone. He sat up, feeling the skin at his back tighten over a new scar, impeding his movement somewhat.
The room was full--the entire JLA and Katana were there as the room crackled with power. And on the floor in a white robe--Bruce.
Bruce's body. In a pool of blood. Clark saw his chest--
He surged forward in a rush, howling something, he didn't know what, inarticulate pain, only to find Amazonian arms locked around him, immobilizing him. He had to get to Bruce, Bruce was dying, he couldn't be dying, and he almost threw Diana through a wall in his panic. A band of green froze his arms more tightly, and he vaguely heard Hal's yell over the tumult and the frantic roaring in his ears: "She's trying to heal him! Don't interrupt her, damn it!"
Soultaker seemed to writhe in Katana's grip, sullen light sparking around the room, as she commanded it in archaic Japanese to submit to her, to take back the wounds it had caused, remit the evil it had done. She pressed the blade against Bruce's wound--without thinking, Clark strained against his bonds again, white panic clenching his heart--and the howl of the sword reached a crescendo, then abruptly dropped to a dull murmur.
Katana pulled the blade away to reveal a glossy, fresh scar across Bruce's torso. Healed.
She backed off as the restraints fell away from Superman and he crashed to his knees beside Bruce. His hands hovered over the other man whose eyes were closed, face far too pale. "Bruce," he whispered, his voice cracking in the sudden silence of the room.
Sapphire eyes opened, hazed with exhaustion. Impossibly, there was a brief sliver of a smile. "Told you...wouldn't die..." Bruce muttered.
That wasn't exactly how Clark remembered it, but it didn't matter. He almost reached to gather Bruce in his arms, to pull him close and hold his real and solid and wonderful body again--and then he abruptly remembered the room was full of people, staring at the two of them. He backed away over blood-soaked white silk and sat on his knees nearby instead. "Thank you," he said formally, hearing his voice tremble. "For saving me. I owe you my life."
There was a long pause as Bruce pulled himself to a shaky crouch, then inched over to where Clark was sitting. "I'll...take you up on that," Bruce said, raising his voice so everyone could hear him.
And then he kissed Clark.
It wasn't a very passionate kiss, as he fell over in the middle of it and Clark had to catch him, but it was certainly enough to get the point across. Clark held his half-conscious lover and looked from face to face in the room, caught between blushing and grinning foolishly. Hal and Barry exchanged surprised glances and Barry started blushing slightly, not meeting Clark's eyes. J'onn looked pleased and Diana looked both entirely unsurprised and unimpressed.
Clark decided to address the one person in the room who had hardly seemed to notice the dramatic moment. "He'll...heal?" he asked Katana.
Katana had been staring down at the sword; now she looked up with a sharp, triumphant smile. "Both of you will. I'm master of the sword now and it will obey my will."
J'onn's voice came from behind him. "He will heal, but not as quickly as you. He's lost a great deal of blood and will be very weak for some time."
Clark looked down at Bruce's pale, drawn face, then smoothed back his hair and kissed him lightly on the brow. He felt a light puff of breath against his skin that might have been a sigh, a huff, or a laugh. "If he's out of danger, would you mind leaving us alone?"
Hal and Barry were out the door almost before he finished, looking slightly relieved. Clark suspected it was more the strong emotion in the room making them uncomfortable--he hoped so, since obviously they were just going to have to get used to the idea of two of their founding members being in love with each other.
He realized he had a rather loopy grin on his face again as Wonder Woman and Katana nodded politely and filed out. J'onn clapped him briefly on the back and followed them, leaving Clark and Bruce alone.
"Thought they'd...never leave," Bruce muttered into Clark's neck.
Clark cradled Bruce easily in one arm, using the other to get the blood-soaked cloth out of sight. Then he kissed Bruce's throat gently and lowered him onto the bedding, curling up next to him. He drew a hand very lightly across the fresh, silvery scar, and Bruce murmured something wordless but vaguely content.
"I never really considered staying there," Clark whispered into Bruce's ear. "I love you scars and all." He brushed a curl of hair back from behind the ear and kissed the exposed bit of skin. "And I'll never forget what I saw of your heart there."
Bruce laughed, thin as a whisper. "Not even if I ask you to? It was like being naked." He stopped, took a careful breath. "So vulnerable." Another long pause. "You'll...never have that here. I just...can't. Not in this world." His voice was hoarse and too low to carry more than the inch to Clark's ears.
"I don't love you only when you're vulnerable, Bruce. I love all of you, always. Even your armor is beautiful."
Bruce didn't respond, and his breathing slowly evened out into the long slow breaths of sleep. Clark held him all night, marveling. They were both alive. They had cheated death again. The two of them together. Together.
Joy like moonlight.
: : :
Bruce was pale and his steps were careful, but he insisted on tottering out the door to go sightseeing the next day. "I refuse to play the invalid to your tender ministrations, Clark," he noted acerbically.
They walked slowly down to the river, a rushing mountain torrent over smoothed boulders, clear water over pale stone. The path was shadowed by bright trees and lined with statues, one after the other, nearly-identical cross-legged men.
As they approached the first statues, Bruce put his arm around Clark and leaned against him. "Might have pushed myself a little far," he said wryly at Clark's look. "I'll be fine if I can lean on you a little."
Clark grinned as if he couldn't help it. "You can lean on me."
They made their way past statue after statue, covered with moss, their benignly smiling faces worn with time. Each of them wore, rather incongruously, a little red bib and cap, carefully hand-crafted. "Who are these guys, anyway?" Clark asked, peering at the moss-obscured carvings.
"They're Jizos. Jizo is an incarnation of the Buddha who is the particular protector of the spirits of small children. In some versions of Japanese mythology, the souls of children who die young are damned to eternally stand on the shores of the river that marks the land of the dead, building towers of stones that are always knocked down again." He looked at Clark's expression of shock and added, "It's their punishment for disappointing their parents by dying before them. A failure of filial piety." His voice was dry. "Anyway, Jizo is supposed to hide the souls of the children in his robes and get them across the river. So grieving parents make clothes for him."
Clark looked at the long row of serene-faced Buddhas. After a moment, he said, "Oh." He sketched a small, awkward bow to the row of statues. Then he kept walking, Bruce at his side.
They took it slowly, the tranquil statues on one side, the rushing river on the other, blue sky and bright leaves above them. They didn't speak much, each of them enjoying the quiet and the other's presence.
Clark listened to Bruce's heartbeat and breathing carefully and stopped when they got too quick, finding a point in the river to admire while letting the other man rest. As they looked out over the turbulent water, Bruce cleared his throat, a small sound among the roar of the river.
"Last night," he started a bit awkwardly. "Last night, I said you could never have in this world what you had in Fukumaden. That's true. And maybe you'll come to hate me for...never living up to that moment, that image. But I wanted to say--" He broke off and stared at the water, arm still around Clark's waist. Clark waited. "--I know I'm not the most open and giving person around. But you can have...everything I can give you in this world. You already have that." A small, grim smile. "I know it's not much."
Clark looked out at the river, feeling Bruce's weight resting against him, letting Clark support him. Bruce's arm holding him close.
"It's more than you think it is," Clark said softly, and turned to kiss him again.
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Disclaimer: The boys belong to DC and to each other, but not to me.
Series Notes: 36 Views of Mt. Fuji is a series set early in Batman and Superman's careers, shortly after the S/B annual #1. The full series can be found here.
Rating: PG
Summary: Bruce and Clark return to the real world and deal with the aftermath of their experience, both physical and emotional.
Word Count: 1600
Not speaking of the way,
Not thinking of what comes after,
Not questioning name or fame,
Here, loving love,
You and I look at each other.
--Yosano Akiko
The room snapped into being around Clark, almost preternaturally sharp, each sound distinct amidst the chaos. He heard Katana chanting something in a guttural voice, taut with strain, something about healing. Soultaker was scattering light like a prism, dark and bright. Clark heard J'onn's voice raised in an alien drone. He sat up, feeling the skin at his back tighten over a new scar, impeding his movement somewhat.
The room was full--the entire JLA and Katana were there as the room crackled with power. And on the floor in a white robe--Bruce.
Bruce's body. In a pool of blood. Clark saw his chest--
He surged forward in a rush, howling something, he didn't know what, inarticulate pain, only to find Amazonian arms locked around him, immobilizing him. He had to get to Bruce, Bruce was dying, he couldn't be dying, and he almost threw Diana through a wall in his panic. A band of green froze his arms more tightly, and he vaguely heard Hal's yell over the tumult and the frantic roaring in his ears: "She's trying to heal him! Don't interrupt her, damn it!"
Soultaker seemed to writhe in Katana's grip, sullen light sparking around the room, as she commanded it in archaic Japanese to submit to her, to take back the wounds it had caused, remit the evil it had done. She pressed the blade against Bruce's wound--without thinking, Clark strained against his bonds again, white panic clenching his heart--and the howl of the sword reached a crescendo, then abruptly dropped to a dull murmur.
Katana pulled the blade away to reveal a glossy, fresh scar across Bruce's torso. Healed.
She backed off as the restraints fell away from Superman and he crashed to his knees beside Bruce. His hands hovered over the other man whose eyes were closed, face far too pale. "Bruce," he whispered, his voice cracking in the sudden silence of the room.
Sapphire eyes opened, hazed with exhaustion. Impossibly, there was a brief sliver of a smile. "Told you...wouldn't die..." Bruce muttered.
That wasn't exactly how Clark remembered it, but it didn't matter. He almost reached to gather Bruce in his arms, to pull him close and hold his real and solid and wonderful body again--and then he abruptly remembered the room was full of people, staring at the two of them. He backed away over blood-soaked white silk and sat on his knees nearby instead. "Thank you," he said formally, hearing his voice tremble. "For saving me. I owe you my life."
There was a long pause as Bruce pulled himself to a shaky crouch, then inched over to where Clark was sitting. "I'll...take you up on that," Bruce said, raising his voice so everyone could hear him.
And then he kissed Clark.
It wasn't a very passionate kiss, as he fell over in the middle of it and Clark had to catch him, but it was certainly enough to get the point across. Clark held his half-conscious lover and looked from face to face in the room, caught between blushing and grinning foolishly. Hal and Barry exchanged surprised glances and Barry started blushing slightly, not meeting Clark's eyes. J'onn looked pleased and Diana looked both entirely unsurprised and unimpressed.
Clark decided to address the one person in the room who had hardly seemed to notice the dramatic moment. "He'll...heal?" he asked Katana.
Katana had been staring down at the sword; now she looked up with a sharp, triumphant smile. "Both of you will. I'm master of the sword now and it will obey my will."
J'onn's voice came from behind him. "He will heal, but not as quickly as you. He's lost a great deal of blood and will be very weak for some time."
Clark looked down at Bruce's pale, drawn face, then smoothed back his hair and kissed him lightly on the brow. He felt a light puff of breath against his skin that might have been a sigh, a huff, or a laugh. "If he's out of danger, would you mind leaving us alone?"
Hal and Barry were out the door almost before he finished, looking slightly relieved. Clark suspected it was more the strong emotion in the room making them uncomfortable--he hoped so, since obviously they were just going to have to get used to the idea of two of their founding members being in love with each other.
He realized he had a rather loopy grin on his face again as Wonder Woman and Katana nodded politely and filed out. J'onn clapped him briefly on the back and followed them, leaving Clark and Bruce alone.
"Thought they'd...never leave," Bruce muttered into Clark's neck.
Clark cradled Bruce easily in one arm, using the other to get the blood-soaked cloth out of sight. Then he kissed Bruce's throat gently and lowered him onto the bedding, curling up next to him. He drew a hand very lightly across the fresh, silvery scar, and Bruce murmured something wordless but vaguely content.
"I never really considered staying there," Clark whispered into Bruce's ear. "I love you scars and all." He brushed a curl of hair back from behind the ear and kissed the exposed bit of skin. "And I'll never forget what I saw of your heart there."
Bruce laughed, thin as a whisper. "Not even if I ask you to? It was like being naked." He stopped, took a careful breath. "So vulnerable." Another long pause. "You'll...never have that here. I just...can't. Not in this world." His voice was hoarse and too low to carry more than the inch to Clark's ears.
"I don't love you only when you're vulnerable, Bruce. I love all of you, always. Even your armor is beautiful."
Bruce didn't respond, and his breathing slowly evened out into the long slow breaths of sleep. Clark held him all night, marveling. They were both alive. They had cheated death again. The two of them together. Together.
Joy like moonlight.
: : :
Bruce was pale and his steps were careful, but he insisted on tottering out the door to go sightseeing the next day. "I refuse to play the invalid to your tender ministrations, Clark," he noted acerbically.
They walked slowly down to the river, a rushing mountain torrent over smoothed boulders, clear water over pale stone. The path was shadowed by bright trees and lined with statues, one after the other, nearly-identical cross-legged men.
As they approached the first statues, Bruce put his arm around Clark and leaned against him. "Might have pushed myself a little far," he said wryly at Clark's look. "I'll be fine if I can lean on you a little."
Clark grinned as if he couldn't help it. "You can lean on me."
They made their way past statue after statue, covered with moss, their benignly smiling faces worn with time. Each of them wore, rather incongruously, a little red bib and cap, carefully hand-crafted. "Who are these guys, anyway?" Clark asked, peering at the moss-obscured carvings.
"They're Jizos. Jizo is an incarnation of the Buddha who is the particular protector of the spirits of small children. In some versions of Japanese mythology, the souls of children who die young are damned to eternally stand on the shores of the river that marks the land of the dead, building towers of stones that are always knocked down again." He looked at Clark's expression of shock and added, "It's their punishment for disappointing their parents by dying before them. A failure of filial piety." His voice was dry. "Anyway, Jizo is supposed to hide the souls of the children in his robes and get them across the river. So grieving parents make clothes for him."
Clark looked at the long row of serene-faced Buddhas. After a moment, he said, "Oh." He sketched a small, awkward bow to the row of statues. Then he kept walking, Bruce at his side.
They took it slowly, the tranquil statues on one side, the rushing river on the other, blue sky and bright leaves above them. They didn't speak much, each of them enjoying the quiet and the other's presence.
Clark listened to Bruce's heartbeat and breathing carefully and stopped when they got too quick, finding a point in the river to admire while letting the other man rest. As they looked out over the turbulent water, Bruce cleared his throat, a small sound among the roar of the river.
"Last night," he started a bit awkwardly. "Last night, I said you could never have in this world what you had in Fukumaden. That's true. And maybe you'll come to hate me for...never living up to that moment, that image. But I wanted to say--" He broke off and stared at the water, arm still around Clark's waist. Clark waited. "--I know I'm not the most open and giving person around. But you can have...everything I can give you in this world. You already have that." A small, grim smile. "I know it's not much."
Clark looked out at the river, feeling Bruce's weight resting against him, letting Clark support him. Bruce's arm holding him close.
"It's more than you think it is," Clark said softly, and turned to kiss him again.