FIC: The Jewel in the Lotus (2/8)
Title: The Jewel in the Lotus 2/8
Pairing/Characters: Clark/Bruce, Lucius Fox
Notes: "Music of the Spheres" is a series set in the combined universes of "Batman Begins" and "Superman Returns." Other stories and notes on the series here.
Rating: PG
Summary: Bruce discusses family and responsibility with Clark and Lucius, and receives an intriguing letter.
Word Count: 2100
"May I?"
Batman's answer was a mostly-affirmative grunt. A few moments later Superman was in the cave. For a while he merely watched Batman as the Dark Knight worked, sorting slides and vials. He had learned not to interrupt Batman or ask what he was working on; Bruce would tell him when he was ready and his line of thought completed. Sometimes Kal had hovered there in the cave for two hours, maybe three, while Batman worked in silence, just watching his lover think. After years trapped in suspended animation at the Fortress and in space, a few hours of rapt contemplation of his beloved was no trial.
And he was obscurely happy that Bruce felt comfortable merely working with him watching, that he was as much a part of Batman's life as the bats and the stones, as integral and as unremarkable.
"Crane's toxins," Batman said without preamble after about fifteen minutes. "I've analyzed and catalogued the last one."
"How many were there altogether?"
"He'd completed twenty." Superman whistled and Batman nodded. "A mix of dangerous and obscure--I could see uses for, say, hydrophobia, or acrophobia. But fear of ants? I'm not sure what purpose myrmecophobia would have served him. Or how about this one?" He held up a violet tube. "Syngenesophobia--fear of one's relatives." Batman chuckled darkly. "At least we would have been immune to that phobia." He waved a hand at Superman's frown. "Sorry. Bit of black humor there."
"You shouldn't let her get to you."
"Who?"
"You know. That horrible columnist." Kal didn't even want to say her name, but Bruce seemed unfazed.
"Moorston?" He snorted. "She's just doing her job. And saying exactly what I want people to say, after all. I suppose I should be thanking her for making my job easier. With her screeds out there, I only need to actually misbehave a couple of times a month."
"Still..." Kal shifted uncomfortably in the air.
Batman sighed and pulled off the cowl to look Kal in the eye. "Look, I don't like it when a nice, comfortable get-together is spoiled by my reputation. And I don't like being the center of attention when I'm trying to relax. But this is the life I've chosen, and there's no point in whining about it."
Kal couldn't exactly imagine Bruce "whining" about anything, and was opening his mouth to say so when the lift whirred into life and opened soon after to reveal Alfred carrying a plate. "A bit of early breakfast for you, sir--oh," he broke off on seeing Kal, "I didn't know you were here too, Master Kal. Shall I bring some breakfast for you as well?"
"If it wouldn't be too much trouble," said Kal, trying not to eye the bagel and smoked salmon too obviously.
They polished off their food in sociable silence, and Bruce stretched, the joints of the suit creaking. "I'm going to catch a catnap; I need to head in to work today for a little bit. Do me a favor and undo the buckles?"
Kal grinned. "Just did," he said smugly.
Bruce looked down to see the suit mostly unfastened, and snorted. "Lovers with superspeed. So handy in so many ways." He started to slip out of the suit.
"I can whisk you upstairs to bed as well."
"I would find that acceptable," Bruce said haughtily, waving a hand.
Ten seconds later he was in pajamas and between crisp sheets, alone.
A voice in his ear: "Sleep well." Sounds of Metropolis in the background.
Bruce smiled and rolled over to pull the pillow close.
: : :
Bruce did his best to look frazzled as Amy opened the door to his office. "You doing okay, Mr. Wayne?"
Looking frazzled actually wasn't that hard, all things considered.
"Yeah, just checking my schedule for this week." He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it in a state he had heard Amy and the rest of the staff describe as "adorably rumpled." "I'm hoping to get out of here by three."
Amy glanced at the clock, one eyebrow raised. "Seeing as it's one, and you got here an hour ago, you'd better be careful. I wouldn't want you to overwork yourself or anything." Her smile was half-affectionate and half-exasperated, and Bruce made a mental note to find a way to get her some vacation time soon. He tried to fit enough work into his few hours at Wayne Enterprises that the secretarial staff wasn't too overworked, but it was hard to get things done without looking like you're getting things done.
Bruce was constantly astonished that the people who worked for him seemed to like him. He relied on them far too much, worked them far too hard, and gave them no excuses beyond his innate fecklessness. Yet they smiled when they saw him, as if the fact that he remembered their names and children's birthdays actually meant something.
He was going through his mail, sorting through the web of obligations and duties, figuring out what to saddle Amy with, what to pass on to Lucius, and what to deal with himself, when he came across an envelope addressed in an elegant, clear hand on pale purple paper. As he opened the letter inside, a light floral scent, like lilacs and jasmine, reached him.
Dear Mr. Wayne:
Forgive me for the rudeness of mailing you directly; I can only hope the urgency of my message can mitigate the faux pas.
I am a biologist working in the Sumatran rainforest to help record recent extinctions and, if possible, save further species from becoming extinct as loggers and pulp farms encroach on the great forests. I've read with interest your press statements distancing yourself from Wayne Enterprises' decimation of the rainforests, and I hope to give you an opportunity to prove your sincerity.
Our funding is running low here at the Institute. We're doing valuable work here--our efforts have saved several endangered species from slipping into the silence of time. If you could find it in your heart to aid us, you would be doing a great service to the Earth. Some may consider this a mere public relations move, but I would suggest that you think of it as a way to cleanse your family's name and do honor to your parents.
Sadly, work demands too much of my time to come meet you in person, but I am sending an intermediary--my assistant, Lavender Lee--to courier this letter in the hopes of meeting with you soon. I hope that you'll consider my proposal, Mr. Wayne.
Yours sincerely,
Dr. Evelyn Ivey
Rainforest Preservation Institute
Padang, Sumatra, Indonesia
Bruce looked at the letter for a long time. He was staring absent-mindedly out the window, tapping his letter-opener on the desk, when there was a knock at the door.
"You really don't have to knock," he said as Lucius Fox entered the room.
"I know," said Lucius. "But I like to maintain the illusion that you run this place." His wry smile faded as he scanned Bruce's face. "What's the matter, Mr. Wayne?"
Bruce grimaced. "That obvious, huh?"
"You winced," Lucius said gently.
"It's the Indonesian lawsuit," Bruce said as Lucius settled into a chair. "It's really getting to me, recently. It's not what I wanted my father's name to be remembered for."
"It won't be." Lucius's jaw was set. "We'll make it right." He eyed Bruce. "You look tired."
Bruce's smile aimed for "dazzling" but achieved only "wan." "I've just been partying a little too much recently."
Lucius's eyes narrowed and he gave Bruce a long, assessing look before broadening into a smile. "Speaking of your father--you probably won't believe me, and it was long before you were born anyway, but there was a time when Thomas Wayne's name was synonymous with wastrel."
"It was?"
Lucius stretched long legs and grinned at Bruce's astonished look. "Sure. I knew him when he was in med school and I was just a hotshot young engineer starting off at Wayne Enterprises. Did you know he barely squeaked by with straight Cs one semester? He was brilliant, but he had no real reason to apply himself--he could always fall back on running Wayne Enterprises. He didn't have anyone he needed to impress." The grin turned into a more reminiscent smile. "He met your mother shortly after that. I remember him bursting into Wayne Towers one day, knocking me right over in a hallway, grabbing me and yelling he'd finally met the woman he was going to marry." A chuckle. "I hardly knew him then. He took me out for coffee--he said to apologize for bowling me over, but I think mostly because he wanted to bend someone's ear about the wonderful woman he'd just met--your mother, of course."
Bruce still couldn't quite get past his father getting Cs in medical school. "So that's when he got his life together?"
Lucius's eyes sharpened, but his tone remained jovial. "Oh, he still had to spend a lot of time at parties. Charities, fundraisers, all the events that made it possible to get the philanthropic side of Wayne Enterprises going. He and Martha reigned supreme at them, and the Wayne Foundation flourished, but I could tell he hated them. Wanted to be doing something real, something with his hands." He glanced down at Bruce's hands for a second. "That's a nasty bruise you've got there, Mr. Wayne."
Bruce drummed his fingers on the desk. "Sailing accident."
"Right. Given up on spelunking already?"
"Never," Bruce said with a smile.
Lucius didn't smile back. "Glad to hear it. Your father wouldn't have ever given up on something he loved either. Every now and then he'd complain about 'Those fucking parties'--his words, not mine," Lucius said, putting his hands in the air. "Your father could swear like a sailor, Bruce. Your mother could too, when the situation called for it. But that's another story. Anyway, he hated them sometimes, but he knew they were necessary to do good for Gotham, and that's what mattered to him. The medical work--that was his love, where he poured his passion, and it was valuable, but it was one life at a time. The charities, the endless round--that was change in the long run." Lucius paused. "They're both important--the short run and the long run, the individual and the global change." He stood up, unfolding his long frame. "Most of us aren't strong enough to do both. Your father was a great man."
Bruce looked down at the pale violet letter on his desk. "Thank you," he said after a moment.
Lucius chuckled. "Of course, your father had Martha. She made it possible to do both to the extent he did. Having someone who'll support you, that you can trust implicitly--it helps. Mr. Kent may not be as beautiful as your mother, but I think he's a good influence in your life."
Bruce tapped his letter opener lightly on the dark wood. "Having a person to trust completely is a great thing." He looked up and met Lucius's gaze squarely. "Having more than one is a gift beyond measure."
Lucius blinked. Then he sketched a very slight, rather self-mocking bow in the air between them. "I believe I'll give myself a raise," he said.
Bruce couldn't help smiling. "You do that," he said.
As the door closed behind Lucius, Bruce turned on his desk computer. A message appeared on the screen almost immediately: He's a good man.
Bruce smiled slightly and put his hands to the keyboard. He could speak and Clark would hear him, but when at work it was safer to actually type rather than get the reputation as a man who muttered to himself. You're listening in again.
Work is boring. Lois appreciated the flowers, though. She says to say thank you.
Bruce leaned back in his chair for a moment, stretching out. Back to the keyboard: Lucius was wrong about one thing, though.
Oh?
He underestimates how beautiful you are.
There was what was, for Clark, a very long pause. Then a new message: You make it hard to resign myself to patrolling tonight.
Consider it building anticipation.
Oh, it is that.
Bruce chuckled throatily, knowing that Clark would hear it, knowing the effect it would have on him. Meet me at midnight sharp on top of the Wayne Tower. You've got until the clock tower finishes striking twelve.
That should be more than enough time to get what I want out of you, Mr. Wayne.
We'll see about that, Mr. Kent.
Bruce logged off, smiling. The evening promised to be an enjoyable one.
He tucked the floral-scented letter back in its envelope and put it out of mind for the moment.
Pairing/Characters: Clark/Bruce, Lucius Fox
Notes: "Music of the Spheres" is a series set in the combined universes of "Batman Begins" and "Superman Returns." Other stories and notes on the series here.
Rating: PG
Summary: Bruce discusses family and responsibility with Clark and Lucius, and receives an intriguing letter.
Word Count: 2100
"May I?"
Batman's answer was a mostly-affirmative grunt. A few moments later Superman was in the cave. For a while he merely watched Batman as the Dark Knight worked, sorting slides and vials. He had learned not to interrupt Batman or ask what he was working on; Bruce would tell him when he was ready and his line of thought completed. Sometimes Kal had hovered there in the cave for two hours, maybe three, while Batman worked in silence, just watching his lover think. After years trapped in suspended animation at the Fortress and in space, a few hours of rapt contemplation of his beloved was no trial.
And he was obscurely happy that Bruce felt comfortable merely working with him watching, that he was as much a part of Batman's life as the bats and the stones, as integral and as unremarkable.
"Crane's toxins," Batman said without preamble after about fifteen minutes. "I've analyzed and catalogued the last one."
"How many were there altogether?"
"He'd completed twenty." Superman whistled and Batman nodded. "A mix of dangerous and obscure--I could see uses for, say, hydrophobia, or acrophobia. But fear of ants? I'm not sure what purpose myrmecophobia would have served him. Or how about this one?" He held up a violet tube. "Syngenesophobia--fear of one's relatives." Batman chuckled darkly. "At least we would have been immune to that phobia." He waved a hand at Superman's frown. "Sorry. Bit of black humor there."
"You shouldn't let her get to you."
"Who?"
"You know. That horrible columnist." Kal didn't even want to say her name, but Bruce seemed unfazed.
"Moorston?" He snorted. "She's just doing her job. And saying exactly what I want people to say, after all. I suppose I should be thanking her for making my job easier. With her screeds out there, I only need to actually misbehave a couple of times a month."
"Still..." Kal shifted uncomfortably in the air.
Batman sighed and pulled off the cowl to look Kal in the eye. "Look, I don't like it when a nice, comfortable get-together is spoiled by my reputation. And I don't like being the center of attention when I'm trying to relax. But this is the life I've chosen, and there's no point in whining about it."
Kal couldn't exactly imagine Bruce "whining" about anything, and was opening his mouth to say so when the lift whirred into life and opened soon after to reveal Alfred carrying a plate. "A bit of early breakfast for you, sir--oh," he broke off on seeing Kal, "I didn't know you were here too, Master Kal. Shall I bring some breakfast for you as well?"
"If it wouldn't be too much trouble," said Kal, trying not to eye the bagel and smoked salmon too obviously.
They polished off their food in sociable silence, and Bruce stretched, the joints of the suit creaking. "I'm going to catch a catnap; I need to head in to work today for a little bit. Do me a favor and undo the buckles?"
Kal grinned. "Just did," he said smugly.
Bruce looked down to see the suit mostly unfastened, and snorted. "Lovers with superspeed. So handy in so many ways." He started to slip out of the suit.
"I can whisk you upstairs to bed as well."
"I would find that acceptable," Bruce said haughtily, waving a hand.
Ten seconds later he was in pajamas and between crisp sheets, alone.
A voice in his ear: "Sleep well." Sounds of Metropolis in the background.
Bruce smiled and rolled over to pull the pillow close.
: : :
Bruce did his best to look frazzled as Amy opened the door to his office. "You doing okay, Mr. Wayne?"
Looking frazzled actually wasn't that hard, all things considered.
"Yeah, just checking my schedule for this week." He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it in a state he had heard Amy and the rest of the staff describe as "adorably rumpled." "I'm hoping to get out of here by three."
Amy glanced at the clock, one eyebrow raised. "Seeing as it's one, and you got here an hour ago, you'd better be careful. I wouldn't want you to overwork yourself or anything." Her smile was half-affectionate and half-exasperated, and Bruce made a mental note to find a way to get her some vacation time soon. He tried to fit enough work into his few hours at Wayne Enterprises that the secretarial staff wasn't too overworked, but it was hard to get things done without looking like you're getting things done.
Bruce was constantly astonished that the people who worked for him seemed to like him. He relied on them far too much, worked them far too hard, and gave them no excuses beyond his innate fecklessness. Yet they smiled when they saw him, as if the fact that he remembered their names and children's birthdays actually meant something.
He was going through his mail, sorting through the web of obligations and duties, figuring out what to saddle Amy with, what to pass on to Lucius, and what to deal with himself, when he came across an envelope addressed in an elegant, clear hand on pale purple paper. As he opened the letter inside, a light floral scent, like lilacs and jasmine, reached him.
Dear Mr. Wayne:
Forgive me for the rudeness of mailing you directly; I can only hope the urgency of my message can mitigate the faux pas.
I am a biologist working in the Sumatran rainforest to help record recent extinctions and, if possible, save further species from becoming extinct as loggers and pulp farms encroach on the great forests. I've read with interest your press statements distancing yourself from Wayne Enterprises' decimation of the rainforests, and I hope to give you an opportunity to prove your sincerity.
Our funding is running low here at the Institute. We're doing valuable work here--our efforts have saved several endangered species from slipping into the silence of time. If you could find it in your heart to aid us, you would be doing a great service to the Earth. Some may consider this a mere public relations move, but I would suggest that you think of it as a way to cleanse your family's name and do honor to your parents.
Sadly, work demands too much of my time to come meet you in person, but I am sending an intermediary--my assistant, Lavender Lee--to courier this letter in the hopes of meeting with you soon. I hope that you'll consider my proposal, Mr. Wayne.
Yours sincerely,
Dr. Evelyn Ivey
Rainforest Preservation Institute
Padang, Sumatra, Indonesia
Bruce looked at the letter for a long time. He was staring absent-mindedly out the window, tapping his letter-opener on the desk, when there was a knock at the door.
"You really don't have to knock," he said as Lucius Fox entered the room.
"I know," said Lucius. "But I like to maintain the illusion that you run this place." His wry smile faded as he scanned Bruce's face. "What's the matter, Mr. Wayne?"
Bruce grimaced. "That obvious, huh?"
"You winced," Lucius said gently.
"It's the Indonesian lawsuit," Bruce said as Lucius settled into a chair. "It's really getting to me, recently. It's not what I wanted my father's name to be remembered for."
"It won't be." Lucius's jaw was set. "We'll make it right." He eyed Bruce. "You look tired."
Bruce's smile aimed for "dazzling" but achieved only "wan." "I've just been partying a little too much recently."
Lucius's eyes narrowed and he gave Bruce a long, assessing look before broadening into a smile. "Speaking of your father--you probably won't believe me, and it was long before you were born anyway, but there was a time when Thomas Wayne's name was synonymous with wastrel."
"It was?"
Lucius stretched long legs and grinned at Bruce's astonished look. "Sure. I knew him when he was in med school and I was just a hotshot young engineer starting off at Wayne Enterprises. Did you know he barely squeaked by with straight Cs one semester? He was brilliant, but he had no real reason to apply himself--he could always fall back on running Wayne Enterprises. He didn't have anyone he needed to impress." The grin turned into a more reminiscent smile. "He met your mother shortly after that. I remember him bursting into Wayne Towers one day, knocking me right over in a hallway, grabbing me and yelling he'd finally met the woman he was going to marry." A chuckle. "I hardly knew him then. He took me out for coffee--he said to apologize for bowling me over, but I think mostly because he wanted to bend someone's ear about the wonderful woman he'd just met--your mother, of course."
Bruce still couldn't quite get past his father getting Cs in medical school. "So that's when he got his life together?"
Lucius's eyes sharpened, but his tone remained jovial. "Oh, he still had to spend a lot of time at parties. Charities, fundraisers, all the events that made it possible to get the philanthropic side of Wayne Enterprises going. He and Martha reigned supreme at them, and the Wayne Foundation flourished, but I could tell he hated them. Wanted to be doing something real, something with his hands." He glanced down at Bruce's hands for a second. "That's a nasty bruise you've got there, Mr. Wayne."
Bruce drummed his fingers on the desk. "Sailing accident."
"Right. Given up on spelunking already?"
"Never," Bruce said with a smile.
Lucius didn't smile back. "Glad to hear it. Your father wouldn't have ever given up on something he loved either. Every now and then he'd complain about 'Those fucking parties'--his words, not mine," Lucius said, putting his hands in the air. "Your father could swear like a sailor, Bruce. Your mother could too, when the situation called for it. But that's another story. Anyway, he hated them sometimes, but he knew they were necessary to do good for Gotham, and that's what mattered to him. The medical work--that was his love, where he poured his passion, and it was valuable, but it was one life at a time. The charities, the endless round--that was change in the long run." Lucius paused. "They're both important--the short run and the long run, the individual and the global change." He stood up, unfolding his long frame. "Most of us aren't strong enough to do both. Your father was a great man."
Bruce looked down at the pale violet letter on his desk. "Thank you," he said after a moment.
Lucius chuckled. "Of course, your father had Martha. She made it possible to do both to the extent he did. Having someone who'll support you, that you can trust implicitly--it helps. Mr. Kent may not be as beautiful as your mother, but I think he's a good influence in your life."
Bruce tapped his letter opener lightly on the dark wood. "Having a person to trust completely is a great thing." He looked up and met Lucius's gaze squarely. "Having more than one is a gift beyond measure."
Lucius blinked. Then he sketched a very slight, rather self-mocking bow in the air between them. "I believe I'll give myself a raise," he said.
Bruce couldn't help smiling. "You do that," he said.
As the door closed behind Lucius, Bruce turned on his desk computer. A message appeared on the screen almost immediately: He's a good man.
Bruce smiled slightly and put his hands to the keyboard. He could speak and Clark would hear him, but when at work it was safer to actually type rather than get the reputation as a man who muttered to himself. You're listening in again.
Work is boring. Lois appreciated the flowers, though. She says to say thank you.
Bruce leaned back in his chair for a moment, stretching out. Back to the keyboard: Lucius was wrong about one thing, though.
Oh?
He underestimates how beautiful you are.
There was what was, for Clark, a very long pause. Then a new message: You make it hard to resign myself to patrolling tonight.
Consider it building anticipation.
Oh, it is that.
Bruce chuckled throatily, knowing that Clark would hear it, knowing the effect it would have on him. Meet me at midnight sharp on top of the Wayne Tower. You've got until the clock tower finishes striking twelve.
That should be more than enough time to get what I want out of you, Mr. Wayne.
We'll see about that, Mr. Kent.
Bruce logged off, smiling. The evening promised to be an enjoyable one.
He tucked the floral-scented letter back in its envelope and put it out of mind for the moment.