36 Views of Mt. Fuji: Winter (1/9)
Title: 36 Views of Mt. Fuji: Winter (1/9)
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.
Rating: PG
Summary: Bruce and Clark fly to Tokyo to investigate a mysterious email from a former classmate of Bruce's.
Word Count: 3500
Far off against snow mountains
Two crows are flying.
--Murakami Kijou
Bruce Wayne took a sip of champagne, then put the glass back. He hit a couple of buttons and the chair he was in slid slowly to a nearly 180 degree angle, the footrest rising to accommodate his legs. He looked over at his traveling companion, who was fiddling aimlessly with the seat controls. Beyond Clark's sharp profile, through the airplane windows, he could see an endless expanse of cloud-studded blue
"I still would have preferred to fly--my way. You know," said Clark uncomfortably, glancing out the window. "I could have met you there."
Bruce sighed. "If you're going to insist on 'helping me' in this case, you're going to have to travel as a civilian. I'm not going to deal with the consequences if the Japanese government happens to find out Clark Kent is in the country without a passport or proper paperwork." Remembering his first sight of Clark's passport, he snorted. "I still can't believe you've never been out of the country!"
The man next to him looked a little embarrassed. "I have! Lots of times! Just...not as Clark. Well, I've been busy," he added defensively at Bruce's expression. "I only came to Metropolis two years ago, and I've kind of had my hands full." Bruce just shook his head. He still couldn't quite believe this country mouse was the most powerful being on Earth. They had found out each others' secret identities a little over a month ago, and Bruce still could hardly process it.
He stretched out his legs luxuriously. "Well, at least I got us upgraded to business class."
Clark did not look mollified. "I don't like it up here. It doesn't feel right to have this much space and luxury with all those people crammed into coach behind us."
Bruce lifted his lip. "Don't you go getting all Ollie Queen on me. If I'm going to travel to Japan to follow some vague lead about a former classmate of mine, I'm going to make sure I arrive well-rested and with my reflexes intact. If I'm going to have to deal with you tagging along and trying to help, I'm going to need my rest even more."
The stewardess came around with a plate of smoked salmon and salad. Bruce waved a couple of small packets at Clark. "Your choice, sea salt or rock salt."
Clark picked at his salad, frowning. "It just doesn't feel right," he muttered.
"You wanted to come along and help. You said it would give us a chance to see if we could work together on this whole League of Justness--"
"--Justice League--"
"--yeah, that. So don't start complaining because you don't like the fact that as a mere human being, I actually need sleep to function well."
Clark glared at him. "You're deliberately misrepresenting me. That's not what I said at all."
Bruce watched the Kansan superhero dissect his meal, a thunderous frown still clouding his clear, broad face. He had to admit he had no idea why he enjoyed needling Superman. There was just something about him that rubbed Bruce the wrong way. Whenever they were interacting, he couldn't seem to help deliberately riling the Kryptonian up, pointing out their differences and stressing their discontinuities. Something about him resisted any attempt to empathize or bond with his fellow hero. There didn't seem to be any good reason for it. It wasn't just ideological differences; Bruce got along with other straight-arrow superheroes well enough. No, something about Clark Kent called forth the imp of the perverse in Bruce. It was a mystery.
And Batman hated mysteries.
In part he had accepted Clark's offer to tag along to Japan to help unravel that mystery. Because although Bruce couldn't seem to help tormenting Clark, Batman understood that pragmatically, he and Superman were going to have to work together for a long time. It made no sense to constantly antagonize your most useful ally.
Batman intended to get to the bottom of that.
But for now, he couldn't seem to stop himself from leaning over and pushing Clark's inept hand away from the seat controls, lengthening the footrest until the man's feet were elevated and comfortable. "These seats can accommodate even your ridiculously long legs. And there's so much space between them no one can kick the back of your seat. It seems to be a cast-iron rule of flying coach that there's always a young child behind you, determined to kick your seat the entire flight." Bruce glared at the sullen Kryptonian. "You're stuck here in business class, Clark, so get used to it."
He reclined his chair to its fullest extent and rolled onto his side, away from Clark. "I'm getting some sleep."
: : :
Bruce emerged from a dream in which Clark was cooing quietly. This seemed odd. He looked over to find the seat next to him occupied by a young blond woman with a tiny infant resting on her chest. She was making the cooing noise. The baby looked over at Bruce, eyes wide and solemn, waving small chubby hands in the air.
"Oh," said the woman, noticing Bruce was awake. "I'm sorry, did I wake you?"
"Not really," Bruce said cautiously. "Where did--"
Her face lit up in a smile. "Your friend was walking around. He said he couldn't sleep. When he saw Joe and I were having problems with Miranda, he offered to trade seats with me." She rubbed the baby's tiny nose with a finger. "And it's made all the difference, hasn't it, Randa-manda?" The baby gurgled and her mother sighed. "It's just too bad Joe can't be up here too. It would be so nice if he could get some sleep before his big presentation. I'll trade with him at some point and give him a turn up here, I suppose."
"He's not my friend," Bruce felt compelled to point out, both belatedly and lamely, a sense of fatalistic desperation settling over him.
The woman looked over at him and smiled again, beatifically. "He's a saint, is what he is. This is a lifesaver."
Bruce lay back down and closed his eyes. No, Clark. No. Forget it. "This would be so perfect if Daddy were up here too, wouldn't it, smookums," the mother murmured to her child. Bruce put a forearm over his eyes.
No way. Absolutely no way.
: : :
Bruce jolted awake again as the hyperactive child behind him kicked petulantly at his seat. He glanced over at Clark in the next seat, his long legs folded like a jackknife into the narrow space between the rows.
Clark was sleeping soundly, an angelic smile on his face. Bastard.
As the plane approached Tokyo, Bruce touched Clark on the shoulder to wake him. "Look." He pointed out the tiny window.
Beneath them lay Mt. Fuji, wreathed by puffy clouds, its gently sloping sides a hazy blue. It looked like a wood-block print. Clark rubbed his eyes and leaned close to the window. "Wow," he breathed. "It's gorgeous."
"Enjoy it now. Air pollution makes it almost impossible to see from the ground most of the time."
"What a shame."
Bruce could see Clark's face reflected in the window. The mountain beyond his image was majestic and flawless. The eerily perfect planes of Clark's reflected face were in startling contrast to the warmth of his smile and blue eyes.
Bruce looked at Clark and through Clark to the mountain.
The most famous set of art about Mt. Fuji is Hokusai's wood-block series, "36 Views of Mt. Fuji." The series is an exercise in learning to look at something from every possible vantage point, to understand it, and our reactions to it, as completely as possible. Seeing Clark's face superimposed over the distant blue mountain, Bruce decided this trip would be his personal version of those pictures. He'd examine Clark Kent from every angle and learn why the Kryptonian elicited such maddening responses in him.
Maybe at the end of the trip they'd be able to work together.
Clark nodded to himself, grinning. "That's amazing." He looked at Bruce and pushed his useless glasses up on his nose. "Now, don't you feel better back here in coach?"
The child behind Bruce delivered a particularly vicious kick, and Bruce winced. "Oh yes. I feel so happy and refreshed."
"Me too," said Clark, re-arranging his cramped legs
Maddening.
: : :
Clark Kent sat on his hotel bed and looked out over the sparkling lights of Tokyo, stretching on into infinity over the horizon in the darkness.
It wasn't as beautiful as Metropolis.
He and Bruce were supposed to be meeting another classmate of his during his time at Yoru-sensei's later this evening, but that was still an hour or so away. Clark looked around the bare room again, then out at the city skyline once more. It wasn't often he had this much spare time, actually. Ever since meeting Batman's alter ego he'd been fascinated by the man, he was forced to admit to himself. Clark had always rather imagined that Batman's unmasked persona would be some grim loner, holed up in that cave day and night. To realize that the handsome, acerbic playboy who charmed women and condescended to hick farmboys with equal skill was also the Dark Knight--well, it wasn't exactly what Clark had expected.
Clark might find Bruce Wayne annoying and confusing, but Superman knew that a Justice League without Batman on it was probably doomed to failure from the start. He had to find a way to break through the man's stubborn cynicism and gauge his ability to commit to a team. So Clark had cashed in his yearly vacation from the Planet to travel to Japan with Bruce as a civilian. To see if they could work together for longer than thirty minutes without wanting to throttle each other.
So far the odds didn't look very good.
He realized abruptly he'd finished at least his fifth circuit of the room. Annoyance knifed through him again. He wasn't here to wait on Bruce Wayne's beck and call, after all. He stepped out of his room and went one door down, knocking briskly.
He could hear Bruce's voice behind the door even without focusing. The voice drew nearer and the door swung open to reveal Bruce Wayne in a sweatshirt and jeans, hair still damp and tousled, talking on a cell phone and looking annoyed at the interruption. He jerked his head at Clark to indicate he should come in, still talking.
"--tell him math isn't just theoretical, he's going to need it someday. There's more to this than just tumbling around. Yes Alfred, he does seem to have that part down. The chandelier?" Bruce grimaced to himself and sighed. "As long as he does his math homework, he can balance anywhere he wants. You can tell him that if he ever decides to come out of his sulk. Yes, I know, Alfred. Would you tell him I miss him too? Maybe he'll talk to me tomorrow." He flipped the phone shut and tossed it onto the bed. Then he saw the expression on Clark's face and his own went wary and cautious. "What is it, Clark?"
"That boy you've taken in. You're not--Bruce, tell me he's not the 'partner' you talked about!"
Bruce said nothing for a moment, staring at the phone on the bed. Then he squared his shoulders and looked back at Clark. "His name's Dick, not 'that boy.' And I'm training him. Yes."
"You can't be partners with a child." Clark was aghast.
He expected Bruce to argue that the boy wasn't a child, but the other man just set his jaw. "Oh? Watch me." He snatched up a towel and scrubbed at his hair. "I'm not going to waste my breath on this trip justifying myself to you. This conversation is closed." He emerged from the towel, still scowling, and spoke as Clark opened his mouth again. "Closed, Clark." He raked his hand through his damp black hair. "You ready to go?"
Clark took in the sweatshirt and rumpled hair. "Like that?"
Bruce shot him a sidelong glance as he threw on a coat. "Matsunaga's not a man to be impressed by a playboy. I'm meeting him to find out what he meant when he emailed me about Kyodai, not dazzle him with my good looks."
Clark decided to let that one pass. "So where are we meeting him?" Visions of hushed teahouses or mysterious temples flitted before Clark.
His companion shot him a wolfish grin. "Someplace very Japanese."
: : :
Clark stared disbelievingly at the neon golden arches above his head. "We're meeting your friend at McDonald's?"
Bruce pushed his way into the bustling store, full of kids in school uniforms stopping for a quick meal after cram school, chattering on their cell phones. "All the chaos makes it less likely we'll be noticed at all." He stepped up to the counter and ordered a Big Mac in fluent Japanese. Clark came up after him and the server behind the counter looked panicked, probably wondering how he was going to communicate with the hulking foreigner, then gave up and spoke in Japanese. "Koko ni omeshiagari deshouka?"
Bruce looked like he was about to translate, but Clark cut him off. "Tennai de ebi katsu sando, furaido poteto, to koora, eru-saizu." The server nodded appreciatively and bustled off.
As they took their seats, Clark noticed his companion was glowering. "What have I done now?" he asked, not bothering to hide his frustation.
"When the hell did you learn Japanese?"
Clark nibbled tentatively on his shrimp cutlet sandwich before answering. "When I found out we were coming here, I took a few days and learned the basics. I have to admit I don't have the honorific and humble forms down yet, but I brought a textbook and hope to have them ready before we meet your sensei."
Bruce glared, then spoke rapidly in Japanese. < Do not sit there and tell me you learned a language in four days. >
< What? I read fast and have a good memory. It seemed practical. Why are you angry at me about it? >
Bruce's expression hovered somewhere between furious and oddly downcast. "You know what? I hate you," he muttered glumly. An awkward silence fell across the table, filled with the sounds of giggling schoolgirls and young boys pummeling each other teasingly at their own tables. Clark continued to eat his sandwich, eyeing Bruce over the bun. The other man was studying his brightly-colored placemat intently, as though it might explain why his contact was running late, or why he hated Clark Kent so much. His hair, still slightly damp, obscured his eyes, and neon from the busy street added flourescent highlights to its dark sheen.
"Who are you?" Clark blurted without thinking, then wished he hadn't when Bruce's head came up as though he'd been challenged.
Bruce visibly relaxed into an overly toothy grin and said, "Bruce Wayne, billionare playboy and your extremely reluctant travelling companion?"
Clark shook his head and barged ahead. "No. I've met billionaire Bruce Wayne, on the cruise, and he's an insufferable snob and asshole who wouldn't be caught dead eating at a McDonald's with a kid from Kansas. Who are you?"
Bruce narrowed his eyes in annoyance and dropped his voice to almost comedic levels of gravel. "I'm--"
Clark cut him off, jabbing a french fry at him. "No. Who are you, the guy who's so irritated that I learned in four days what took him a lot of effort, the guy who thinks I didn't deserve that. The man who's angry that I don't have to depend on him during this trip." He hadn't realized the last sentence was true until he said it and saw Bruce's eyes flicker.
Bruce turned his head and stared out the window at the sidewalk teeming with humanity, washing to and fro. Clark waited, but when Bruce turned back to him, all he said was, "Matsunaga's almost thirty minutes late now. He was one of the most punctual students Yoru-sensei had--and we were all punctual." He finished his burger, clearly on edge and suddenly all business. Then he stood up. "I'm worried."
Clark followed him to the trash can, bemused to find it had three different openings. Around him other customers were sorting and dropping items into the bin with the ease of long practice. He glanced at the labels: plastic, burnable items, and ice and leftover drinks. Carefully he started to extricate the plastic wrappers. Beside him, Bruce sighed gustily. "You can read Japanese characters too. Of course you can. May I ask how many characters you learned in four days?"
Clark fumbled with the little wet-nap package he had been given, trying to separate the napkin from its plastic wrapper. This was all quite complicated. "Oh, only about fifteen hundred," he said absent-mindedly.
A hand reached past him, scooped up his cup and emptied the ice into the proper entrance with a vicious rattle. "Fuck you," Bruce suggested amiably.
: : :
Superman and Batman were breaking into an apartment. They had--at Superman's insistence--knocked first, but nobody had answered Matsunaga's door. Batman finished picking the lock and they stepped into the cramped apartment. Documents scattered the floor, and a coffee table was overturned: signs of a struggle. "Damn," Batman said very softly under his breath, and started searching the apartment.
They found the body garrotted in the bathroom, the face livid. Batman showed no reaction, dusting for fingerprints--finding none, of course--and examining the bathroom minutely. Superman stood outside the room, watching. The dead man's glassy eyes seemed to stare at the expressionless dark figure. Had he been a friend of Bruce Wayne's? There was no telling from the vigilante's businesslike mein.
Superman wondered suddenly what it would be like to be twelve years old, that boy's age, and deal with crime scenes like this almost every night. When he was twelve, Clark had been mostly worried about whether the Kansas City Royals would win their next game. He couldn't even imagine dealing with gruesome murder and gore at that age.
The kid couldn't possibly understand what working with Batman would lead him into.
Batman left the bathroom and went to the living room, strewn with documents and newspapers. He stood for a moment, then said rather reluctantly, "I don't suppose you can use your x-ray vision to scan these documents?"
"Sure. What am I looking for?"
Batman sighed and rubbed his chin. "That's the problem, I'm not sure. But I'm not sure I have time to go through them all, either. Look for any themes that seem to recur."
A moment's pause. "A place called Hakone keeps showing up. Travel fliers, brief references in newspaper stories...there's no real pattern to it, but it's referenced more often than could probably be explained by chance."
"Hm."
If he had been waiting for thanks, he was apparently waiting in vain. "You don't seem so irritable about speed-reading ability now," he noted somewhat smugly.
Batman shot him a glance. "Can you really retain all that?"
"Not without review," Clark was forced to admit. "If I don't go over it a few times to commit it to long-term memory it's gone again in a few minutes. But Hakone--there were definitely a lot of references to Hakone."
"That's a resort area near here. I wonder--" There was a pounding on the door.
< Police! Open up! >
Batman went to the window and threw it open; the cool winter air wafted in. "That's our cue to leave."
Superman drifted out the window and watched Batman plummet fifteen stories before releasing his decel line and swooping between the Tokyo skyscrapers, cape fluttering. Deciding not to follow him, Clark went back to the hotel room and sat on the edge of the hotel bed some more, looking at the lights of the city like a million stars below him. After a while there was a knock on the door.
The door opened to Bruce Wayne's face. "Be ready to go tomorrow," he said shortly.
Clark put his arm out to stop the door as it started to swing shut. "Are you going to tell me where exactly we're going? Some tour guide you are."
The door snapped open again. "I'm not your damn tour guide, Kent, and this isn't a vacation. Yoru-sensei has invited us to his home for New Year's. It's quite an honor."
"I'll make sure I can use the honorific forms properly by tomorrow, then."
Bruce Wayne made an indescribable noise, and the door slammed shut in Clark's face.
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.
Rating: PG
Summary: Bruce and Clark fly to Tokyo to investigate a mysterious email from a former classmate of Bruce's.
Word Count: 3500
Far off against snow mountains
Two crows are flying.
--Murakami Kijou
Bruce Wayne took a sip of champagne, then put the glass back. He hit a couple of buttons and the chair he was in slid slowly to a nearly 180 degree angle, the footrest rising to accommodate his legs. He looked over at his traveling companion, who was fiddling aimlessly with the seat controls. Beyond Clark's sharp profile, through the airplane windows, he could see an endless expanse of cloud-studded blue
"I still would have preferred to fly--my way. You know," said Clark uncomfortably, glancing out the window. "I could have met you there."
Bruce sighed. "If you're going to insist on 'helping me' in this case, you're going to have to travel as a civilian. I'm not going to deal with the consequences if the Japanese government happens to find out Clark Kent is in the country without a passport or proper paperwork." Remembering his first sight of Clark's passport, he snorted. "I still can't believe you've never been out of the country!"
The man next to him looked a little embarrassed. "I have! Lots of times! Just...not as Clark. Well, I've been busy," he added defensively at Bruce's expression. "I only came to Metropolis two years ago, and I've kind of had my hands full." Bruce just shook his head. He still couldn't quite believe this country mouse was the most powerful being on Earth. They had found out each others' secret identities a little over a month ago, and Bruce still could hardly process it.
He stretched out his legs luxuriously. "Well, at least I got us upgraded to business class."
Clark did not look mollified. "I don't like it up here. It doesn't feel right to have this much space and luxury with all those people crammed into coach behind us."
Bruce lifted his lip. "Don't you go getting all Ollie Queen on me. If I'm going to travel to Japan to follow some vague lead about a former classmate of mine, I'm going to make sure I arrive well-rested and with my reflexes intact. If I'm going to have to deal with you tagging along and trying to help, I'm going to need my rest even more."
The stewardess came around with a plate of smoked salmon and salad. Bruce waved a couple of small packets at Clark. "Your choice, sea salt or rock salt."
Clark picked at his salad, frowning. "It just doesn't feel right," he muttered.
"You wanted to come along and help. You said it would give us a chance to see if we could work together on this whole League of Justness--"
"--Justice League--"
"--yeah, that. So don't start complaining because you don't like the fact that as a mere human being, I actually need sleep to function well."
Clark glared at him. "You're deliberately misrepresenting me. That's not what I said at all."
Bruce watched the Kansan superhero dissect his meal, a thunderous frown still clouding his clear, broad face. He had to admit he had no idea why he enjoyed needling Superman. There was just something about him that rubbed Bruce the wrong way. Whenever they were interacting, he couldn't seem to help deliberately riling the Kryptonian up, pointing out their differences and stressing their discontinuities. Something about him resisted any attempt to empathize or bond with his fellow hero. There didn't seem to be any good reason for it. It wasn't just ideological differences; Bruce got along with other straight-arrow superheroes well enough. No, something about Clark Kent called forth the imp of the perverse in Bruce. It was a mystery.
And Batman hated mysteries.
In part he had accepted Clark's offer to tag along to Japan to help unravel that mystery. Because although Bruce couldn't seem to help tormenting Clark, Batman understood that pragmatically, he and Superman were going to have to work together for a long time. It made no sense to constantly antagonize your most useful ally.
Batman intended to get to the bottom of that.
But for now, he couldn't seem to stop himself from leaning over and pushing Clark's inept hand away from the seat controls, lengthening the footrest until the man's feet were elevated and comfortable. "These seats can accommodate even your ridiculously long legs. And there's so much space between them no one can kick the back of your seat. It seems to be a cast-iron rule of flying coach that there's always a young child behind you, determined to kick your seat the entire flight." Bruce glared at the sullen Kryptonian. "You're stuck here in business class, Clark, so get used to it."
He reclined his chair to its fullest extent and rolled onto his side, away from Clark. "I'm getting some sleep."
: : :
Bruce emerged from a dream in which Clark was cooing quietly. This seemed odd. He looked over to find the seat next to him occupied by a young blond woman with a tiny infant resting on her chest. She was making the cooing noise. The baby looked over at Bruce, eyes wide and solemn, waving small chubby hands in the air.
"Oh," said the woman, noticing Bruce was awake. "I'm sorry, did I wake you?"
"Not really," Bruce said cautiously. "Where did--"
Her face lit up in a smile. "Your friend was walking around. He said he couldn't sleep. When he saw Joe and I were having problems with Miranda, he offered to trade seats with me." She rubbed the baby's tiny nose with a finger. "And it's made all the difference, hasn't it, Randa-manda?" The baby gurgled and her mother sighed. "It's just too bad Joe can't be up here too. It would be so nice if he could get some sleep before his big presentation. I'll trade with him at some point and give him a turn up here, I suppose."
"He's not my friend," Bruce felt compelled to point out, both belatedly and lamely, a sense of fatalistic desperation settling over him.
The woman looked over at him and smiled again, beatifically. "He's a saint, is what he is. This is a lifesaver."
Bruce lay back down and closed his eyes. No, Clark. No. Forget it. "This would be so perfect if Daddy were up here too, wouldn't it, smookums," the mother murmured to her child. Bruce put a forearm over his eyes.
No way. Absolutely no way.
: : :
Bruce jolted awake again as the hyperactive child behind him kicked petulantly at his seat. He glanced over at Clark in the next seat, his long legs folded like a jackknife into the narrow space between the rows.
Clark was sleeping soundly, an angelic smile on his face. Bastard.
As the plane approached Tokyo, Bruce touched Clark on the shoulder to wake him. "Look." He pointed out the tiny window.
Beneath them lay Mt. Fuji, wreathed by puffy clouds, its gently sloping sides a hazy blue. It looked like a wood-block print. Clark rubbed his eyes and leaned close to the window. "Wow," he breathed. "It's gorgeous."
"Enjoy it now. Air pollution makes it almost impossible to see from the ground most of the time."
"What a shame."
Bruce could see Clark's face reflected in the window. The mountain beyond his image was majestic and flawless. The eerily perfect planes of Clark's reflected face were in startling contrast to the warmth of his smile and blue eyes.
Bruce looked at Clark and through Clark to the mountain.
The most famous set of art about Mt. Fuji is Hokusai's wood-block series, "36 Views of Mt. Fuji." The series is an exercise in learning to look at something from every possible vantage point, to understand it, and our reactions to it, as completely as possible. Seeing Clark's face superimposed over the distant blue mountain, Bruce decided this trip would be his personal version of those pictures. He'd examine Clark Kent from every angle and learn why the Kryptonian elicited such maddening responses in him.
Maybe at the end of the trip they'd be able to work together.
Clark nodded to himself, grinning. "That's amazing." He looked at Bruce and pushed his useless glasses up on his nose. "Now, don't you feel better back here in coach?"
The child behind Bruce delivered a particularly vicious kick, and Bruce winced. "Oh yes. I feel so happy and refreshed."
"Me too," said Clark, re-arranging his cramped legs
Maddening.
: : :
Clark Kent sat on his hotel bed and looked out over the sparkling lights of Tokyo, stretching on into infinity over the horizon in the darkness.
It wasn't as beautiful as Metropolis.
He and Bruce were supposed to be meeting another classmate of his during his time at Yoru-sensei's later this evening, but that was still an hour or so away. Clark looked around the bare room again, then out at the city skyline once more. It wasn't often he had this much spare time, actually. Ever since meeting Batman's alter ego he'd been fascinated by the man, he was forced to admit to himself. Clark had always rather imagined that Batman's unmasked persona would be some grim loner, holed up in that cave day and night. To realize that the handsome, acerbic playboy who charmed women and condescended to hick farmboys with equal skill was also the Dark Knight--well, it wasn't exactly what Clark had expected.
Clark might find Bruce Wayne annoying and confusing, but Superman knew that a Justice League without Batman on it was probably doomed to failure from the start. He had to find a way to break through the man's stubborn cynicism and gauge his ability to commit to a team. So Clark had cashed in his yearly vacation from the Planet to travel to Japan with Bruce as a civilian. To see if they could work together for longer than thirty minutes without wanting to throttle each other.
So far the odds didn't look very good.
He realized abruptly he'd finished at least his fifth circuit of the room. Annoyance knifed through him again. He wasn't here to wait on Bruce Wayne's beck and call, after all. He stepped out of his room and went one door down, knocking briskly.
He could hear Bruce's voice behind the door even without focusing. The voice drew nearer and the door swung open to reveal Bruce Wayne in a sweatshirt and jeans, hair still damp and tousled, talking on a cell phone and looking annoyed at the interruption. He jerked his head at Clark to indicate he should come in, still talking.
"--tell him math isn't just theoretical, he's going to need it someday. There's more to this than just tumbling around. Yes Alfred, he does seem to have that part down. The chandelier?" Bruce grimaced to himself and sighed. "As long as he does his math homework, he can balance anywhere he wants. You can tell him that if he ever decides to come out of his sulk. Yes, I know, Alfred. Would you tell him I miss him too? Maybe he'll talk to me tomorrow." He flipped the phone shut and tossed it onto the bed. Then he saw the expression on Clark's face and his own went wary and cautious. "What is it, Clark?"
"That boy you've taken in. You're not--Bruce, tell me he's not the 'partner' you talked about!"
Bruce said nothing for a moment, staring at the phone on the bed. Then he squared his shoulders and looked back at Clark. "His name's Dick, not 'that boy.' And I'm training him. Yes."
"You can't be partners with a child." Clark was aghast.
He expected Bruce to argue that the boy wasn't a child, but the other man just set his jaw. "Oh? Watch me." He snatched up a towel and scrubbed at his hair. "I'm not going to waste my breath on this trip justifying myself to you. This conversation is closed." He emerged from the towel, still scowling, and spoke as Clark opened his mouth again. "Closed, Clark." He raked his hand through his damp black hair. "You ready to go?"
Clark took in the sweatshirt and rumpled hair. "Like that?"
Bruce shot him a sidelong glance as he threw on a coat. "Matsunaga's not a man to be impressed by a playboy. I'm meeting him to find out what he meant when he emailed me about Kyodai, not dazzle him with my good looks."
Clark decided to let that one pass. "So where are we meeting him?" Visions of hushed teahouses or mysterious temples flitted before Clark.
His companion shot him a wolfish grin. "Someplace very Japanese."
: : :
Clark stared disbelievingly at the neon golden arches above his head. "We're meeting your friend at McDonald's?"
Bruce pushed his way into the bustling store, full of kids in school uniforms stopping for a quick meal after cram school, chattering on their cell phones. "All the chaos makes it less likely we'll be noticed at all." He stepped up to the counter and ordered a Big Mac in fluent Japanese. Clark came up after him and the server behind the counter looked panicked, probably wondering how he was going to communicate with the hulking foreigner, then gave up and spoke in Japanese. "Koko ni omeshiagari deshouka?"
Bruce looked like he was about to translate, but Clark cut him off. "Tennai de ebi katsu sando, furaido poteto, to koora, eru-saizu." The server nodded appreciatively and bustled off.
As they took their seats, Clark noticed his companion was glowering. "What have I done now?" he asked, not bothering to hide his frustation.
"When the hell did you learn Japanese?"
Clark nibbled tentatively on his shrimp cutlet sandwich before answering. "When I found out we were coming here, I took a few days and learned the basics. I have to admit I don't have the honorific and humble forms down yet, but I brought a textbook and hope to have them ready before we meet your sensei."
Bruce glared, then spoke rapidly in Japanese. < Do not sit there and tell me you learned a language in four days. >
< What? I read fast and have a good memory. It seemed practical. Why are you angry at me about it? >
Bruce's expression hovered somewhere between furious and oddly downcast. "You know what? I hate you," he muttered glumly. An awkward silence fell across the table, filled with the sounds of giggling schoolgirls and young boys pummeling each other teasingly at their own tables. Clark continued to eat his sandwich, eyeing Bruce over the bun. The other man was studying his brightly-colored placemat intently, as though it might explain why his contact was running late, or why he hated Clark Kent so much. His hair, still slightly damp, obscured his eyes, and neon from the busy street added flourescent highlights to its dark sheen.
"Who are you?" Clark blurted without thinking, then wished he hadn't when Bruce's head came up as though he'd been challenged.
Bruce visibly relaxed into an overly toothy grin and said, "Bruce Wayne, billionare playboy and your extremely reluctant travelling companion?"
Clark shook his head and barged ahead. "No. I've met billionaire Bruce Wayne, on the cruise, and he's an insufferable snob and asshole who wouldn't be caught dead eating at a McDonald's with a kid from Kansas. Who are you?"
Bruce narrowed his eyes in annoyance and dropped his voice to almost comedic levels of gravel. "I'm--"
Clark cut him off, jabbing a french fry at him. "No. Who are you, the guy who's so irritated that I learned in four days what took him a lot of effort, the guy who thinks I didn't deserve that. The man who's angry that I don't have to depend on him during this trip." He hadn't realized the last sentence was true until he said it and saw Bruce's eyes flicker.
Bruce turned his head and stared out the window at the sidewalk teeming with humanity, washing to and fro. Clark waited, but when Bruce turned back to him, all he said was, "Matsunaga's almost thirty minutes late now. He was one of the most punctual students Yoru-sensei had--and we were all punctual." He finished his burger, clearly on edge and suddenly all business. Then he stood up. "I'm worried."
Clark followed him to the trash can, bemused to find it had three different openings. Around him other customers were sorting and dropping items into the bin with the ease of long practice. He glanced at the labels: plastic, burnable items, and ice and leftover drinks. Carefully he started to extricate the plastic wrappers. Beside him, Bruce sighed gustily. "You can read Japanese characters too. Of course you can. May I ask how many characters you learned in four days?"
Clark fumbled with the little wet-nap package he had been given, trying to separate the napkin from its plastic wrapper. This was all quite complicated. "Oh, only about fifteen hundred," he said absent-mindedly.
A hand reached past him, scooped up his cup and emptied the ice into the proper entrance with a vicious rattle. "Fuck you," Bruce suggested amiably.
: : :
Superman and Batman were breaking into an apartment. They had--at Superman's insistence--knocked first, but nobody had answered Matsunaga's door. Batman finished picking the lock and they stepped into the cramped apartment. Documents scattered the floor, and a coffee table was overturned: signs of a struggle. "Damn," Batman said very softly under his breath, and started searching the apartment.
They found the body garrotted in the bathroom, the face livid. Batman showed no reaction, dusting for fingerprints--finding none, of course--and examining the bathroom minutely. Superman stood outside the room, watching. The dead man's glassy eyes seemed to stare at the expressionless dark figure. Had he been a friend of Bruce Wayne's? There was no telling from the vigilante's businesslike mein.
Superman wondered suddenly what it would be like to be twelve years old, that boy's age, and deal with crime scenes like this almost every night. When he was twelve, Clark had been mostly worried about whether the Kansas City Royals would win their next game. He couldn't even imagine dealing with gruesome murder and gore at that age.
The kid couldn't possibly understand what working with Batman would lead him into.
Batman left the bathroom and went to the living room, strewn with documents and newspapers. He stood for a moment, then said rather reluctantly, "I don't suppose you can use your x-ray vision to scan these documents?"
"Sure. What am I looking for?"
Batman sighed and rubbed his chin. "That's the problem, I'm not sure. But I'm not sure I have time to go through them all, either. Look for any themes that seem to recur."
A moment's pause. "A place called Hakone keeps showing up. Travel fliers, brief references in newspaper stories...there's no real pattern to it, but it's referenced more often than could probably be explained by chance."
"Hm."
If he had been waiting for thanks, he was apparently waiting in vain. "You don't seem so irritable about speed-reading ability now," he noted somewhat smugly.
Batman shot him a glance. "Can you really retain all that?"
"Not without review," Clark was forced to admit. "If I don't go over it a few times to commit it to long-term memory it's gone again in a few minutes. But Hakone--there were definitely a lot of references to Hakone."
"That's a resort area near here. I wonder--" There was a pounding on the door.
< Police! Open up! >
Batman went to the window and threw it open; the cool winter air wafted in. "That's our cue to leave."
Superman drifted out the window and watched Batman plummet fifteen stories before releasing his decel line and swooping between the Tokyo skyscrapers, cape fluttering. Deciding not to follow him, Clark went back to the hotel room and sat on the edge of the hotel bed some more, looking at the lights of the city like a million stars below him. After a while there was a knock on the door.
The door opened to Bruce Wayne's face. "Be ready to go tomorrow," he said shortly.
Clark put his arm out to stop the door as it started to swing shut. "Are you going to tell me where exactly we're going? Some tour guide you are."
The door snapped open again. "I'm not your damn tour guide, Kent, and this isn't a vacation. Yoru-sensei has invited us to his home for New Year's. It's quite an honor."
"I'll make sure I can use the honorific forms properly by tomorrow, then."
Bruce Wayne made an indescribable noise, and the door slammed shut in Clark's face.