The House of the Earth

by Mithen

Summary:

The House of the Earth is an AU in which a few thousand Kryptonians escaped the destruction of Krypton to flee to Earth and enslave its people. Years later, a young and naive Kryptonian finds himself entangled with a secret rebellion and its mysterious leader.

Notes:

• Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: 地球圣殿 The House of The Earth by Mithen by ana_ann1209

Chapter 1: The Prince and the Peacock

It is a sacred house that I have come to,
It is a sacred house that I have come to, Holaghei.
Now I have come to the House of the Earth.
--Navajo song

A raucous scream broke the hushed silence of the garden.  Smiling, Kal broke off another piece of bread and threw it to the peacock, who gobbled it down greedily then fanned its tailfeathers in a display of braggadocio.  It stretched its clipped wings as if it somehow had the ability to sail over the walls of the garden to freedom, then subsided to peck at the ground.

Kal-El, heir of the House of El, sat on the edge of a white marble fountain in the middle of the paradisical garden of the El plantation, filled with exotic flowers and graceful trees.  Peacocks strutted along the white-pebbled paths, their iridescent feathers gleaming in the sunlight.  Kal smoothed his midnight-blue robes and contemplated the symmetrical perfection of his aunt's garden.

The El plantation had been founded twenty-two years ago, when the Kryptonian race, fleeing the imminent destruction of their planet, had created the wormhole in space that allowed them to come to Earth.  They had fled here as refugees and found the planet beautiful, the sun a benison.  Its light gave them powers beyond imagining.  And it turned the crimson iao-flower, a humble herb on Krypton, into a drug that could add decades to the Kryptonian lifespan.

Under the benevolent yellow rays, they had leveled Earth's cities to dust and summoned from the ruins the vast and fruitful Plantations, binding the humans to them in a mutually beneficial arrangement that would, over time, raise the human's level of civilization to something resembling Kryptonian.

Kal had just been a baby when they came to the El plantation.  He had never seen the grimy, filthy city that had been destroyed to make way for the plains and gardens of his family's plantation.

He wondered, sometimes, what Gotham had looked like.

The peacock screamed again, glaring at him.  Kal tossed it another bit of bread.  As a child, he had been irrationally afraid of the peacocks in his aunt's garden, despite Lady Allura's assurances that they could never hurt her beloved nephew.  Their sheer and simple spite, their avian malice, had overwhelmed him and reduced him to tears.  But he hadn't been in this garden for almost twelve years now.  He had received the education due a prince of the lost planet of Krypton, training at the finest schools and universities in the galaxy.  His family had come to visit him at times--he remembered with chagrin Zor-El telling him to stop blubbering the first time they had come to visit on Darro IV, Aunt Allura's faraway smile, Kara's ready sympathy.  But he had never returned to Earth until yesterday.

He had dreamed of it sometimes, of its endless azure skies and rolling fields, but he told no one.  Kryptonians were supposed to miss Krypton, not Earth.

A motion at the edge of his vision caught his attention, and he looked up to see Kara Zor-El enter the garden, floating the requisite three inches above the ground, her long robes fluttering behind her.  Behind her walked a man in light silken clothes, their bright blue-green vivid against the white stone of the pathways.  That his feet stirred the pebbles was proof enough that he was human, even before Kal saw the shining silver chain between him and Kara.  "A good day to you, cousin," called Kal in Kryptonian.

Kara turned and smiled at Kal.  "A good day to you as well, cousin," she responded as Kal rose to greet her, careful to keep his feet from touching the ground.  He bowed to Kara, the proper depth and duration for an older relative.  Kara was one of the most promising young Senators on the Council and Kal felt a bit overwhelmed around her.  In his childhood, their relationship had been warm and close.  When Jor-El and Lara had perished in the cataclysm of Krypton, Zor-El had taken Kal to raise, but had never tried to replace his parents.  Kara had been almost like a mother to him, letting him bob around the compound after her, coaching him in how to truly fly and control his powers as they had developed under the yellow sun.  When he had been sent away for schooling, he had missed her terribly, writing her almost every day.  At first her letters had been warm and chatty, but in the last few years her correspondence had become more distant, cooler, and it pained him.  He hoped that returning to Earth, having more time to spend with her, might re-establish their old bond.

Kara shook the chain and it jangled sweetly, a silver sound that blended with the splashing of the fountain.  "Do you like my new acquisition?  I decided it was time to admit that my Senatorial duties will occupy me too much for romance for a while and get myself a companion to keep my bed warm."  Kara had been eligible to own personal slaves for years, but had never had one until today.  Kal realized with something of a shock that since he had just turned twenty-two, he could now own personal slaves as well. 

The man stood with his head bowed, hands properly folded in front of him.  He had no definite way of knowing they were speaking about him, of course--the human brain simply wasn't complex enough to understand Kryptonian.  He didn't look up as Kal took in his athletic form, his dark, shaggy hair.  "He's quite pretty, cousin," said Kal after a moment.  "I'm glad you'll have a diversion for your nights.  You work far too hard."  Kara's purchase kept his hands folded, his eyes cast down.  "He seems like a docile enough plaything," Kal said with a smile.

At that, for just a moment, the collared man lifted his head to reveal a sudden flash of azure eyes, looking straight at Kal for the briefest instant.  Then Kara was tugging at the chain and leading her new companion away.  "I shall see you at dinner, Kal," she called back over her shoulder.

Kal murmured some kind of response, but was fairly sure it hadn't carried to her.  He felt distinctly nonplussed all of a sudden, thrown off-balance by that brief gleam of sapphire.  The new slave's glance had been opaque and unreadable, and yet...

The peacock screamed, breaking into his thoughts and scattering them.  He went back to the fountain and threw the last piece of bread to it, dabbling his fingers in the clear water to cleanse them.  The peacock spread its tailfeathers and shrieked again, beating at the air with its useless wings.  "All out," Kal said apologetically, and the bird twisted its neck and glared balefully at him, stalking toward him as if to attack him.  Kal laughed and moved toward the dining hall, ignoring the bird's vain threats.

After all, nothing born of Earth could ever harm a Kryptonian.

Chapter 2: The Prince and the Peacock

Summary:

A family dinner and a chat in the garden, in which Kal badly misunderstands many things.

The quiet clink of silver on china was the only thing that broke the silence in the El dining room.  Meals had always been quiet affairs here, yet Kal found himself missing the chatter of conversation he and his schoolmates had shared at meal time.  He stifled a sigh.  Life couldn't always be fun and games.  He had responsibilities as the heir to the vast El plantation.  A lifetime of bookkeeping and household organization.  He grimaced into his soup and mentally apologized to the portrait hanging behind his uncle at the head of the table.

Jor-El and Lara, their arms around each other, smiled out of the painting.  As a small child, Kal had pretended that their souls were trapped in the painting by some lost magic, that they could look out at him somehow, that their smiles were of love and approval.

He had tried to live up to those smiles.

Jor-El had been the geologist that had predicted the planet's destruction, prompting Krypton's scientists to find the wormhole that had saved their race.  But the destruction of Krypton had come upon them sooner and more suddenly than expected, and only a handful of their race had been able to scramble through the gate in the chaos.  Jor-El had gone missing in the field at the last second, and Lara had gone looking for him, unwilling to leave him behind as the planetquakes rocked Krypton.  It was El family legend, how Kara had snatched up baby Kal and made a desperate run for the Gate--the last two Kryptonians to make it through.

When the wormhole had collapsed in the massive explosion, Kal's parents had been on the other side. 

Kara looked up as if she had heard his muffled sigh and flashed him a smile across the table.  She was alone.  Kal had wondered if she would bring her new pet to dinner--he knew some people liked to bring their bed companions to meals with them, to cosset and feed tidbits.  It seemed she wanted to keep him more private than that.

A tall, straight-backed man with thinning silver hair brought out the dessert tray, and Kal felt a sudden thrill of delight go through him.  "Alfred!" he said happily, breaking the silence without thinking.

The older man looked slightly surprised, then bowed deeply.  "Young master," he acknowledged, not smiling, but his eyes were warm.  Then he went back to serving dessert.

Kal nibbled on some fruit, ignoring his uncle's disapproving look, grinning despite himself.  How could he have forgotten Alfred?  Happy memories came flooding back as he tasted the tart blueberries--his favorite, of course Alfred remembered that.  Alfred had come to their family when Kal had been just eight, and he had become indispensable almost immediately.  On sleepless nights, Kal would sneak down to the kitchen, and once Alfred had caught him there, hovering to get at a cookie jar.  Kal had been afraid of the frowning man--he knew how foolish that was now, to be afraid of a mere human, but at the time the man had been rather daunting--but Alfred had merely fixed him a plate of cookies and fruit. 

After that, Kal had slipped away to the kitchen fairly often.  Alfred would tell him stories of Old Gotham before the Arrival and Kal would help him clean the kitchen.  He never spoke of his own life before coming to the El household:  the one time Kal had asked him he had looked so sad that Kal regretted it immediately.  "The family I once served is dead," was all he had said, but Kal instinctively respected the grief in his eyes.

It had been a good time.  But it had all come to an end when--

The berries were suddenly bitter in Kal's mouth.  He stopped his train of thought with an effort, feeling Jor-El and Lara's eyes on him, the disappointment behind their smiles.  Forgive me, my parents.

He finished the meal in silence.

: : :

The sky over the compound was a deep velvety blue, shading to lilac in the west as the sun set.  Silver stars were beginning to cluster in the sky.  The El gardens were filled with nightingale song and the fragrance of wisteria and honeysuckle.  Kal floated through the grounds slowly, savoring the beauty all around him.  As a child he had longed to sail over these walls and see more of the world, but now he understood that there could be no more perfect beauty than within the safe enclosure of the household.

He rounded a corner and stopped at the sight of Kara sitting on a bench in front of a wall cascading with moonflowers, her feet carefully tucked under her to avoid any chance contact with the earth.  Her companion stood beside her, the silver chain and collar twinkling in the starlight.  Kara was reading a book and absent-mindedly stroking her slave's hand against her cheek.  The man stood with his eyes cast down, his posture respectful and submissive.

Kal hesitated, then drew nearer. The slave didn't look up as he approached, but his cousin did.  "Ah, Kal," she said.  "I haven't really had a chance to catch up with you since your return."  She gestured to another bench across from her.  "Sit.  Tell me how you've been.  Is it good to be back?"  As Kal sank onto the bench, Kara picked up her pager and spoke into it.  "Alfred?  My cousin and I require some ices in the southwest corner of the garden."

"It's...strange to be back," Kal admitted.  "I'm used to having my classmates around to talk to.  There are so few people here in the compound."

Kara put the book aside, smiling.  "That's right, you were quite the debater in college, weren't you?  Didn't you win the championship?"

Kal couldn't help the glow of pride that warmed him.  "Yes.  The resolution was that the Green Lantern Corps should be more proactive, and the affirmative ran an anti-Kryptonian case against me.  I think they expected it to throw me off-balance."  Human freedom was a touchy subject in galactic politics and Kal had gotten in some serious rows with aliens who seemed to have nothing better to do than judge systems of which they weren't a part.

Kara smiled and rubbed her cheek against the back of the slave's hand.  "I gather it didn't?"  There was a soft footstep on the pebbled path before Kal could answer, and Kara raised her voice.  "Ah, Alfred.  I believe Kal will have the chocolate ice."

Kal rose from the bench as Alfred approached with a silver tray bearing crystal bowls of ice.  As Kal reached out for his, he heard a metallic tremoring noise and realized the tray was shaking very slightly in the man's hands, the crystal ringing against the silver.  "Alfred," Kal said, trying to express how happy he was to see him as he couldn't at dinner, "It's wonderful to see you again."

Alfred looked up and Kal was shocked to see his gray eyes full of tears.  "I am glad--"  His voice broke hoarsely and he tried again.  "I'm very glad to see the young master again."  He looked down at the ices, his hands still trembling.  "I've spent the years praying for your safety, sir."

Humans could be so demonstrative;  Kal smiled fondly at the older man.  "I don't know what to say."

Alfred looked down again, but not before Kal could see the tears tracking his lined cheeks.  "You don't need to say anything at all, young master.  I know your heart.  I don't need to hear your voice."

Touched and slightly embarrassed at the older man's emotion, Kal glanced over at Kara, who was looking amused.  The dark-haired slave behind her, on the other hand, was impassive as ever, his eyes fixed on the middle distance as Kara held his hand.  His gaze was vacant;  he may have been bored.  Kal wondered briefly if he was mentally deficient;  he supposed there could be advantages to a beautiful bed companion with the mind of a child, although he had always preferred more lively mental stimulation from his lovers.

But then, one didn't bed humans for the mental stimulation.

As Kal lifted his bowl of ice, Kara gestured to the vacant space at her right shoulder.  "Stay here with us until we're done the ices, Alfred."  The older slave took up position slightly behind Kara's shoulder, his formal, stiff-backed stance perfectly matching that of the younger slave on her right. 

He lifted his chin and made no effort to wipe the tears from his face.

Kara nibbled on her ice delicately.  "So your opponents misjudged you?" she said, returning to the subject of the debate.

Kal licked his spoon clean, aware it looked slightly childish.  But being back on the compound made him feel like a child again.  "Mm, yes.  They paraded the usual arguments about human sovereignty and equality.  But I had suspected they'd take that tack and I was ready for them."

"Did you use the studies by Tyllin Van-Or showing the inferior neural linkings in the human brain?"

"Oh, that was just the beginning.  Van-Or's research was published ten years ago, after all--practically prehistoric in neurological studies.  I had to come up with more than that.  No, I cited a lot of Earth history, the barbarism of the century before the Arrival, and made a case for Kryptonian intervention being the only means by which humanity could ever hope to become civilized enough to join the galactic community.  I think I threw them by being so hopeful about the human chances for advancement--usually the arguments rest much more on inborn inferiority.  But I'm an optimist, so I wanted to stress the possibilities for humans being raised high enough to be good helpmeets for the more advanced races.  In a few millennia, probably.  It was a brilliant case, if I say so myself."

Kara grinned.  "Sounds like you might have a career as a Senator."

"Oh, no.  You know my fate will be here running the compound."  Kal knew his smile had a wry twist.  "I might have liked to go into writing, maybe, but as the heir of the House of El, you know..."

His cousin nodded sympathetically.  "A writer?"

"Well, I've been told I have a way with words..."  Kal felt himself blushing at his conceit in front of his Senatorial cousin.  He shrugged.  "But no, it'll be home economics and business for me."

"Well, maybe you'll have more time to actually win over a mate instead of having to rely on humans for the fun like your poor unfortunate cousin."

Kal looked at the silken-clad slave standing behind her and wasn't sure how "unfortunate" Kara was.  "I suppose I need to start looking for some woman willing to bear my child and carry on the vaunted El lineage." He sighed, and Kara raised an eyebrow.

"We women aren't so bad, Kal," she said with a slight smirk.

"I'm sorry, cousin," Kal said with a slight laugh.  "Is my lack of enthusiasm showing?"

"Maybe just a bit," Kara said, casting a look up at her new acquisition.  The man didn't look back at her, his flat lapis gaze remaining straight ahead.  Kal felt a sudden frisson of annoyance at the man's silence.

"Don't you have a name, human?" he asked brusquely.

Kara ran her hand up his arm, caressing the muscles under the shining silk.  "His name is Bruce."

"Is he mute?"

Kara slanted a smile at him that was almost coy.  "He most certainly is not.  In bed, he has quite a lot to say--don't you, my pet?"  The man said nothing, but cast his eyes down in submission once more, veiling the blue with thick, dark lashes.  "And he says it so prettily."

Kal finished the last bite of ice and found himself suddenly anxious to leave the garden.  The sight of Kara lounging on the bench flanked by the two rigid, formal slaves seemed jarring and dissonant for a second.  Get away, his mind whispered.  Don't think about it.  "Thank you, Alfred," he said, putting the empty dish on the slave's tray.  "I'll be going to bed, cousin."

Kara's hand had slipped from Bruce's arm to his hip, her strong fingers bunching the silk.  "Very well, Kal.  Sleep well."

"You too," Kal said without thinking, then fled with Kara's laughter lilting after him.

: : :

Kal came awake abruptly, his body still set to the circadian rhythms of a different planet.  He looked at the clock next to the table:  three.  He rolled over and closed his eyes, then flipped onto his other side, then back.  After a while he gave up and sat up, sighing.  Drawing on a robe, he slipped from his room to wander the compound as he had as a child.

The gardens were drenched in starlight and silence, the peacocks sleeping with their heads tucked under their wings.  Even the nightingales had ceased singing.  In the fountain, the golden koi waved sleepy fins.  Kal flew aimlessly, his mind clear of thought, until he came to with a start, finding himself at the entrance to the kitchen gardens.

The kitchen gardens were a small, walled-off area where fresh vegetables and herbs were grown for the household.  Most of the household lived off the produce gathered from the fields of the plantation, of course, but the cooks always liked to have access to some fresh garlic or basil on the spot.  Kal hovered at the gate, irresolute.  Then he entered.

The little side garden was darker, huddled in the shadow of the compound walls.  Even in the dark, Kal knew it well.  Out of nowhere, he found himself thinking about the little slave girl who had played with him in this garden.  What was her name?  He racked his mind, and yet...nothing came to him, somehow.

A wind rustled the curtain of ivy on the wall, and for a moment he could see her face, the dark curls tumbling down her back, her emerald eyes.  Yes, they had played here.  They had played tag, and--and--

They had giggled together and made up stories, and--

He couldn't remember.  He couldn't remember her.

Slowly, he floated over to the wall, where the ivy grew thick.  The breeze lifted the lush green leaves, and for just a moment Kal saw the iron rings set in the stone.

He crouched in the dark shadow of the wall, feeling like something with great black wings was passing over him.  The dirt at the base of the wall was dark and loose.  Without thinking, he reached out.

He took a handful of the forbidden Earth in his hands.

It smelled of growth and possibility, rich and loamy.  It smelled of promise.  Of life.

And under that, it smelled of blood.

The soil trickled through his fingers, leaving his hands smudged with darkness.  Kal stared at the marks.  He had violated the Kryptonian oath to be true to lost Krypton, to never touch the soil of exile.  Hastily, he burned the damning traces from his hands, leaving them pristine once more. 

The ivy whispered like laughter behind him as he left the garden.

: : :

He wasn't thinking of anything.  Just moving like a ghost through his household, his legacy, his inheritance.  It would all be his someday.  The buildings, the gardens, the furniture, the slaves.

He wasn't thinking of anything.

He found himself at the family library, the sanctum where the archives were kept.  Almost no one ever came here, which Kal knew well--this had been his secret place as a child, the place he came to hide when he needed to think, to dream, to cry.

He slipped inside.

The faint smell of parchment and dust soothed his mind immediately.  Soundlessly he floated through the bookcases, the weight of history and genealogy reassuring all around him.  Then a soft rustle reached his ears and he stopped dead:  the sound of a page turning, the faintest whisper in the great hall.

Curious, he drifted toward the sound.  Then he heard another sound:  a whispered voice, almost sub-vocalizing.

"Farhzaoull nar kellianh orh," said the voice.  Ionic or covalent bonded materials.  The voice was abstracted and low, almost musing.  "Tay rarroo."  Tensile strength. 

Kal frowned.  That wasn't his aunt, uncle or cousin.  Was there a guest on the compound no one had informed him of?  He turned the corner--and stopped dead as he saw the person reading at a table.

The man's handsome face was marred with a deep frown, the eyes that had been vacant earlier skimming across the page with impatience and a ravenous curiosity.

It was Kara's pet.

The slave.

The human.

And he was reading Kryptonian.

Chapter 3: The Wind in the Ivy

Summary:

Kal has a conversation in a library and is told a variety of things he cannot hear.

Kal stared.  That hadn't been--it couldn't have been---

Had the human in front of him truly been reading Kryptonian out loud?

"What are--what are you doing?"

The slave's face was bland and expressionless again, the frown of a moment before wiped away as if it had never been.  Irrationally, Kal thought he had looked better with the frown.  "I was looking at the pretty pictures, Master."  He gestured down at a chart displaying the different piezoelectric and pyroelectric responses of various ceramic materials when exposed to an electromagnetic field.

A stab of anxiety went through Kal.  "No, I know what I heard. You were speaking in Kryptonian. You were reading that."  He stopped, confused.  But--that was impossible.  The human brain couldn't possibly--

"Forgive my presumption in daring to contradict one of the Arrived, Master, but I believe you misheard.  Mistress Kara was showing me the library earlier and reading them out loud to herself--"

Another set of footsteps rang through the archive, and a guard's flashlight beam cut through the gloom of the library.  "What's going on here, I heard voices and the door was ajar--oh, young master."  The guard bowed respectfully, then his gaze fell on the slave at the table, the book in front of him.  "Did you catch this one trespassing here?  And looking at the El family books, that's--" 

The guard stepped forward, but Kal moved between them without thinking.  "Thank you for your diligence, but I was showing this one the library.  He--I wanted to show him some pictures.  He's here on my sufferance."

"Ah."  The guard bowed his head, but not before a speculative gleam went across his face.  "Then I shall leave you;  pardon the intrusion, Master."  He backed slowly out of the room, continuing to bow.

When the library was silent again, Kal turned to face the slave.  He was looking back, his eyes blank yet slightly wary, waiting.  Of course he hadn't been reading that book aloud, Kal reassured himself.  He had been around Kryptonians long enough to learn the rhythm of the language;  he'd just been muttering nonsense phrases to himself that echoed the ones he had heard Kara saying. 

If he had been reading that book, Kal would be required to report him, of course. 

But it was impossible for a human to read Kryptonian, so there was no need to mention it to his uncle.

"You shouldn't be wandering around at night, away from your Mistress's protection," Kal said softly, not wanting to scare him.  "Not every Kryptonian will be willing to overlook such trespasses."

"The young master is kind indeed," the slave murmured, bowing his dark head so Kal couldn't see his eyes.

"You could be whipped merely for being out of your rooms, never mind handling such valuable property."  Kal struggled to make clear to the man just how much danger he had been in without frightening him too much.  "And you really mustn't let any other Kryptonian hear you parroting our language like that.  The penalties would be--severe."

"And yet you, in your infinite kindness, protected me."

Kal paused.  The voice was still deferential, and yet the statement seemed oddly challenging.  He shrugged uncomfortably.  "You were treating the book with respect, even though you couldn't understand it.  You weren't bothering anyone."  Kal paused, feeling the books around him like old friends.  "I think I'm the only one who's ever read them anyway.  But everyone needs a place to get away and be alone sometimes.  I used to come here a lot, as a boy.  It was a...safe place for me." 

"Mistress Kara said that you hadn't been on Earth for a long time."

"I...not since I was ten.  I was educated off-planet."

The slave lifted his head and looked directly at Kal, a ghost of a frown on his face.  "That's unusual, isn't it?  Why were you sent away?"

"It's very expensive.  It took much of my aunt and uncle's resources to educate me off-world.  Another thing I owe them," Kal added in a whisper, almost to himself.

"But...why were you sent away?"  The slave's puzzled gaze dropped back down to the table when Kal met his eyes, adding, "Master."

Kal could feel his mouth moving, but nothing came out.  The smell of blood, the wind in the ivy..."I needed to be trained properly," he said faintly.  "To be a good Kryptonian."

"Is there such a thing as a bad Kryptonian?"  The man's dark eyes were no longer flat and blank, but deep with some emotion that Kal couldn't seem to place, and for a moment Kal wanted nothing more than to talk to him, just talk.  He snapped to himself, realizing that he had held out his hand--reaching out to a slave!  A human! 

He backed away soundlessly, letting his hand drop.  "If I was one, I've learned better," he said haughtily.

The slave dropped his eyes again, and the unsettling moment of connection between them passed.  "Of course, Master."

Kal looked at the way his long eyelashes shadowed his cheeks, the grace of his hands--surprisingly sinewy--on the book's cover.  "Does my cousin treat you well?"  he asked without thinking.

The man's mouth curved slightly in a smile that could only be called smug.  "She treats me well indeed, my Lord."

Kal felt a hot blush on his face.  "Are you content as her bed companion?"

"Surely no slave is more content than I, Master."

"Ah," Kal said.  "I'm glad to hear it."

The long fingers stroked the leather cover of the book carefully.  "Why do you care?"

"What?"

"Surely this humble one's fate is of no consequence to one of the Arrived."

Once again Kal felt himself off-balance, like there was more to the question than there seemed.  "My cousin works harder than anyone I know and deserves some companionship, and she seems pleased with you.  If you are content you'll be a better companion for her."  He paused and added, almost reluctantly, "And...I prefer not to see any being suffer unfairly." 

"The human slaves laboring to pick your iao-leaves in the field are suffering...fairly?"

Kal frowned.  He didn't need to justify slavery to this human.  Yet he found himself answering anyway.  "Iao-harvesting is difficult work, but the delicate leaves are necessary and must be harvested by hand.  I would hardly call it 'suffering.'  We keep the conditions in the fields humane."

"Has the young master ever had the pleasure of visiting the fields?"

Kal made a dismissive gesture.  "I've never had a need to.  I've seen the vis-reels."  His gaze sharpened on the dark-haired slave.  "Why do you care?  You have an easy life as a bed companion, out of the harsh weather and well-fed--not that field slaves aren't," he added hastily.  "What does their fate matter to you?"

The human's eyes were fathomless and opaque again.  "That's a very good question."

In the distance, the clock softly struck four.  "I should be getting back to sleep," Kal said.  "We have a breakfast guest tomorrow--today, I suppose."  He hesitated.  "Would you like to stay here a while longer?  As long as you don't disturb anything.  I know how comforting this room can be."

"If I'm caught, the guards will--"

"--I know.  Wait."  Kal drew off his signet ring.  "If a guard bothers you, show him this and tell him I gave you permission.  That should do the trick."  No human was getting their hands on a Kryptonian signet ring without cutting off the Kryptonian's fingers, which was impossible.  "You can give it back to me tomorrow."  He went over to the bookshelf and pulled out a slender volume, putting it on the table in front of the human.  "You might like this one.  It's a book of fairy tales.  It has a lot of very pretty pictures."

The slave looked at the book.  "Thank you," he said rather flatly.  Then he looked at the ring for a long moment before slipping it into his pocket.  "Thank you," he repeated, more softly.

"Enjoy your reading," Kal said with a smile as he turned to go.

"I will."

As he left the archives, Kal realized that the last half hour had been the closest thing to an interesting conversation he'd had since he had left college to return to Earth. 

: : :

Kal is asleep.  In his dreams, the sound of ivy is all around him, reptilian and mocking, and a boy's voice is sobbing.  Not her, it wasn't her fault, it wasn't!  It was my fault, all my fault, it should be me, not her!  Please!

He doesn't recognize the boy's voice, he can't, and he frowns in his sleep. 

The next voice he does recognize:  his uncle's, cool and detached.  This is your responsibility.  This is what happens when you forget your place.  When you forget the rules.  Your responsibility.

Kal can't breathe, as if someone's arm is around his neck, holding him back.  The unknown boy's voice is weeping and screaming.

He smells blood and wakes up, sweating and cold, the dream slipping away from him.  Let it go, it's dangerous.  For everyone, he thinks briefly, a pinpoint of consciousness winking out.

Then even that is gone.

Kal gets out of bed, stretching and groaning, and prepares for another day in which nothing interesting happens.

Chapter 4: Two Guests

Summary:

Two guests to the El household--one invited and one not.

Kal hovered outside his cousin's suite, irresolute, as the early-morning sun filled the corridor.  Then he gathered his courage and knocked.

"Enter," said Kara's voice from far away, and the door slid open.  Kal floated into the suite's living room, looking around the tasteful mahogany furnishings.  "I'm in here, cousin," Kara's voice came from her bedroom. 

Kara was sitting at her vanity, applying makeup, her robe loose around her shoulders.  The queen-sized bed was rumpled and unmade;  Kal could hear the shower running in the bathroom.

"Good morning, cousin," Kal greeted her.  "I came to escort you to breakfast."

Kara's bright blue eyes rolled as she applied eyeliner.  "This should be a great deal of fun," she said sarcastically.  "There's certainly no way I'd rather spend my limited time with my newly-arrived and very dear cousin than eating breakfast with my favorite zealot."

"Why is he coming over?"

Kara heaved a sigh.  "Oh, he's trying to work with me to get some damn bill or other passed, something about farm practices.  And Mother and Father seem to like him, despite his...views."

Their guest this morning was a minor functionary who was becoming notorious for his radical views on slavery.  Humans, according to him, were beyond salvaging;  he refused to own personal slaves because to be served by beings so inferior demeaned the Kryptonian soul.  Zhon-Mal was an eccentric, without a doubt.

"Good morning, Master," came a voice from the door, and Kal whirled to find Kara's pet standing in the bathroom doorway, a black silk bathrobe clinging to his damp skin.  He bowed deeply, and Kal nodded in return.

"Ah, Bruce," Kara said cheerfully.  "Put on some pretty clothes;  I'm taking you to breakfast with me."

Kal frowned.  "Are you sure that's wise, Kara?  I mean, with Zhon-Mal there?"  Out of the corner of his eye he saw the slave casually drop his robe on the floor, revealing expanses of surprisingly corded and muscled skin.  Kal caught a glimpse of scars streaking the man's back and turned back to Kara, feeling...vaguely uncomfortable.

It was Kara's turn to frown.  "I have a right to bring a companion to a meal."

"Of course you do," Kal said hastily.

Kara rose to move behind a screen and disrobe;  her slave hadn't bothered and seemed to be taking his time getting dressed.

"Mistress?  Shall I swear the black or the brown pants?"

"Oh, wear the black leather ones, they look delicious on you," Kara said rather lasciviously.

"As my Mistress wishes," the man responded, picking up a pair of cotton briefs.  Once into those, he lay down on the bed in order to best squeeze into a very tight pair of leather pants.  Kal realized he was staring at the sight of the man writhing on the bed and looked away hastily.

Kara emerged from behind the screen in a rather severe navy suit.  She sat down on the edge of the bed and tousled the slave's dark hair, smiling.  "You're stunning," she said.

"Thank you, Mistress," he responded demurely, and she dropped a kiss on his cheek.  As he slipped on a light tunic, she picked something up from her vanity--the slave's collar, Kal realized with surprise.  He hadn't noticed the human wasn't wearing it.  His attention, he admitted ruefully to himself, had been elsewhere.

Kara waited until the slave was done dressing.  "Are you ready?" she said softly.  He nodded, and she closed the collar around his neck with a tiny click, locking it shut.  For a moment she stood there with her hands on the silver collar, then she moved back and picked up the chain.  "Then let's go," she said.

As he passed Kal, the slave slipped him the El signet ring from the night before.  Kal stared at it for a moment, then put it back on his finger.

The slave's footsteps were muffled in the thick carpeting;  the Kryptonians, of course, made no sound at all as they floated from the room.

: : :

Zhon-Mal was a tall, muscular man with chestnut hair and deep-set green eyes that burned with an discomfiting fervor beneath a beetling brow.  As the El family ate their breakfast, he sat next to Kara and glared at the slave sitting on the floor next to her chair.  When Kara fed the human a bit of strawberry, he pushed his own strawberries away, growling.

Zor-El and Allura made desultory small talk:  Zor-El talked of the latest iao-flower harvest and if the unseasonal heat would ruin it;  Allura complained about her favorite necklace of cat's-eyes going missing, just like her emerald earrings had last week.  Kal tried to distract Zhon-Mal by asking about the bill he and Kara were working on, but it was difficult to pretend to be interested, especially when Bruce was licking strawberry juice from his cousin's fingers.

Finally Zhon-Mal was apparently pushed beyond his endurance.  "This is intolerable," he snarled, half-rising.  "To expect me to work with someone who flaunts her immoral behavior in public!"  Kara's eyes were wide with shock as he went on.  "Such...contact is wrong and demeans the nobility of the Kryptonian race.  When I think a member of such a prominent Kryptonian house being sullied by mingling with a slave, it makes me sick." 

Kara frowned imperiously.  "My relationship--"

Zhon-Mal cut her off.  "Relationship?  Such a term cannot apply to congress between a master and a slave.  One could as well have a 'relationship' with a chair, or a knife.  You make a mockery of the word!"

Kal felt anger boiling inside him: a strange, unfocused fury.  He found himself in the air, his hands clenched.  "That's enough," he barked at the astonished Zhon-Mal.  "I won't have you criticizing my cousin in our House.  Who she chooses to consort with is her affair and none of yours!"

Zhon-Mal opened his mouth to say something else, but Kara laid a swift hand on his arm.  "I think that's enough," she said quietly.

"Very well," Zhon-Mal said slowly.  "I shall meditate on these matters in silence and trouble you no more."  He sat down and took a long sip of fresh orange juice, gazing at Kal as though seeing him for the first time.

"I just wish someone would do something about the magpie problem I seem to have," Allura said plaintively, as if she hadn't noticed the exchange at all.

After the breakfast, Zhon-Mal came up to Kal, his eyes intense.  "I sense great turmoil in your soul, Kal-El of the House of El," he said solemnly.  "And I pray that you will one day have the courage to set aside your doubts and come to walk in the path of light and righteousness."  He bowed deeply and Kal bowed back, trying to hide his distaste.

"I wish you didn't have to work with him," he said to Kara after they bid Zhon-Mal farewell.

"Zhon-Mal has his uses," Kara said lightly, drifting back toward the gardens.  The slave trailed after them, the chain jingling slightly between him and his Mistress.  "And he happens to work for some very powerful members of the government."

Kal was still fuming.  "That doesn't mean you should have to sit there while he judges you."

Kara smiled slightly and sat down on the edge of the fountain.  Her pet sat down on the ground next to her and she played absent-mindedly with his hair.  "There are reasons it's important I work with him."

Kal couldn't seem to take his eyes off the sight of Kara's blunt, capable hands in the human's dark hair.  It looked as fine as silk.  "It has been a long time since any of our family had a pet at meals, hasn't it?"

His cousin looked thoughtful.  "I believe so.  Didn't Mother have a little girl she brought sometimes?"

"Yes," Kal said, "A child of one of the kitchen slaves.  I don't remember her name."

Kara shrugged.  "Who can keep track?  Mother used to call her 'Kitten,' I remember that."

A sudden flash of memory:  the dark-haired girl sticking her tongue out at Kal from his mother's lap when she thought no one was looking, giggling.  "Whatever happened to her?" he asked suddenly.  "I haven't seen her around."

The fingers in the dark hair stilled for a moment.  "You don't remember?" said Kara. She tilted her golden head slightly to the side, musing.  "You two played together sometimes, didn't you?"

"Yes, but...I don't remember what happened to her," Kal said.  "She...got in some kind of trouble just before I went offworld, didn't she?"  He groped in his mind for a clearer memory, but came up with nothing.

"Well," Kara said, "It was a very long time ago."  She stood.  "Forgive me, cousin, I must be going to work.  Come along, Bruce," she said with a small tug on the chain. 

Kal watched them walk away:  his cousin floating, her body motionless, coasting on air;  the slave's hips moving with his strides, the tight black pants molding to his body. 

Walking seemed so awkward, so graceless.  It made one's body move in the strangest ways, the muscles bunching and flexing with every step.

Kal realized as they turned the corner that he'd been waiting for the slave to turn around and look back at him.

He hadn't.

: : :

Kal woke up sweating again from a nightmare in which someone was counting.  The voice was level, passionless, merely a recitation of numbers.  And yet Kal felt as if a razor was caught in his throat, his heart pounding, terror seizing all his muscles.

He wiped sweat from his brow and decided to visit the gardens.

The gardens were still and dark, heavy with the fragrance of honeysuckle.  Kal wandered aimlessly until he found himself once more at the gate of the kitchen garden.  He went inside.

The crisper scents of basil and oregano scented the air here.  As he stood in the dark, Kal could almost hear ghostly laughter...a girl's and a boy's together...

A rustle caught his attention.  He looked up to see a shadowy figure making its way along the wall, quick and sure.

He flew up to confront it.  "Who are you and what--"  He broke off as a sudden sharp crack broke the silence, feeling a concussion of air just above his ear:  a whip-crack.  The sound rang in his ears, setting off echoes of panic and fear, as the holder of the whip moved forward to threaten him again, stepping into the moonlight.

It was a woman, masked and dressed in black leather.  Kal felt a jolt of recognition go through him as he met sharp emerald eyes, a recognition no mask could keep from him.  He knew without looking that the hair under her cowl would be dark and curly. 

He knew without looking the exact pattern of scars that would cross her back.

Shock pulled the name from his heart and threw it into the air between them.

"Selina?"

Chapter 5: A Complete Past

Summary:

Kal remembers some things he would rather not.

Obligations, hatreds, injuries - What did I expect memories to be? And I was forgetting remorse. I have a complete past now. --Jean Anouilh

---

"Selina?"The name hung in the air between them. The woman's mouth twisted with something that could have been humor and could have been vitriol. "Kal," she purred. "Long time no see."

"Selina." Kal was so astonished to have the name back in his memory that he could think of little else. "What are you doing here?"

Keeping a careful eye on him, she reached into a belt pocket and came up with a sparkling diamond bracelet. With a flick of her wrist, she slipped it on. "A girl's best friend," she said with a taunting smile.

"You've been stealing my aunt's jewelry!"

The smile went sharp. "I believe the House of El owes me."

"Owes you? What are you talking--" Kal broke off as two sharp whip-cracks cut the air on either side of his head. The sound seemed to ring in his bones, jarring and confusing. Her name was Selina. He could see her face in his mind's eye, her sharp little chin lifted as she laughed at him. The gleam in her eye as they ate cookies stolen from the pantry together. Her face, set and bone-white, her green eyes huge and blazing--his mind flinched. No.

As the whip coiled back around the woman, he noticed for the first time that the tip glittered green, as if it were coated with crushed emeralds. "Selina," he repeated, feeling a kind of joy seeping through the numb confusion. "It's really you. I've been looking for you." He had, he realized suddenly. He had without knowing it. "You--you--you were always so good at hiding. How've you been?" He trailed off as Selina's whip twitched along the wall between them. Her hand clenched the whip handle more tightly, every muscle in her body tense, and Kal felt a strange, almost hysterical laughter bubbling inside him. As if she could hurt him with that! No whip could harm a Kryptonian--

A gust of wind rustled the ivy, and the laughter died inside Kal as abruptly as it had appeared. What was wrong with him? He couldn't--couldn't seem to--He groped for something true to say from among the sliding fragments of memory and emotion. "I'm happy to see you."

Selina's face contorted with rage. "The friendly moron act might work with everyone else, Kal, but don't you dare insult me with it! I was there. You were there. I had thought--I had thought--" her voice broke for a second and she stepped away so her face was hidden in shadows again. When she spoke again, her voice was steady. "I was hoping when I finally met a member of the House of El it would be someone other than you. But now I see I've been a naive fool. You're all alike. All of you."

As Kal moved toward her, the whip snapped out again with a sharp, concussive noise. This time it licked across his chest.

Shock and agony bloomed in him as the whip cut into his flesh, leaving blazing pain behind. Impossible! It was impossible for a human to hurt a Kryptonian! His hands came away from his chest covered in blood; as he stared in incomprehension, Selina slipped into the shadows. "That's one," he heard her murmur as she faded away.There was so much blood...Kal couldn't seem to stop staring at his hands. The world went gray around him in shock, the edges of his vision narrowing into a tunnel of pain. The echoes of the whip-crack seemed to resonate in his head, over and over, and he was falling...

Strong arms caught him before he could hit the ground. "Master!" He stared up into the face of Kara's pet, seeing his look of shock. "You've been attacked--let me call the guards--"

"--No!" Kal cried, grabbing at his hand. "Don't, please don't." The slave stared at him. "She was my friend. It's my fault. I remember. It's my fault," he stammered.

Then the world dimmed out around him.

: : :

His chest felt like it was on fire. Kal pried his eyes open to see the dark-haired human slave bending over him with a reddened cloth in his hand, dabbing at the wound. "Where--" Kal managed.

"Your quarters. And the young master needn't worry," the slave said with a sardonic smile, "I managed to catch you before you touched the unhallowed Earth." Kal closed his eyes against sudden stinging tears that didn't come from the physical pain. "May this humble one inquire what happened?"

The human's hands were warm and steady, easing away the pain. Kal almost wished he wouldn't; pain would be almost a welcome distraction. He wanted nothing more than to curl up and tell the slave to go away, to leave him alone. But Selina's whip-crack had shaken memories loose that crowded his heart to overflowing, demanding confession and recognition.

He started to speak.

"When I was a little boy, I was...friends with a slave girl, the daughter of one of the kitchen slaves. My aunt and uncle would probably have put a stop to it if they had known, but they didn't know how often I sneaked off to the kitchen. Selina and I played together a lot. Alfred--the head of the kitchen staff, you met him yesterday--he'd tell us stories and we'd help him clean and make cookies."

The slave wrung out the cloth and re-applied it. "Go on," he said softly.

"We played tag and hide-and-seek. Almost every day. She was so fast, so agile. She knew every inch of the gardens, all the best hiding spots. She'd laugh at me when I couldn't find her and then show me another new place. Playing tag...well, I could always catch her easily, of course. Selina told me it wasn't fair that I could fly and she couldn't, so...that was when I started...running. Walking. On the ground. So we could play together."

"Ah."

"I didn't know...how forbidden it was." Kal remembered, sharp as if it were yesterday, the feel of the ground beneath him, the joy of running, the impact of pelting feet against the earth. The clean scent of soil, the way it crumbled beneath his fingers. "One day my uncle...caught me digging in the garden with her." He fell silent.

"What happened next?" the slave prompted after a while.

"There are iron rings on the wall in the kitchen garden. They chained her to them and had her whipped." Kal took a deep breath, ignoring the flare of pain in his chest. "I...told them it was my fault, that I was the one who broke the rules, so I should be the one punished. But...Kryptonians can't be whipped, so Selina--my uncle--he said she had to be the one to bear the pain of my error. And I..." He trailed off. Silence filled the room again until the human broke it.

"That's why you were sent away?"

Kal barked something like a laugh. "That would have been enough, I guess. But no. More than that. I...lost my composure." An understatement; Kal recalled the boiling mix of shame and rage that had seemed to lift him above himself. "I screamed at my uncle that this was wrong, that all of this was wrong, that he had no right to do this."

"What did your uncle do?"

"He...struck me. And then he added a stroke to her count. Every time I protested, every time I screamed it was wrong, he added to her punishment. Because I was being a bad Kryptonian." His uncle's arm locked around his throat, the calm and passionless voice counting the cracks. The tears blinding him. The scent of blood. "So I...stopped. I stopped." Kal curled up around his grief and his guilt. "I stopped!" The ultimate betrayal: silence. Rationalizations. Deliberate ignorance.

After a time he realized he was on his side, gasping, and Bruce's hand was on his shoulder. It rested there, solid and warm. Steady. "I'm sorry," Kal said hoarsely.

"That's something," said Bruce.

"I don't know what to do," Kal said. He felt bereft and desolate, empty of everything.

A warm hand smoothed back the hair from his forehead. "For now, get some sleep," Bruce said.

Kal obeyed.

 

Chapter 6: Property Transfer

Summary:

Kal has a conversation with Alfred and receives a belated birthday present from Kara.

Kal woke up slowly, watching the sun slant across his bed.  He touched the bandage on his chest in something like wonder.

He remembered the night before.

He remembered everything.

The bed was empty except for him, but he remembered Bruce's hands soothing his forehead as he wept, bandaging him--he started to sit up and winced as the wound pulled.  Now that he was past the first shock of meeting Selina again, he had more time to wonder exactly how her whip had penetrated his skin.  It had glittered green in the moonlight, like it was coated with ground glass.  And it had torn through his skin and burned like acid.

He knew of nothing that could do that to a Kryptonian.

Kal turned on the vis-screen as he eased out of bed.  Zhon-Mal was speaking before the Senate, explaining a new initiative to cultivate a strain of iao that could be harvested by machine.  Kal snorted slightly as he chose a shirt that carefully covered the bandage on his chest.  The delicate iao-blossoms had to be picked by hand--and even then half the crop was too damaged to use. 

"The Kryptonian system is flawed, for we place our weight upon a weak reed," he was declaiming, his eyes blazing.  "If humans knew how dependent we were on them, if they truly understood it, we would be in terrible danger."

Kal grimaced and pulled on his boots.  He should tell his aunt and uncle about the green substance on Selina's whip;  if humans had some way to hurt Kryptonians he had to tell someone.

"That one of the most noble of races could be threatened by one of the most vile--this is intolerable."

Kal turned off the screen and headed for the door, trying not to think about his responsibility to inform his relatives about Selina.  Then he stopped and took a deep breath.  No more not thinking about things.  He would face his thoughts directly and be honest with himself.  It was time to stop trying to be a good Kryptonian and start facing the truth.

He had a duty as a good Kryptonian to warn his family.

He was not going to fulfill that duty.

Kal opened the door and let sunlight fall on his face, and realized he was smiling.

He felt better already. 

: : :

Some of the slaves cast him curious looks as he floated into the kitchen, but most acted as though he weren't there.  Today, Kal was glad of that.

Alfred was shelling peas at one of the tables.  He turned as Kal said his name, surprise crossing his patrician features.  "Young Master Kal-El, may I inquire as to the purpose of your visit?"

Kal gestured at the large blue bowl.  "To help you shell some peas?"

After a moment's hesitation, Alfred gestured to the chair beside him.

For a while they were quiet, Kal enjoying the rhythmic motion of shelling, the gentle thump of the peas into the bowl.  But he couldn't relish the quiet forever.  "The kitchen runs so smoothly with you here, Alfred."

"The young master flatters me," Alfred said levelly.

"There used to be a little girl here that I played with.  Selina.  Do you remember her?"

Alfred's face was wary.  "I remember every slave that works here."

"Do you know where she is now?"

Alfred continued shelling the peas, his motions mechanical, his eyes lowered.  Kal resisted the temptation to press him.  Then the older man looked beyond Kal's shoulder and something flickered across his face.  Kal turned to see Bruce entering the kitchen, making his way toward the table they were both at.

"Master Kal-El," Bruce murmured, bowing deeply, just as if he hadn't sat by Kal through the night as he wept.  As if Kal were merely another Kryptonian overlord.

Which he was, Kal thought with an odd bleakness, as Bruce turned to Alfred.

"Mistress Kara will be returning from her Senate debate in a few hours and she wished to have a light meal ready for her in her rooms." 

Alfred nodded and rose.  "I shall prepare something if you'll take over shelling the peas."

Kal was startled by the smile that curved Bruce's mouth:  eager, almost shy.  It made him look much younger.  "It would be my pleasure."

As Alfred began to put together a plate of fruit and cold cuts, Bruce and Kal sat side-by-side, shelling peas.  Kal assumed that Alfred would use the interruption to dodge the question about Selina, but after a while the older man said, "Selina was sent to the iao-fields.  She was deemed no longer fit for household duties."

Kal frowned.  "Wasn't she very young for field labor?"

"Yes," Alfred said simply. 

Kal tried to imagine Selina's small, clever hands plucking scarlet blossoms under the blazing sunlight.  He didn't realize his own hands had fallen idle until Alfred scooped up the bowl.  Bruce had finished shelling the peas as he sat there, lost in thought.  "Sorry," he muttered. 

Alfred finished filling a pitcher with lemonade.  "Would you care for some, young master?" he said to Kal. 

Kal gestured to Bruce.  "Could we both have some?"  Alfred looked surprised, but poured them both tall iced glasses.  Kal sipped his slowly, savoring the sweet tartness, as Alfred put the finishing touches on the platter of food.  "Alfred," he said abruptly as the older man put the plate on the table, "Are you happy?"

Alfred looked down at the plate and re-arranged some of the strawberries to be more symmetrical.  "Master Kal-El, before I came to the House of El, I...belonged to no House."  Kal startled and almost spilled his lemonade;  he had heard rumors that there were humans who lived outside Kryptonian rule, but they had never been more than rumors to him.  But he kept silent, afraid to interrupt.  "I lived in the mountains, what used to be called the Appalachians.  I was cold most of the time, and hungry all the time.  Every day was exhausting, back-breaking labor just to survive.  There was no leisure, no safety, no security."

Kal imagined the dignified, kind man in front of him living such a life and shuddered.  "That's terrible.  You're better off here," he said.

Alfred raised his head and met Kal's eyes.  "If I may speak freely, sir, for just a moment?"  He waited for Kal's nod, then cleared his throat and continued.  "I would give up everything here in an instant to go back to that life if given the choice. I would gladly freeze, and starve, and live in fear. I was free." 

As Kal stared at him, the older man turned to Bruce.  "I hope Mistress Kara finds the food to her liking."

Bruce stood and picked up the platter.  "I'm sure she will.  My thanks, Alfred."  He turned and bowed deeply to Kal.  "May I have permission to leave your presence, Master?"

Kal felt his jaw tighten.  The other man couldn't leave until Kal had given him express permission.  "You may go," he muttered, feeling angry and not sure why.  Bruce bowed again and departed.

After he left, Kal finished his lemonade.  Why hadn't he ever noticed how bitter it was under the sweet?

: : :

Kal tied the sash on his robe just as there was a soft knock at the door.  "Enter," he said, and stopped dead in surprise as the door slid open to reveal, dressed in his thin black silk robe-- 

"Bruce," Kal said without thinking.

The man bowed low.  "Master," he responded, and Kal felt that odd flicker of frustration, almost anger, again.  He realized Bruce was holding out a piece of paper.  "This is for you."

Kal took the paper and opened it.  Written in Kryptonian, it had Kara's official seal at the bottom--"This is a deed of transfer."

"It is, Master."

"She's given you to me."

"She said to tell you:  You're twenty-two, now, cousin.  Consider him a belated birthday present.  He's yours."  Bruce's voice matched the jovial cadences of Kara's almost perfectly.

Kal stared at the paper, then at Bruce.  < Mine, > he muttered to himself in Kryptonian, and saw--something--dart across those emotionless blue eyes. 

Something clicked into place in Kal's mind:  the man's quick intelligence, the sound of his voice reciting Kryptonian...

< You can understand Kryptonian, > he blurted.  < You really can. >  When Bruce gave no response at all, Kal switched back into English, but his certainty was unshaken.  "I won't force you on it, but obviously you know it.  Who taught you?  How did you learn?  Did you teach yourself?  It took me five years of formal education to read Kryptonian!  How--" He swiveled away from Bruce, holding the piece of paper that marked the human as Kal's property in one shaking hand.  He was talking to himself more than Bruce now, words tumbling over each other.  "Humans aren't inferior to Kryponians at all!  Why hasn't anyone else ever noticed this?  Stupid, blind, arrogant--!  All our science, all our justifications--when no one with any sense could imagine for a moment Alfred was inferior to that zealot Zhon-Mal!  No one with eyes could possibly believe Selina was inferior to my vapid aunt!"  He swung back to stare at Bruce.  "And no one, no one, no one could fail to see that you're not inferior to me at all!"

He was panting slightly with the vehemence of his reaction, but Bruce's eyes were flat and respectful and a thousand miles away.  "Surely such thoughts and words are unbecoming to one of the Arrived, and could prove...unsettling to those of more delicate sensibilities.  Like the rest of your family, my lord.  I urge the young master to remember the simple facts of our situation.  Kryptonians own humans.  This is the way things are.  I belong to you now, Master.  I'm yours to do with what you will."

Kal stared at him, his breath still short.  The lamplight was tangled in his hair, the loose, strong lines of his body clear under the robe.  His to do with what he would.  For a moment he imagined this man on his knees in front of him, almost felt his hands tangling in dark hair to pull his head closer, to command that skillful mouth to bring him pleasure.  His knees went weak.  "Take off your robe," he said hoarsely.

The human slipped the robe from his shoulders without hesitation, a pool of darkness at his feet.  He was nude underneath, breathtakingly lithe and beautiful.  "Turn around," Kal said, and Bruce shifted, his head bowed, eyes shadowed by thick lashes, submissive. 

Bruce's back was a criss-cross of scars, shining in the golden lamplight.  Kal looked at them for a long time, the roaring in his ears like the wind in the ivy.  Shame and rage burned inside him as he looked at the marks his people had left on Bruce's skin.

He held up the slave papers and set them on fire with his eyes.

Bruce's head snapped around, his eyes huge and deep, and he spoke unguardedly to the Kryptonian for the very first time:

"No!  Kal--you idiot!"

Chapter 7: Ruins in Moonlight

Summary:

Bruce shows Kal Gotham and has a long talk with him;  Kal makes some decisions.

"Kal, you idiot!"

Bruce leaped for the slave deed, but his hands caught only ash. 

The echoes of his horrified cry still seemed to resonate through the room.

Kal stared at him.  "What--what--you're free now, Bruce!  What's wrong?"

Bruce put a hand to his forehead, grimacing.  "It's not that simple, Kal.  Do you know what the punishment is for a human caught without papers?  I can't just...just walk out of here and pick up a life somewhere.  There's no life to have!"

"I'll--I'll smuggle you off-world!  There are planets that are friendly to the human cause, I can get you away--"  And never see him again, Kal realized.  This was a consequence of his impetuous action he hadn't considered, and the thought gave him a surprisingly intense pang.  But he'd gladly do it again.

Or would have, if it hadn't clearly upset Bruce so much.

"--And abandon my friends?  Abandon my people?  My planet?"  Bruce snatched up the black robe from the floor and flung it about himself, then threw himself onto the bed, his hands in the air.  "I've worked for years just to get back to Gotham, I'm sure as hell not going to leave it now just because you've taken it into your damn fool head to get all enlightened and idealistic and make a grand gesture at the worst possible time!"  He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it rumpled and sticking up.  "Now I've got to get a whole new set of documents forged..."  He sighed, then seemed to notice Kal's stricken face for the first time.  "I'm sorry," he said more gently.  "I...do appreciate it, Kal.  Really.  I'll just have to work around your lamentable timing," he added with a lopsided grin.

Kal's head--no, his entire world--seemed to be spinning.  Where had the submissive, opaque slave of the last two days gone?  The veiled, deferential gaze had given way to a direct look snapping with urgency, the formerly languid posture was now charged with energy.  He was like an entirely different person. 

He was an entirely different person. 

This was the true Bruce.

Everything before had been a pretense.

That realization shook him not half as much as the realization that he had caught glimpses of this Bruce--the real one--from time to time. The level look as he passed the signet ring back to Kal. The conversation--interrogation--in the library, the seemingly polite questions pushing him, challenging him. The very first moment in the garden, the cobalt-blue eyes lifted to meet his directly, the flash of defiance that Kal hadn't even been able to see for what it was. But he saw it now. He knew it.

Everything before had been a facade, and--having seen through that facade for a brief instant--he found that he desperately needed to see the whole person beyond it.

Bruce was looking at him, and Kal realized he'd been staring at Bruce for quite a long time now, revelation slowing his mind to a staggered crawl. As Kal watched him, Bruce's eyes went wary and worried. He suddenly rose from the bed with fluid grace, his body going compact, his gaze dropping. "Forgive me, Master." The blazing-bright man of a moment ago slipped behind a cloud of submission like a veil, as if he had decided it was too much of a risk to show himself. "I've spoken out of turn and unwisely. I beg you to--"

"No!" Kal groped for something to say to bring back that other Bruce, to stop his retreat. "Don't--please don't. I want to...to understand," he said, his hands tracing patterns of confusion in the air. "Help me understand."

Bruce paused, his eyes still guarded. Then he sighed. "Come with me."

At the doorway, he held the silver chain of his collar out to Kal.  Kal eyed it like a serpent.  "What?  You must be joking.  I'm not going to lead you around like a pet."

"I'm afraid you're going to have to.  I can't afford to have people noticing I walk around untethered."

Kal took the chain from Bruce, holding it gingerly.  After a moment, Bruce flashed him a quick smile.  "All right.  Our first appearance in public together as Master and slave.  The scion of the House of El and his newly-acquired property."  He took in the revulsion on Kal's face and his own expression softened somewhat.  "Kal.  Please.  If you want to understand, we have to do it this way."  As the door swung open, he murmured, "Lead me to the archives."

Uncomprehending, Kal led him from the room and headed toward the archives.  Guards stopped to look at them, their eyes curious and calculating.  The heir of the House of El taking his first personal slave would alter dynamics among the household slaves.  Kal was scaldingly aware of Bruce's quiet footsteps padding behind him as he floated;  he remembered the Terran myth of Orpheus and felt a terrible desire to turn around, to look at Bruce directly, to drop the chain that bound them and let him go as free as Eurydice, even if only back to the land of the dead.

He gripped the chain tighter in a shaking hand and made his way to the archives.

Once inside, Bruce moved past him to take the lead, going to a far corner of the library and picking up a small lamp hidden behind some old tomes.  He moved aside a floor tile to reveal a passage running downward, into the ground.  "Are you ready to go into Gotham?" he asked Kal with a wry smile.

Bewildered, Kal descended with him into the underworld. 

Below, the narrow passage quickly widened out into vaulted tunnels, remnants of an old sewer system.  The sound of rushing water filled the passages, and Bruce's flickering lamp made the shadows eerie and looming.

Kal floated behind him, feeling the weight of the old city all around him, the human architecture carved into stone and metal.  The tunnels felt alien to him, alien and threatening.  A damp breeze moved past him, like a sighing breath.

Gotham lived, he realized.  It lived on underneath the plantations, under the fields of crimson flowers.  It had lived and breathed under them all this time.

Bruce stopped and looked at him, sensing his disquiet.  "Don't be afraid," he said softly. 

The tunnels picked up his words and echoed them back:  afraidafraidafraid. 

"What--how--"  Kal waved his hands at the tunnels.

"Lead pipes and lead-based paint," Bruce said airily.  "They can hide a lot of secrets." 

(secretsecretsecrets, answered Gotham)

Kal felt closed in, trapped.  His chest ached from Selina's whip.  He looked longingly back at the way they had come in, then swallowed hard and followed Bruce again.

Bruce led them through a maze of tunnels, stopping sometimes to examine the walls at an intersection, looking at what seemed to be random scratches on the stone.  Finally the two of them emerged into a moon-washed night.

Kal looked around.  They were in the ruins of what had once obviously been a very large house of some sort.  The walls were broken rubble, covered with vines, soot-stained stone underneath.  The floor was of marble, blackened and cracked, bits of rock and detritus strewn across it.  Somewhere an owl hooted softly.

Beyond the broken walls, Kal could see the countryside spread around them--they were on a bluff, looking out over what had once been Gotham.  He could see the El household, nestled on its small triangular island, the fields of the El plantation spreading across the larger island to the north.  Beyond that to the south was the Zo plantation, and the Ozh plantation.  This house had once had a commanding view of the city.  Now there was no city, and no house.  Just ruins in the moonlight, and scarlet flowers blooming over brooding Gotham.

Bruce's footsteps crunched behind him, and Kal turned to look.  The human was touching one of the broken walls lightly.  "This was my home," he said.  "Or it would have been," he added, "Except my parents were forced to flee at the Arrival.  My mother was pregnant with me at the time.  My father's wealth and connections got them out while Gotham burned and they took refuge in the Appalachians with the other scattered refugees." 

He moved to stand next to Kal, looking out over lost Gotham.  "We eked out an existence there in the mountains, laying low, keeping hidden as much as possible."  He looked around the vast ruins and something like a smile touched his mouth.  "Alfred used to tell me stories about my mother when she was a grand dame of Gotham society.  I could never even imagine it.  My mother, the woman who killed her own chickens and cut her own wood.  I never once saw her fingernails clean while she lived."

It was too huge a coincidence.  "Alfred?  You don't mean--not--"

Bruce shot him a look.  "Alfred was my family's butler.  He escaped with them.  He still always called me 'young master Bruce,' even when I was nothing but a grubby, half-starved little urchin.  He insisted I remember my background."  He shook his head slightly.  "Sometimes I suspect my mother would have preferred he didn't, that we forget that life.  We bartered away everything my family was able to salvage from that night.  She kept only one thing from all our heirlooms."  His mouth twisted slightly.  "The pearl necklace my father gave her when they got married.  She always wore that, no matter how bad things got."  A pause.  "They got pretty bad.  But we were getting by, we were surviving.  We were free."

He fell silent.  A wind moved lazily through the weeds that pushed up between the broken marble tiles.  "What happened?" Kal whispered.

Bruce sighed.  "When I was eight, I was helping my parents in the field when a man stumbled out of the wood.  He was starving, half-mad.  He demanded food.  My parents said they'd share some of what we had.  But then he spotted my mother's necklace and his face changed.  I'd never seen a man smile like that."  Bruce touched the stones gently, smudging the soot.  "He pulled out a gun.  Said he'd take what he needed.  My parents were unarmed."  A long pause.  "Alfred found me there later, between their bodies."  His voice was flat and emotionless, but Kal could feel the anguish twisted tightly underneath it.  "The man must have sold our little refugee settlement out to the Kryptonians, because a week later they came for us.  Alfred got me away in time with a few others, but he was captured.  I never saw him again."

"Until a few days ago."

"Until a few days ago," Bruce repeated, nodding slightly.  "I grew up on the run, going from town to town, learning what I could to survive.  I was caught a couple of times," he said wryly, gesturing at his back, "But I always managed to slip away again.  Eventually I fell in with others."

"Others?"

Bruce's eyes were wary again.  "There are some humans who want to fight.  Here and there.  I traveled the world--what was once called Europe, Africa, Asia.  I trained.  I studied.  I learned.  And finally I realized it was time to come to Gotham."  He looked down at the blackened stone.  "To see this place.  The place that should have been my home."  His gaze shifted to Kal, and his eyes were dark in the moonlight.  "You'll get your slippers dirty," he said.

Kal looked down at his feet, resting on the Earth, on the ruined stones of Bruce's legacy.  At some point in Bruce's story he had found himself there.  It was solid against his feet.  He remembered the feeling of running as a child, of muscles meeting ground in harmony.  "Do you mind?" 

Bruce looked slightly taken aback.  "Why would I mind?" 

"My standing on your home."  Kal gestured vaguely, unable to explain, and Bruce's mouth twisted in something close to a smile.  Kal stepped forward--

Or tried to.  Muscles unused to being used that way protested and froze;  his balance was unsure, gravity not his friend.  Kal pitched forward, staggering.

Bruce's arms were around him, keeping him from falling.  "I can't even walk."  Kal's throat felt tight with absurd tears--as if he had a right to weep in the ruins of Bruce's life!  "Useless, useless, I can't even walk."

Bruce slung an arm under his shoulder, supporting him.  "You can.  Just...take it slow."  One step, then another;  his legs protested each motion.  The rocks and rubble pressed against his feet.  His slippers would be filthy and torn and have to be destroyed in secret, but no terrestrial stone could hurt him.  It was the Earth itself that hurt him, he thought confusedly, leaning on Bruce.  It hurt him with its beauty, its fierceness, its dignity.

He hugged the pain to his heart, against the whiplash on his skin.

They reached a wall low enough to sit on, and Bruce helped him to it.  "Baby steps," Bruce murmured.  "We all have to start somewhere."

"It's not starting, it's starting over," Kal said.  "I've forgotten so much.  Lost so much time.  Wasted so many years."  Bruce was staring at him and Kal knew his eyes were bright with tears;  he hoped the other man would take them as tears of physical pain. 

After a moment, Bruce sat down next to him on the broken wall, looking out over the plantations.  The wind moved through the trees with a mournful, almost ghostly sound.  Bruce was sitting close to him, not touching.  But close. 

"I want to do something," Kal said.

Bruce looked at him--not the slanting and elliptical look of the slave, but the direct look of the man.

"I want to help.  If humans will let me help their cause."

Bruce looked back out over the fields of flowers.  "A friend of mine once said--"  He broke off and repeated, "A friend of mine," somewhat wonderingly, then continued.  "He said that this needn't be a merely human cause.  We're struggling to free the planet from this system, not just the humans.  How long did you live on Krypton, Kal?"

"I was born a week before we came here."

"You grew up here.  You have no other home, no memories of Krypton.  You're as Terran as I am, Kal.  This is a Terran struggle, and those of us of Terra will have to work together."

"Terran."  Kal felt the word in his mouth;  it felt right.  It felt like home.  "I swear, Bruce, I'll do everything I can to help."

Bruce's face was expressionless.  "That's a huge statement, Kal.  You're the heir to one of the most powerful Kryptonian Houses.  Can you really make such a commitment?"

"I swear it," Kal repeated.  "I swear by the House of--"  He broke off.  He had been about to swear by the honor of his House, the traditional and most binding Kryptonian oath.  He started again.  "I swear by the Earth, by its stones and its soil, that I will be true to you."

For a moment, a strange mixture of emotions played across Bruce's face in the moonlight:  hope, calculation, wariness, a flash of near-exultation.  He cleared his throat awkwardly.  Then he rose to his feet and stood before Kal, putting his hands on Kal's shoulders for a long moment, like a salute between comrades.  His hands tightened briefly.  "May it be so," he said.  He stepped back, the deep emotion gone again, but a slight smile touched his lips.  Then the smile was gone as well, replaced by determination.

"We have one more thing to do this evening," said Bruce. 

Kal followed him out of the ruins and back down into Gotham and whatever awaited them there.

Chapter 8: Beginnings

Summary:

Kal has a variety of meetings and revelations.

Bruce and Kal slipped back into the sewers that ran beneath Gotham.  Kal tried to walk, but his stride was so halting and awkward that Bruce eventually laughed and told him he might as well float, since they needed to get there before dawn.  "We'll work on the walking later," he said lightly.

Kal found himself buoyed by that "later," whatever form it might come in.

They were making their way through the ancient tunnels when Kal saw a flickering light ahead of them.  He and Bruce drew into a tiny alcove.  To Kal's horror, he could make out the voices:

Kara Zor-El and Zhon-Mal.

And they were coming directly at them.

As the two Kryptonians drew close, Kal made a desperate gesture at Bruce that he hoped the human would understand as "Stay here, let me handle this."  Then he floated out into the tunnel and into Kara and Zhon's path.

The pair stopped dead, staring at him.  "Cousin," said Kara lamely, "You've...found the tunnels!  And you're...all alone in them?"  She peered beyond his shoulder into the shadows, looking worried.

"Why yes.  I was just...exploring a little, and got kind of lost..." Kal hoped that neither would ask him how he managed to find his way here.

The three of them were still staring awkwardly at each other when Kal heard movement behind him.  He whirled to see Bruce stepping from the alcove, looking wry.  Kara's golden eyebrows lifted.  "Ah," Kal said hastily, "and I brought your pet with me, Kara, to...hold the lamp..."

"Everyone relax.  We're all on the same page here.  I brought him with me," said Bruce, and Kal's mind stumbled as he realized the man was speaking Kryptonian, as he really heard Bruce speaking his language for the first time.  Bruce nodded politely to the man with Kara.  "Zhon, it's a pleasure to see you again.  And Kara," he said, turning to her, "Your cousin seems to have turned a corner.  I have to admit it seems you were right about him." Kal's world fell apart at the seams just a little bit more at the familiar tone in his voice.  He was speaking to people he considered his equals.  "He took it into his head to incinerate my papers in a quixotic attempt to give me my freedom;  we're going to need to forge another set, I'm afraid."

"Oh, Kal," Kara breathed, annoyance and pride warring in her voice. 

Kal looked down and realized that both Kara and Zhon were walking in the tunnels.  Walking.  "What...what..."  He didn't know how to finish the sentence, he didn't know where anything was leading anymore.

Bruce nodded and turned to Kal.  "Kal.  I have to ask your consent for something that you cannot truly give consent for;  forgive me.  But if we had some way to make sure your motivations are true, that your loyalties are with Earth, do we have your permission to use it?"  As Kal hesitated, Bruce went on, "If it turns out you have doubts, or if you aren't truly with us, you'll wake up in the morning with no memory of this night.  I promise we won't harm you."

"Of course--of course you can check anything you want," Kal said a little shakily.

There was a silence as all three people looked at him.  Then Zhon-Mal bowed his head.  "His heart is true," he said softly, and the tunnels of Gotham answered back:  truetruetrue. 

Bruce and Kara both exhaled, and Kal realized they had been coiled with terrible tension.  He addressed himself to Kara, trying to find some stable ground to start from:  "You're working with the humans."

She quirked a smile at him.  "Yes.  I've been doing little things here and there to help the cause of Terra for years now, but was unable to make contact with the cell in Gotham.  Not surprisingly, they are not quick to trust a member of the House of El."

"How many Kryptonians are involved?"

Zhon-Mal spoke.  "Van-Zee was the first.  When the Kryptonians first Arrived, Van-Zee spoke out against the system.  He..."  Zhon-Mal paused for a second, "...He was a good man, if perhaps too willing to believe in the goodness of others."

"Was?  I've never heard of him."

"Indeed.  Van-Zee was summoned to a meeting with--" Another pause as if Zhon-Mal were choosing his words carefully.  "--with some prominant Kryptonians.  I never saw him again.  We were told that he had gone off-world in protest.  A transparent lie, of course.  Because I am still alive, I assume he did not give them my name.  He was a brave man."  Zhon-Mal looked narrowly at Kal.  "I say this because you need to understand that this is a dangerous undertaking for you, for all of us.  After Van-Zee vanished, no Kryptonians were willing to challenge the system."  The smile he turned on the woman next to him was surprisingly affectionate.  "Until Kara."

Kara flashed a brilliant smile back at him, then sobered as she turned back to her cousin.  "As far as we know, there are only two Kryptonians working for the cause, Kal.  You and I."

Kal looked, puzzled, from Kara to Zhon-Mal.  "But he just said that he...isn't he helping as well?"

Zhon-Mal bowed.  "My heart belongs to Terra, Kal-El.  And while I am not human..."  His body shimmered and shifted, the skin deepening to green, the hair fading away, the eyes brightening to ruby.  "...neither am I Kryptonian."

"Oh."  Kal felt a little bit light-headed;  it had been a day of too many revelations, too quickly.  That a member of the Kryptonian government was a shape-shifter fighting for human liberation seemed merely one more impossible fact. "That's interesting."

As it turned out, Zhon was a Martian who had been trapped on Earth before the Arrival, hiding amongst its people.  When the invasion began, he had taken on the form of a Kryptonian amidst the chaos in self-preservation, and laid low.  "I am a shape-shifter, and can fly, so it was not a terribly difficult charade," Zhon said.  "Zhon is a reasonable approximation of my name, and Mal is from Ma'aleca'andra, our name for my old world."  He shifted form again--not to the Kryptonian, but to a human with light brown hair, shoulders stooped, a red mask obscuring his face.

"The language..." Kal said weakly.

"I am also a telepath.  This is how I know you are sincere in your desire to help."  He frowned.  "And how I know that you are injured."

"He had a run-in with the Cat," Bruce said.  "She's found powdered K somewhere and coated her whip with it."

Zhon frowned.  "She risks exposing all of us.  Where did she acquire it, I wonder?"

"I've got one guess," Bruce said, and Kara scowled.

"Our friend in Metropolis."

Zhon made a small sound in the back of his throat.  "He grows impatient.  I am unsure we can stall him much longer."

Bruce grimaced.  "That's why Kal is so important.  The more Kryptonians we can win over--"

"--I'm sorry," Kal said.  "But I am totally lost."  His three companions looked over at him.  "Am I just...going to have to get used to that?"

Bruce put a hand out and let it drop before it could touch Kal's arm.  "Starting tomorrow, I swear I'll answer any questions you want.  But--"

Kal grasped at the most important point he could see.  "You'll still be with me?"

Something flickered in Bruce's eyes and was gone again.  "Yes."

"But...as my slave."

"Yes."

The pain in Kal's chest twisted, burning.  "I don't want you as my slave," he muttered.  "I don't want any slaves.  I want to be your friend."

Bruce's eyes were unrelenting, but his voice was soft.  "That isn't possible, the way things are." He met Kal's eyes and sighed, reaching out to rest a hand on his shoulder for a second.  "Well.  Baby steps."  Then he shook off his moodiness and squared his shoulders.  "Right now we have a meeting to get to."  The human form of Zhon nodded and set off through the tunnels, and the others followed after him, Kal swallowing his questions.

The tunnels twisted and turned.  Eventually Zhon ducked through a low arch.  Kal followed him and found himself in a dimly lit room filled with people--maybe a hundred or so.  All faces turned to them as they came in, and Kal realized every one was masked.  A sea of masks gazed at him, black and maroon and blue, and Kal knew without checking they would be lined with lead. 

Silence reigned as the humans looked at the newcomers, neither friendly nor hostile.  Just watching.

Zhon stepped forward and whispered briefly to a man standing against the wall.  The man nodded and stepped to the front of the room, all eyes immediately going to him.  Tall and commanding, with stern lines around his mouth, he wore a purple mask under thick, wavy golden hair. "Welcome," he said without preliminaries to the crowd.  "And thank you for your forbearance.  Tonight we are joined by our friend from Colorado, John Jones.  He brings with him Bruce Wayne, son of Thomas and Martha Wayne of Gotham, who has traveled far and come back at last to Gotham to help."  He paused and looked at Bruce.  "I'm sorry to hear of the death of your parents.  They were good people and died free."  Beside Kal, Bruce nodded once, and the man turned back to the crowd.  "In addition, Mr. Jones has brought not one but two Kryptonian allies."  The man turned his gaze to the Kryptonians as the crowd rustled.  "We are not averse to help from even you.  But know that if you betray us, you will pay dearly for that betrayal."

He held up his fist and green light bloomed from a ring on his finger.

The leader turned his attention back to Bruce as the green light winked out again.  "You have the floor, Mr. Wayne," he said.

Bruce stepped to the front of the room.  He held his head high, his eyes bright with intelligence and confidence, and Kal felt an emotion too strong to fully process pierce his heart.

Bruce looked out over the crowd and took a deep breath.

It was probably Kal's imagination that Bruce locked eyes with him last, as if seeking strength from his gaze.

"Brothers and sisters," said Bruce Wayne, "Thank you for welcoming me to your House.  It is a sacred House that I have come to."

And the crowd responded in unison, a low sound like shifting rock, solid and unshakable. "It is a sacred house we have come to.  We have come to the House of the Earth."

Kal-El, once of the House of El, heard the words and knew their truth: 

The Kryptonians had come to a sacred House.

Chapter 9: Dew on the Grass

Summary:

After the rebellion meeting, Clark and Bruce attempt to negotiate their new and ambiguous relationship.

The very first mourning doves were starting to coo at the graying horizon as three figures made their way through the El compound:  Kara Zor-El, her cousin Kal-El, and the human slave Bruce Wayne.  They made their way from the archives toward Kal's quarters, Bruce falling in behind the other two as they floated.  Around them, the household was beginning to stir to life.  Kal could hear sleepy voices beginning to prepare for the day, the sounds of cooking and cleaning.

At the door to Kal's rooms, Kara stopped.  She met her cousin's eyes for a brief moment before turning to Bruce and taking his chin in her hand, tilting his face toward her.  "You be good to my cousin, Brucie," she said cheerfully, her voice that of the public Kara.  "Treat him every bit as nicely as you treated me."  She rummaged in a pocket and came up with five small spheres like silvery pearls;  smiling, she pressed them into Bruce's hand.  "A little token of my affection for my sweet pet.  A memento of our nights together."

Still smiling, she turned to Kal, but the smile fell away at the look on his face. 

"How can you bear it?" Kal whispered, appalled.

For an instant, Kara's wide blue eyes glinted steel.  "We all do what we must, cousin," she said almost coldly.  Then her face softened, and she leaned forward and placed an affectionate hand along his face.  "Kal, dear Kal," she said.  "I've missed you so.  And I'm so happy--"  She choked for a second and started again, "--so happy to finally have you in the House where you belong."  She leaned in and kissed his cheek lightly, then was gone. 

Kal stepped into his quarters, Bruce's footsteps following after.  As the door swung shut behind them he said "Bruce--"  But Bruce was laying a finger across his lips, his eyes sharp.  As Kal stared, he took the five spheres and walked to the bedroom to place one carefully in each corner of the room.  Then he held the last one between two fingers in front of him in the middle of the room and tapped it in a careful, deliberate pattern, and all five rose into the air simultaneously, the center one rising all the way to the ceiling.  A low hum filled the room.

Bruce turned back to Kal.  "Sound dampers," he said.  "It's a fairly effective block to even Kryptonian hearing."

Kal peered at one of the spheres.  "I didn't know humans had access to technology of that level." 

Bruce curled up in a large circular chair, his long legs tucked under him.  "Humans have access to a lot of things you don't know about."

"Well, I want to.  I want to know everything you'll tell me."

Bruce waved one hand in the air between them.  "Ask."

"What was that green stuff on Selina's whip?"

"Kryptonite."  Bruce grimaced.  "When Krypton exploded, there was a chain reaction that rendered many of the fragments of your home world radioactive, harmful to your kind.  Enough of it can kill you."

Kal brought his feet down to the floor and took a couple of cautious steps before toppling onto the bed.  "Only humans know about it?"

"We believe the most high-ranking Kryptonians know about it, but they haven't told most of you."

"How much do you have?"

Bruce looked pained.  "I...don't know.  The cells I work closely with have gotten their hands on a fair amount.  It's being kept in...a safe place.  Only a few people are allowed to know how much we have in case we're captured and questioned."  He brought a fist down on his thigh absent-mindedly.  "The more radical cells have a fair amount as well.  Damn him.  He'll ruin everything with his--"

"Wait, how are you getting it?"

A fierce flash of grin.  "The Green Lanterns are forbidden from interference.  Active interference.  But there are three humans who somehow were chosen for Green Lantern rings, and they figure they were chosen for a reason beyond what the Guardians understand.  They've been quietly, carefully supplying us with Kryptonite and other 'non-active' aid.  They're playing a risky game, but they seem to think it's worth it."

"The man tonight, at the meeting.  He was one of them?"

"Sentinel?  No.  He has a power ring, but it's not exactly a Green Lantern ring.  It...kind of is, but it's magic, and...."  He broke off and shook his head.  "It's a long story."

Kal felt a wry smile tug the corner of his mouth as he stood up gingerly and held on to the bedpost, just working on standing.  "I like long stories."

"Well, we have plenty of time for them.  We can't leave the El grounds until Kara gets her hands on a new set of documents to replace the ones you incinerated."

Kal knew he should feel bad about that, but somehow he couldn't quite manage it.  He opened his mouth to ask another of the questions crowding his mind, but stopped when Bruce stretched and yawned hugely.  "Sorry," said Bruce, looking a bit sheepish.  "Long day."

"We should catch a little sleep," Kal said without thinking.

There was an awkward silence as they both eyed the single bed.

"I'll sleep on the couch," Kal said hastily.  "It's comfortable."

Bruce's eyes were cautious again.  "It's not my place to take your bed, Master."

"Don't call me that," Kal snapped, and Bruce's face went stiff and blank.

"As you command...Kal."

There was a long, pained silence between them which cut into Kal and twisted.  "Does it...does it have to be like this?" he heard himself saying.  "Does it have to be so hard?"  Bruce just looked at him.  "I don't own you, not really.  The papers are forgeries.  You chose to be here.  Can't we--can't we--"

Bruce's mouth was a stubborn line.  "Kal.  If you decided to kill me right now, you could, with no repercussions.  That the papers are forged doesn't change the fact that there would be no punishment for you in doing what you wanted to me.  You could drag me out into the garden and eviscerate me slowly and all that would happen to you is your aunt might complain that you put her off her breakfast."  He touched the collar around his neck gently.  "In any real sense, you own me.  My life is in your hands.  It's not a fact that's possible to ignore." 

The despair twisted below Kal's ribcage, cutting, the pain bringing a strange fatalistic resolve.  "Call me whatever you like, then."  He stepped away from the door frame, tottering, trying to stand on his own feet.  "But when the day comes when you've destroyed this system, the day when I won't even need to destroy those papers because they won't matter anymore--when that day comes, I would like to have had practice in how to interact with you as an equal.  As two men, face to face."

Bruce uncurled from the chair and rose to stand in front of Kal.  When the Kryptonian wasn't floating, they were almost the same height.  "In that case, I'll take the bed tonight...Kal."  The corner of his mouth twitched.  "But you get it tomorrow night.  We'll take turns."

Kal tried not to smile and failed rather spectacularly.  "Sounds fair."  The glint of Bruce's collar caught his eye and his smile turned abruptly to a frown.  "How do you get that collar off?"

A snort.  "A human can't.  The catch is workable only by Kryptonian-level strength.  Simple but effective."

Kal reached out, then stopped.  "May I?"

"If you're willing."

The silver was cool under his hands;  Bruce's skin was warm where his fingers brushed it.  Kal felt the tinest tremble starting in his hands and hastily undid the catch, drawing the smooth shining collar off, revealing pale skin beneath.  He felt a sudden urge to throw the bright, poisonous thing across the room.   He put it down on the cabinet;  it rattled against the mahogany and he realized his hands had begun shaking in earnest.  "I'm sorry I didn't take it off right away," he said.  "I won't forget again."

"I'd appreciate that," Bruce said.

Kal limped slowly toward the door to the living area and his couch.  Bruce's voice behind him halted him.  "Remember, on the other side of the door you'll be outside the range of the sound dampeners."  Kal looked back at him and Bruce hesitated for a second. "That's why Kara and I shared a bed," he said after a moment. "So we could make plans until we fell asleep."

The words seemed to have extra meanings that Kal couldn't puzzle out at the moment; he was too tired, his brain numb from too many revelations.  "I don't think I could do that," he said.  Before his treacherous tongue could say anything else, he stepped through the the arch into the living room, past the perimeter of the spheres.  Beyond the line, he looked back over his shoulder.  Bruce was still standing in the middle of the room, watching him.  "Good night," Kal said.

Bruce's mouth moved.  Good night, his lips shaped.  Then after a moment, they moved again.  Kal.

: : :

Kal woke to the sound of someone moving around the living room.  It had only been a couple of hours, based on his clock.  "Mmrw?"  he asked lucidly.

Bruce was laying out a robe across a chair.  "I took the liberty of going through your closet, Master, and choosing a possible ensemble for today.  A sky-blue under-robe with a navy surplice should bring out your eyes, I believe."

Kal rubbed his eyes and stared at Bruce, whose face was solemn to the point of absurdity.  Then he pulled himself off of the couch and floated into the bedroom, glancing to make sure the spheres were still hovering.  Bruce followed him.  "You enjoy making me uncomfortable," Kal said when Bruce had passed through the arch.

"Maybe just a little."  The slight twinkle in Bruce's eye faded.  "But it's deadly serious as well.  Outside of these quarters--outside of this room--our lives depend on playing those roles.  Slip and people become suspicious, and we become useless to the rebellion--and probably dead."

Kal dropped to the ground, ignoring the aches and needles in his muscles.  He hobbled a few steps.  "I suppose we should go to breakfast."  He pulled his robes over his head, trying to keep his balance.  It was very hard to let gravity hold you down just enough without collapsing.

"We could eat here.  After all, people will expect that you'll be busy playing with your new companion for a few days at least."

Kal looked away from Bruce hastily, trying not to think about what people were assuming the two of them were doing.  "That would be nice--eating here, I mean."

"If you'll call down to the kitchens, I'll go and fetch us something.  It will give me a chance to see Alfred again."

Kal watched Bruce's face, marveling at how young and eager he looked when thinking of Alfred.  "Have you had any chance to really speak to him?"

Bruce shook his head.  "No.  That time in the gardens was the first--Kara was kind enough to arrange it so he didn't run into me in front of many people.  Then when shelling peas with you.  That's it.  So...a chance to just see him, even for a few moments, would be very welcome."

Kal stood.  "I'll do more than that."  He grabbed a pager and dialed the kitchen.  "Could you have Alfred send up breakfast to my quarters, please?  And tell him to be ready to stay through the meal."  He hung up the phone to see Bruce frowning thunderously.  "What?"

"You're too polite.  'Could you'?  'Please'?  You'd damn well better act like you're aware that you're a member of a superior race.  Kryptonians don't make requests, they bark orders."  Kal grimaced, and Bruce pointed at him angrily.  "Your uncle is keeping an eye on you for seditious tendencies already, you can be sure of that.  If you start being publicly polite to slaves, you're going to get both of us in a lot of trouble."

"Surely I can relax in front of Alfred."

Bruce's frown did not abate.  "I'm afraid not.  I can't tell him about you--I mean, not that you're working with the humans.  He's in a vulnerable position and I don't want to put him at risk--or you at further risk, for that matter.  It's safer if he doesn't know."  He looked at Kal's face.  "If it makes you feel better, I'll tell him you're a kind Master."

Kal felt his hands clench.  "I don't want to be a 'kind Master.'"

Bruce's face was stony.  "We all make sacrifices for the cause, Kal.  Pray that the worst you ever have to endure to keep our cover is being described as a 'kind Master.'"

Kal started to retort, but Bruce was walking through the arc into the living room, out of the charmed circle.  Kal followed him, realizing that Alfred would be up soon and he wouldn't be able to hear the door through the barrier.  Indeed, in a few moments there was a polite knock.  Kal lifted slightly into the air, still glowering at Bruce, and said "Enter." The door swung open to reveal Alfred--Kal realized with a shock that Alfred must have a family name, just like Bruce did.  He'd never thought to ask.  He made a mental note to ask Bruce later.

The older man was carrying a platter of danishes and fruit as well as a pitcher of orange juice.  He set it down on the table and smiled at the two men.  "Good morning, young master," he said warmly.

Kal waited for Bruce to respond, then started as he realized Alfred was talking to him.  Of course he was.  "Good morning," he replied, floating to take a danish off the plate.  "Would you mind staying here until we're done?"

Alfred looked torn.  "The kitchen is very busy in the morning, but...I would be happy to stay here."

Kal nibbled on the fruit and talked with Alfred about the household:  dinner plans, a cook sick with the flu, a stove that needed replacing.  He kept waiting for Bruce to join in, but the other man stayed silent, his hands folded in front of him and his eyes cast down.  Kal kicked himself;  he hadn't given Bruce permission to eat.  "Bruce, please, have some breakfast.  Alfred, would you like some too?"

Alfred looked surprised but acquiesed, and the three ate together in silence for a while, Kal growing increasingly uncomfortable.  Wasn't Bruce going to talk to Alfred?  What was holding him back?  Why was--

Oh.

Kal swallowed his food hastily and rose, trying to look regal and arbitrary.  "I feel like taking a stroll around the grounds alone.  You two, finish this meal up.  I wouldn't want to waste food."  He moved to the door.  "I'll be back in a half hour.  Please--"  He broke off and started again more imperiously.  "Make sure everything's cleaned up by then."
 
As the door swung shut, he caught a glimpse of Bruce's face.  The gratitude he saw there eased the pain of knowing his presence was a burden to the two men.

The gardens were empty in the morning sun.  Dew sparkled on the grass as Kal moved slowly above it.  If he lowered himself, he could brush the dew from the blades with his feet, feel the cool of it on his skin.  But that would leave a trail, make his influence clear.

The grass stayed undisturbed, pristine.  Kal wandered the gardens alone and was grateful no one came across him there, yearning in vain for the touch of the earth.

Chapter 10: Falling and Getting Up Again

Summary:

Kal practices walking, lying, and controlling his temper. The results are mixed.

"Okay, one more time."

Kal groaned but pulled himself to his feet and wavered across the bedroom, each step slow and halting. His hands waved in the air as he struggled to keep his balance. He was almost to the bed when Bruce reached out with one foot from his chair and nudged Kal's hip delicately; Kal staggered and crashed to the floor. "Why'd you do that?" he snarled. "I'm trying my best--"

"--You fell," Bruce noted dispassionately.

"Of course I fell! You pushed me!"

"You didn't have to fall. You could have simply floated with the impact."

"I--I guess that's true," said Kal.

"Good," said Bruce from his chair, curling his legs back under him. "Good instincts. You're going to be able to need to fall convincingly."

Kal dusted off his thigh where it had connected with the floor. It had been a pretty convincing fall to him. He reached up and grabbed a bedpost to pull himself upright and stood, leaning heavily on it. "I didn't ask you how this morning went with Alfred."

"We had a good conversation." Bruce's face almost glowed when he thought about it. "He was...pleased I had been transferred to you. He seems to have a touching faith in you."

Kal tried not to look too pleased with that, but he felt a bright spark of embarrassed pride. "I wish you could tell him everything."

Bruce laughed, a short, wondering sound. "I told him almost nothing, and yet...I think he understood almost everything I didn't say. When he left, he told me, 'I've always felt you were destined to change this world, Master Bruce. And I think that you and Kal together would be unstoppable.'" Bruce shook his head, his eyes far away. "How I've missed him."

"Could you tell me his last name?"

Bruce's eyes focused on Kal. "What?"

"Slaves don't legally have family names. But I know you have them. I'd like to know Alfred's."

"It's...Pennyworth. Alfred Pennyworth."

"Pennyworth," Kal repeated carefully, committing it to memory. "Thank you."

Far away, a chime rang out. "I skipped breakfast and lunch, I'd better go to dinner," Kal said.

"I'd like to go with you."

"You...you would?"

"We're going to have to appear in public a lot. We'd better start perfecting our public faces."

Kal grimaced. "I'm not sure I feel up to this. I'm exhausted."

For a brief instant, Bruce's face lit up in a leer. "All the better for our pretense. After all, everyone will expect us both to be exhausted."

Kal looked down. "Please don't say such things. It's not funny."

There was a sudden shift of motion, and Bruce was at his side, taking his hand almost tenderly, his flank pressed against him. Kal winced and tried to move away and Bruce's hand tightened on his. "No, Kal. You can't do this. You saw how Kara treated me in public, and you must do the same. If you seem cold to me, the other slaves will begin to be wonder if you are dissatisfied with me. I'll be vulnerable. Not every human is trustworthy." He twined his fingers through Kal's. "If your uncle notices you seem repulsed by slavery, he'll pay more attention to you, trust you less. And so, when I do this--" His long legs folded under him and he went to his knees in front of Kal, his eyes dropping submissively, "--You have to be able to--"

"--Please," Kal whispered. "Please. Not here. Not in this room." Bruce looked up at him. "I'll try outside, but here, in this circle of silence, please. Please don't do this. I'm asking you as a--as one person to another."

There was a short silence and then Bruce sprang to his feet in a bound, all submission gone, a tiger uncaged. "In here. In this room and this circle alone. And if you don't play the part well enough in public, Kal, I'll insist on practicing it in here until you get it right." He grinned at Kal, but Kal couldn't bring himself to smile in return.

"Very well. Let's get this dinner over with." Kal swiveled, lifting his feet above the ground, and headed for the door.

"You're forgetting something," Bruce said. He hadn't moved. He reached up and touched his bare neck, lightly.

The silver collar was still on the cabinet. Kal picked it up, glaring at the locks that could only be worked with Kryptonian strength. He remembered the moment where Kara had put the collar on Bruce before, how she had paused and asked, "Are you ready?"

"Do I have your permission to put this on you?" he said.

Bruce nodded. "I'm ready."

The collar clicked shut with a vicious finality, and they left the circle of silence and entered the world again.

: : :

"I see you gave Kal-El your pet," Zor-El noted as the first course was served. "Did you grow tired of him so quickly, my dear? Was he unsatisfactory?"

"Oh my, no," Kara said smugly. "But I saw how Kal was looking at him and I thought he'd make my cousin so much happier than me."

It was close enough to the truth that Kal felt a hot flush of shame burning him. On the floor beside him, Bruce nudged at his hand with his glossy head, like a spaniel might. Kal smoothed the hair beneath his hand. It was as soft as he had imagined three days ago.

A lifetime ago.

"Are you happy with him, cousin?" Kara's head was tilted, curiosity in her wide blue eyes.

"He's perfection incarnate," Kal said, trying to sound smug and satiated. "Absolutely lovely. I already don't know how I ever got by without him."

"He likes the strawberries," Kara said rather pointedly, and Bruce's head moved slightly beneath his hand.

Kal picked up a strawberry and lowered his hand. A delicate tongue lapped at his fingers and he tried not to shudder. "He's...he's quite adorable, cousin."

The tongue gave way to teeth and a rather sharp nip, and Kal felt obscurely better. He moved his hand back into Bruce's hair, feeling the dark strands slipping between his fingers.

"He seems a bit slow to me," Kal's aunt said distantly. "Are you sure he's not mentally defective?"

Kal felt his hand clench as if beyond his control, and--

Kara overturned her wineglass. The glass shattered and wine went everywhere. "Oh Rao, how clumsy I am!" exclaimed Kara. "Work is so tiring, I'm half-asleep at the table, I'm so sorry." She gestured at Kal. "It's all right, Kal, you don't need to get up, I can do it." Kal looked down and realized he was standing; he had jumped to his feet. Before or after Kara spilled her wine? He couldn't remember for sure. Kara clapped her hands and one of the slaves entered the room. "Fetch cloths and clean this mess up."

Kara was still looking at him. "You can sit down," she said carefully.

"I'm sorry," Kal said. "Force of habit. In college, we didn't have--"

"You can sit down," Kara repeated.

Kal sat down.

Bruce pressed against his leg, winding an arm around his thigh in a gesture that seemed affectionate but was clearly warning.

Kal lowered another strawberry to the kneeling man and smiled down fondly at the sight of Bruce Wayne nibbling food from his fingers.

He felt sick.

Bruce looked up and met his eyes, and for a moment the false adoration in them gave way to something tangled between warning and compassion. He pressed the back of Kal's hand to his cheek and smiled slightly.

Kal looked away from that smile to his plate and noticed for the first time a tiny red capsule next to it. That's right, he realized. He was an adult of twenty-two, and that meant taking the capsules of concentrated iao at meals once a week. When he had been a little boy he had imagined they had tasted like apples and candy, but he had been laughingly told that he wasn't old enough to have iao yet.

He picked up the little ruby-colored pill. The concentrated iao in it would extend his life far past what it would have been on Krypton. "The Gift of the Arrival," they called it.

The petals picked by human hands to extend Kryptonian life.

He considered throwing the blood-red thing across the room, but he had already come far too close to creating a scene today. Carefully, he put it in his mouth and swallowed. Alura beamed at him fondly. "How quickly you've grown up, Kal-El," his aunt said. "You're an adult now."

Kal smiled back at her, tasting gall and wormwood. An adult now.

: : :

"I'm afraid of peacocks. My favorite color is blue. I got in trouble once in biology for disagreeing with the teacher." Kal looked triumphantly at the man sitting on the floor across from him.

Bruce just shook his head. "The third one."

Kal made an irritated noise. "How did you know that one was the lie?"

"In this case it was easy. I'd already noticed the garden peacocks make you nervous. And about thirty percent of your wardrobe is blue. But even if I didn't know that, your voice tends to rise a bit when you're lying, and it went up on the third one. So you never got in trouble in school?"

"Sure. It was in Galactic History, though," Kal said glumly. "Your turn."

Bruce looked thoughtful. "I've been on six continents. When I was a little boy, I had an imaginary friend named 'Percival.' And I'm a virgin." He snickered slightly at Kal's expression and Kal felt a prickle of annoyance; he'd thrown that in there just to knock him off balance.

Apparently it had; Kal could no longer definitely remember Bruce's face or tone of voice while saying the other two statements. Reluctant to touch the topic of Bruce's virginity at all, Kal hastily said, "Your friend wasn't named Percival."

Bruce did a quick backwards somersault. "He was too, actually. He was a griffin. A talking griffin. No, I've only been on five continents; I haven't made it to South America yet."

Kal tried not to think what this revealed about Bruce's sexual experience; he failed. Under cover of needing to stretch his legs, he scrambled gingerly to his feet and began to pace the room carefully. "I need to do something."

Bruce stretched. "Two more statements, please."

Kal huffed a little. "I feel the need to do something. I really enjoy H'lvenite opera. I've never been to South America either."

"What's so bad about H'lvenite opera?" Bruce shrugged at his glare. "Since you're lying about liking it."

"H'lvenites are basically sentient chipmunks. Their opera is mostly screeching." Kal sat back down, massaging his calves.

"I understand the need to do something," Bruce said. "Trust me. I desperately need to get to Metropolis soon."

"Then let's--"

Bruce cut him off before he could finish getting to his feet again. "We can't go anywhere until Kara gets those new forgeries. If I'm caught off the El property without the proper papers we'll both be in trouble. Until then, we're going to keep working on your training." He leaned over and grabbed the little bag of possessions that Kara had brought by, drawing out a small stack of rectangular cards. There were crude designs in red and black on them.

"What are those? I've seen humans using them, but I never found out for what."

Bruce grinned and shuffled the cards together. "We're going to work on that poker face of yours." As he handed out the cards one by one, his grin turned just slightly wistful. "You never know, Kal. Maybe someday we'll go to South America together."

Kal watched Bruce's hands on the cards. "I'd like that," he said, imagining for just a moment a beach somewhere and Bruce laughing in the sun, un-collared, unfettered, walking at his side. Beautiful. Impossible.

"I'd like that too," Bruce said.

Chapter 11: Learning to Bluff

Summary:

Bruce and Kara try to teach Kal how to play poker.

Bruce was laughing, helpless gusts of laughter that he couldn't seem to stop.  He was laughing at Kal, but it was such a wonderful sound that Kal couldn't find it in himself to mind.  "You're pathetic," Bruce pointed out cheerfully.  "But we'll make a good double-agent of you yet."

The two were sitting on the floor, playing poker.  Bruce had an impressive pile of toothpicks in front of him.  Kal liked to imagine he was starting to get better at bluffing, but Bruce still seemed able to read him like a book.  It was uncanny and more than a bit unnerving.  "We didn't play a whole lot of games like this in college," he said, trying to sound sullen instead of oddly happy. 

"Oh?"  Bruce was shuffling the cards again.  "What did you do in your spare time?"

"I didn't have much spare time," Kal said as he picked up the cards.  "I was always either studying or preparing for a debate.  Now and then I'd get together with some friends to play some pick-up frkrk--it's a sort of casual sport where you toss around a set of balls that shift their center of balance at random so you can't catch them easily."

Bruce was studying his cards.  "So you had friends?  People you were close to?"

Two aces and two fives;  not bad.  "Oh, you mean anyone I think might be a good contact to help in the cause?"  Kal tossed another toothpick in the pot and stared at the cards unseeingly, his mind going over the people he had known in school.  "Mirla and Magh--they're a brother and sister from Winath--I debated them often and they were fiercely and openly opposed to the Kryptonian actions.  They didn't like me much, though," he added ruefully.  "Kilisen of Orando was a friend of mine, but there were times I got the impression he didn't approve..."

Bruce was looking intently at the cards in his hand.  "Actually, I...didn't mean in a strategic sense.  I just wanted to know..."  He hesitated and lifted one shoulder in awkward shrug.  "If you had friends.  What your life was like."

"Oh.  Well, I...no.  I didn't have a whole lot of friends.  Most people don't like Kryptonians--'always floating around with their noses in the air,'" Kal quoted from rather bitter memory.  "I...guess we mostly are, of course."  Kal sneaked a look at Bruce's face, trying to read how strong his hand was by its expression.  No good.  Kal called him but chose not to raise the bet at all. 

Bruce showed his hand:  a pair of sixes.  He looked over at Kal's cards and frowned.  "You should have raised that bet;  two pair is really good."

"I know, I just didn't want to take the risk." 

Bruce tsked.  "Some things are worth risking, Kal."  He started to deal again.  "So, did you have any Kryptonian friends?"

"There was one other Kryptonian being educated at the same school as me.  Syra Rafe-Em."  Kal shifted uncomfortably.  "It's kind of assumed we'll marry someday.  The pool of available mates is pretty small."

"You two dated?"

"Nothing so...organized.  To be honest, we never got along well."  Syra had spent most of her time attempting to lord it over the "lesser" races at school.  Even then Kal had hated it, but now he grimaced in distaste, remembering how he had avoided her rather than confronting her.

"And yet you might have to marry her?"

Kal snorted.  "What's friendship got to do with marriage?"

"What indeed?" There was a glint of humor in Bruce's voice.

Kal frowned, his mind wandering, staring at the cards unseeing.  "I'm surprised Kara isn't married yet."

"She hasn't tested fertile."  Bruce's voice was matter-of-fact.  "With such a small number of Kryptonian survivors, they can't waste potential marriage partners until they've been proven to be fertile."

Kal stared at Bruce, taken aback at his casual mention of such taboo topics.  "Has Kara spoken to you of such things?"

"Of course.  Kryptonian reproduction habits are of vital importance in any discussion of the political situation."  Bruce's voice was abstracted.  "Your race is barely at a replacement birth rate, even taking into consideration the longer lifespan you have here on Earth.  It probably wasn't even at replacement rate on Krypton.  Much crystalline technology was lost in the Arrival, including the great birthing matrices.  Since then, Kryptonians have had to give birth without matrices, and it hasn't been easy." 

Kal felt, despite his best efforts, a thrill of horrified disgust at the idea of Bruce and Kara sitting around and talking about such base subjects, things that no good, well-bred Kryptonian ever should say out loud.  He swallowed hard and focused on his cards for a second, trying to step back from his visceral reaction.  This was important strategic information, and all information was valuable.  With some surprise he realized he had drawn into a straight.  "Oh.  I'll bet five toothpicks."

Bruce tossed his cards down.  "I fold.  Kal, if you're going to let your eyes bug out when you look at your cards, you'll never trick someone into staying in the hand long enough to fleece them."

There was a flicker of movement, and Kal saw the door to his quarters open.  He leapt to his feet and into the air, hiding his cards--but it was Kara, in a white dressing gown.  She smiled when she saw him and her lips moved, but he couldn't hear anything;  he gestured for her to come into the bedroom.

"I hope I didn't startle you," she said as she walked into the room.  "I knew you wouldn't be able to hear my knock."

"I'm schooling your cousin in the ways of poker," Bruce said from the floor.

Kara laughed, a delighted chortling sound, and she dropped gracefully to the floor with a light thump.  "Can I join you?"

Kal followed suit as Bruce nodded, sliding downward more slowly than Kara until he was also sitting on the floor.  "Bruce seems to think I need some practice in bluffing."

Bruce started to deal and Kara picked up her cards.  "Cousin, there are few people I know who need it more."  Her smile was affectionate, but it slipped away and she sighed.  "I hate to put this weight on you, in some ways."

Kal felt rather stung.  "Do you think I can't handle it?"

Kara and Bruce exchanged a quick glance before Kara answered.  "I think you'll be fine.  But I'll be honest with you, Kal.  You're hotheaded, passionate, and not accustomed to hiding your feelings.  I love that about you, but it's not going to make this easy."

Kal looked at his cards, trying not to show his dejection.  He was pretty sure he failed.  They all anted up

"We're both in trouble now," Bruce noted to him.  "Your cousin is without a doubt one of the best liars I've ever encountered."

Kara chuckled again.  "You flatterer."

"Flatterer?  I speak only the bare truth, as I always do.  Tell that guard in Tokyo I'm a flatterer."

Kara held her cards in front of her face to hide her grin.  "I still can't believe I got away with that."

"It was the way you held yourself--that imperial ice queen stare you do so well."  Bruce shook his head.  "That was the moment I knew you were the real thing."

Kal glowered at his cards.  He tried to tell himself it was because they were really bad cards, but down inside he knew it was because he didn't like feeling like the outsider, didn't like hearing Kara and Bruce talk like old friends.  "I still can hardly believe we're the only two Kryptonians involved," he said.  "How can everyone else be so blind?"

His cousin looked uncomfortable.  "Kal.  In part it's that people in power want to stay in power.  But..."  She paused as if debating something with herself, then squared her shoulders and continued.  "I was fifteen when Krypton was destroyed.  I remember there being lots of debates and arguments about colonizing Earth.  When it was discovered what the sun's radiation would do to us...there were a lot of people opposed to the idea of invading.  They wanted a peaceful settlement, an agreement with the humans."  She looked at Kal warily above her cards.  "Jor-El and Lara were two of the most outspoken opponents of invasion."

Kal stared at her.  All this time he had been berating himself for failing his parents...and they had opposed slavery?  "Why did the anti-slavery people stop arguing after the Arrival?"

Kara shot another swift glance toward Bruce, who was studying his cards.  "The planet destabilized more quickly than expected.  The Gates had been constructed to open at certain set places around Krypton.  Some of the Gates...failed to open.  And the pro-slavery Kryptonians...happened to be at the Gates that did open."  There was a long silence.  Bruce bet three toothpicks into the stillness.  Kara tossed in her three toothpicks;  Kal put in three and after a moment's hesitation, added three more, raising the stakes.  "I was staying at your place.  Jor-El was out in the field, investigating some anomalous readings his instruments had picked up.  When the quakes started to happen, Lara insisted on going looking for him, said she wouldn't ever leave him behind.  I...waited as long as I dared before grabbing you and running."  Her eyes were shining with tears.  "I adored my aunt and uncle, and I failed them.  You were all I had left."

Another very long silence in which Kal looked at his cards and put many things together.  Bruce saw his bet and raised another five toothpicks.  Kara saw it and raised it three more.  Kal saw that and raised it five more.

Bruce and Kara looked at him.   He stared back at them, seeing in his mind's eye his father being called away at just the wrong moment, seeing the crowds of anti-slavery Kryptonians waiting in vain for the Gates to open as the world crumbled around them. 

Bruce's eyes narrowed, studying his face.  "I fold," he said at last.

Kara tossed in her cards as well.  "Me too."

Kal raked in the little pile of wood splinters.  Bruce raised an eyebrow.  "Are you going to tell us what you had?"

Kal held up the cards wordlessly.  A single nine was his best card.

Bruce whistled and Kara snorted.  "You bluffed us.  Nice."

Had his father and mother found each other at the end?  Or had they died alone, still searching for each other?  Had they realized they had been betrayed and their efforts for peace had come to nothing?

Kal smiled slightly, without humor.  "I think I'm starting to get the hang of it."

Chapter 12: Blood-Stained Fingers

Summary:

Bruce is called to an emergency on one of the outlying El plantations and needs Kal's help.

Kal woke up slowly.  The room was still mostly dark;  he had kept the windows tightly shuttered since Bruce had started to stay with him.

Bruce. 

He woke up the rest of the way to see the human pacing back and forth in the living room outside the bedroom arch.  He didn't seem to be impatient; he was just moving restlessly, full of energy.  He seemed to be thinking deeply. 

Kal knew he probably should sit up fully, make some movement to be sure Bruce was aware of his presence, but instead he just watched Bruce through slitted eyes, following his movements.  It was so rare that he could just watch the other man;  his gaze seemed to have a terrible weight that he couldn't ever lighten, a pressure as heavy as the silver collar.  So he usually kept his eyes averted unless they were talking.

But for just a moment, half-asleep in the dim light of dawn, he watched the other man pace, his movements sharp and purposeful.  As Kal watched, Bruce abruptly tumbled into a roll and came up out of it balanced on one hand, his arm tense with his weight, muscles and tendons in sharp relief.  His whole body trembled with suppressed, potential power.  Kal watched him, enthralled, until he rolled back out of the handstand and looked toward the bedroom.  He snapped his eyes shut for a moment, then stirred as if he was just waking.  When he opened his eyes fully, Bruce was out of his range of sight, the arch empty.

Kal pulled himself out of bed. 

As he floated into the living room and out of the circle of silence, Bruce turned and bowed.  "Good morning, Master," he murmured. 

Kal forced himself to respond with a friendly, dismissive smile.  "Good morning, Brucie," he answered.  Bruce had insisted that outside of the circle Kal always call him by the diminutive form.  ""You're looking charming today."

Bruce's smile was razor-sharp and fierce, but his voice was meek to the point of absurdity.  "My Master honors this unworthy one with his words."

Kal picked up the platter of fruit left by a kitchen slave, eager to get this over with.  "Shall we eat in the bedroom, my pretty?"

"As my Master wishes."

Kal carried the platter back into the bedroom, feeling the soft purr of the sphere's influence on his skin with a sense of a burden lifting.  He felt his shoulders slumping as he put the platter down and he exhaled slowly.

"Good morning, Kal," Bruce said from behind him.

"Good morning, Bruce," Kal said.

Now the day could truly begin.

: : :

"You're an idiot, like all Kryptonians.  Closed-minded, shallow, and condescending."

Kal grimaced.  "Bruce, this is hard enough already."  He was balanced on one leg, trying to hold himself steady while letting the Earth's gravity pull him down.  He glared at Bruce and his balance wavered even more.

"Focus," Bruce said.  "You're letting me get to you."

Kal hissed between his teeth.  "How can I not?"

"Our lives may well depend on you keeping your cool someday.  If you lose your temper when someone calls you insults that they don't even mean, how are you going to handle it when someone insults you in earnest, you thin-skinned, stuck-up sissy?"

"You seem to be enjoying yourself a lot for someone who doesn't mean it," Kal grumbled.

There was a sudden flash of smile.  "I'm not going to lie and tell you there isn't a certain amount of...satisfaction in it."  Bruce stalked forward until he was uncomfortably close to Kal, and Kal wobbled alarmingly.  "But I don't mean it.  I promise.  It's just...easier."

"Easier than what?" Kal muttered, not really expecting an answer as Bruce stepped back and turned away wordlessly, dropping onto the bed.  With more space between them, Kal could take a deep breath and stop the tremor in his legs.

"Would you find it easier to concentrate if I complimented you instead?"  Bruce said from the bed, his smile turning wicked.  "If I told you your eyes are breathtakingly beautiful and your hands as gentle as rain?"  Kal closed his eyes and focused on his balance.  "Maybe if I described the arousing dreams I have of you, where you're underneath me and begging me to make you mine, submitting to me sweetly, impossible as that is?  If I tell you how much I want to hear your voice raised in rapture when I take you hard and make you feel so good, our bodies together, beautiful Kal, if I tell you how much I want you--"

Kal's other foot thumped to the ground.  "That's enough," he said rather shortly. 

Bruce's face was flushed.  He cleared his throat awkwardly.  "Like I said, the insults are easier."

Kal lifted his other foot again, settling back into position.  "As no one is likely to attempt to unnerve me by describing sexual intercourse with me, I suggest the insults are more pragmatic."

There was a long silence as he struggled to focus and even out his breathing. 

"Idiot," Bruce said softly.  "Damn fool idiot.  You're a fucking genius, that's what you are."

Kal ignored the insults and breathed deeply.  Balancing.

: : :

Another lunch.  Kara was in Metropolis for a meeting, so Kal couldn't count on her support this time.  Bruce was pressed up against his leg like a possessive cat and Kal was trying to focus on his uncle's conversation.

"--Speaking of meetings, Kal-El, I do believe I'm going to send you to Metropolis tomorrow for the Continental Caucus's quarterly meeting.  I'll be sending you in my place--it's about time you started to get involved."

Kal felt some subtle change in Bruce's posture, from languid to alert.  "Yes, Uncle," he said meekly, and Zor-El smiled.

"It's good to have you back, Kal-El.  You know, you're like the son I never had.  I'm sure you'll make me proud."

Kal's smile felt brittle and strained as he glanced up at his parents' portrait, hanging behind his aunt and uncle.  "Thank you, Uncle.  I'll do my very best," he said.

After the lunch, Bruce asked for permission to visit the kitchen and fix his master some drinks.  He entered the bedroom after his errand with a pitcher of iced tea, frowning.  "Do you have some cyclamed available?" he asked as he put the pitcher down.

"Of course."  There were few diseases that could actually affect Kryptonians under a yellow sun, but "the chill" still gave them headaches and stiff muscles sometimes.  It was treated with a medicine called cyclamed.

"We need you to get about five pills through the checkpoint between the big house and the plantations.  They won't search you.  After we get through the checkpoints I'll need you to slip it back to me and then buy me some time."

Kal went into the bathroom and extracted the pills from a bottle, wrapping them in a bit of cloth.  "What's it for?"

Bruce looked evasive.  "Bit of an emergency.  I'll explain it later.  For now...you've taken it into your head to get a tour of one of the southeastern fields, check it for productivity."  His smile was crooked.  "The overseer of that property will be plenty shocked to see you, I suspect.  But he'll bow and scrape and give you a tour...and give me time to get to the slave row and help."  He grabbed up his collar and handed it to Kal.  "We need to hurry."

Kal held up the collar.  "Are you ready?"  Bruce nodded and it clicked home.

: : :

The overseer was indeed surprised and rather alarmed to see Kal there.  A short, squat man who waddled when he walked, he was one of the humans the Kryptonians had trusted enough to leave in charge of a team of field hands.  With only a few thousand Kryptonians, they couldn't be everywhere.  And there were always some humans willing to help out in return for slightly better food and lodging.

As the overseer prepared to show Kal around the fields, Bruce bowed deeply to the Kryptonian.  "Master, if I'm not needed here...may I go visit the slave quarters?  I have a sick cousin there..."

The overseer was watching them keenly.  Kal pitched his voice to affectionate and dismissive.  "Of course, pet."  He reached out and cradled Bruce's face in one hand tenderly.  "But do stay out of the sun.  I would hate to have your lovely skin all tanned and damaged."

Bruce bowed again and hurried off, and Kal turned back to his guide.  The little man smacked his lips in appreciation.  "He's a tasty-looking morsel.  If you ever get tired of him, I hope you'll remember your humble servant Oswald."

Kal smiled politely, revulsion coiling in his gut.  "Show me the fields," he said remotely, and the overseer flinched and led him from his tiny house.

Kal had braced himself for learning that his lessons about happy slaves cheerfully picking iao and singing were wrong, so he was somewhat able to hide his horror as Oswald showed him around.  The humans--some hardly more than children--looked up sullenly as the two of them passed, or merely bent more fervently to their work.  Had any of these people been at the meeting where he had been revealed as pro-human?  From the distant, hostile looks in their eyes he doubted it.  The humans worked steadily and slowly, as if there was no end in sight, their drawn faces a terrible contrast to the sea of brilliant scarlet.  Collars sparkled in the sunlight, glints of pain.

Oswald was squawking about productivity levels and "disincentives."  Hands flickered among the red blossoms, picking, picking.  Kal saw with a sudden almost hallucinogenic sharpness how red the fingers were, as if burned.  Some were seeping blood from cracks in the skin.  "Why are their fingers burned like that?"

The overseer looked surprised at the question.  "It's the flowers.  The sap is corrosive to human skin.  But it's okay, a little blood on the iao never hurt anyone.  The flowers are red anyway, you can't even see it!"  His raucous laugh echoed among the rows of flowers.  None of the humans looked up at the sound.

Kal forced himself to continue to float along, above all the suffering, memorizing it all for later.  He had to keep moving forward, couldn't stop, couldn't let it all break in on him.  Oswald eyed his frowning face norrowly, rubbing his hands together.  "Would the master care to stop by my humble abode for some refreshments?  If the master has seen enough."

With a great sense of relief, Kal stopped and said,  "I believe I have seen enough.  This is all quite satisfactory."  A few of the humans within earshot looked up at that, their faces studiously blank;  Kal looked back at them haughtily, hating all of it.  "Let us return."

Bruce was sitting on the steps of Oswald's house;  he sprang up as Kal approached.  "Master," he murmured, bowing.

An urgency in his eyes, tightly leashed in his posture, prompted Kal to turn to Oswald.  "I shall be returning now."

"Won't you stay and have some tea?" Oswald asked, smiling hopefully.

"I have places to be," Kal said, grateful for once for the ruse that let him be rude to this horrible man.  He picked up Bruce's loose chain and floated away briskly.

As Oswald's door shut behind him his movement slowed;  he realized he had no idea where he was going.  "Take the fork to the right," Bruce murmured from behind him, and he veered off the main path onto a rutted road.  Soon a long row of small shacks came into view;  while they were still far away Kal could see tiny children halting their play in the dust to gape at the Kryptonian coming toward them.

Bruce's voice behind him was level but urgent.  "In the third house on the right there's a woman in labor.  The cyclamed has relieved most of her pain, but she's going to need our help.  And you have to remain in-character as much as you can, because I don't know how many of these people I can trust."

Kal almost stopped moving.  "In labor?  Like...with a baby?" he asked without looking back.

Bruce's strained chuckle reached his ears.  "Yes, a great deal like with a baby." 

Kal wanted to ask more questions, get his bearings, prepare mentally somehow, but they were at the beginning of the double row of houses.  In the doorway of one, an older woman in rough and torn clothing waited, her gaze going past Kal to meet Bruce's.  "It's bad," she said shortly.  Then she sketched a short bow to Kal, as if as an afterthought.  "Be welcome, Master," she muttered.

They entered the shack into bedlam.  A woman was lying on her back on some planks hammered together in something resembling a bed, her bare belly heaving with her deep, stentorian breaths.  Her eyes were blank, but her breathing was hoarse as if her throat was torn with hours of screaming.  A few children were sitting on the dirt floor.  Tear tracks cut through the grime on their cheeks.  Most of the people in the shack were older women;  there were no men.  Of course, they would all be in the field.  The room smelled of blood and sweat and urine.

"It isn't coming," one of the women said.  "It's been fourteen hours now.  She can't--she can't last much longer."  She ducked her head.  "We thank you for the medicine.  At least she'll die without pain."

"Like hell," Bruce muttered.  "Like hell she'll die."  He looked around the bare room.  "Someone get me a knife."  When someone handed him one, he held it up to Kal.  "Master," he said curtly, "Please sterilize this."   

Kal gaped at him, and Bruce said, "I know it demeans one of the Arrived to interfere in such menial matters, but the woman and her child are your property and it would be a loss to the Els."

Kal pressed his lips together and said, "Yes, this experience should prove..." he trailed off, unsure where the sentence could go from here.

"--Interesting?"  Bruce supplied.

"Yes," Kal said.  "That.  I shall stay to observe your procedure."

Bruce nodded and held up the knife again;  Kal applied heat vision until the edge glowed briefly.  Bruce then stepped over to where the woman was lying.  "Janet," he said softly, smoothing the hair away from her wet forehead.  "It's going to be okay.  Be brave."  The pregnant woman didn't respond, still staring glassily at the ceiling.  Bruce shifted his gaze to Kal's face.  "I need your help.  Your heat vision can seal the blood vessels behind the incision, and keep the bleeding at a minimum."

"No," said Kal blankly, and the room went very still.  "No.  It will--I'll kill her.  I can't."

Bruce's hand tightened on the knife.  "She will die, and her child with her, if we don't do this.  The child may already be dead," he said inexorably, and one of the children sobbed once, his hands over his mouth.

Kal focused.  "The child is alive.  I can hear the heartbeat."  He looked closely, looked within.  "It's a boy.  Alive, but weak."  A sigh went around the room, a low murmur.  It wasn't quite hope.  "There's a...some kind of cord around his neck," Kal said, cursing his lack of vocabulary for human reproductive systems.  "It doesn't look right."

"It's not," said Bruce.  "There's no saving either of them without your help."  He looked at Kal.  "Their lives are in your hands, master."

Swallowing hard, Kal floated over to stand beside the bed.  Bruce lifted the blade.  "You've done this before, right?"  asked Kal.

Bruce paused and shot him a quick look.  "I've...read books about it, master."

"Ah.  That's...that's great."

Bruce took a deep breath and began to cut.  Someone in the room made a choked moan and stifled it hastily.

The acrid scent of burned blood joined the fetid combination of aromas already in the room.  Kal focused all of his attention on his work, shutting out all of his surroundings, all of his fears, putting his emotions somewhere else to look at later.  Right now he needed to work.  To stop the bleeding.  To stop the life from slipping away.

"That's good," Bruce said.  "Can you get--"  Kal saw the vein he was referring to and sealed it off.  "This is...a little more difficult than in the textbooks," Bruce said tightly.  There were beads of sweat on his forehead;  Kal blew very lightly with cold breath and dried them.  Bruce's smile was brief and strained.  "We can do this," he said, almost to himself. 

Kal didn't dare speak, didn't dare risk breaking his persona.  He focused on the blood, on keeping it clear.  He hardly noticed when someone lifted out a small, bluish thing, stained with blood.  Bruce cut the cord binding it to the woman and Kal sealed that as well, then turned his attention back to the woman's body, checking the veins and arteries for leaks.  "He's not breathing," someone said into the stillness.  "Rub his limbs, clear his--" 

The silence was broken by a shrill, outraged little howl, weak but insistent.  The room breathed again, and a small commotion broke out around the baby:  water splashing, people chattering.  Bruce ignored it;  he was threading a needle with some coarse thread.  As Kal stared, he began to stitch the incision closed with tiny, careful stitches. 

"I need some hot water here," Bruce said tersely, and the clump of people around the baby scattered to his aid.  Somewhere in the chaos, someone put something into Kal's arms.  He looked down to see the baby, mostly washed but still streaked with blood, its mouth working and its eyes closed tightly against the world, fists waving against the light. 

Kal reached out and touched one of the tiny, angry fists.  The emotions he had shunted aside during the operation threatened to come crashing in, but they were too big, too impossible to process.  So he merely stood and held the baby.

The door of the shack slammed open and Kal looked up to see one of the men who had been working in the field standing there, his eyes wild.  He hurried to the woman's side, taking her hand.  "Janet!"  One of the other women patted him on the back and whispered something to him, and he stood to stare at the bundle in Kal's arms.  He held out his arms, then dropped them again.  "May I hold my son, Master?"

Kal winced slightly and put the baby in his arms.  "Of course," he said.  The man stared down at the baby, who batted at his face with one tiny hand.  He put one finger, raw and abraded with iao-sap, into the small palm and the baby's grip tightened around it.  Two blood-stained fingers, clutching each other.  "Thank you," he said rather gruffly to Bruce, then dropped a short bow to Kal.  "Thank you, Master."  His eyes were wary.  "What name will you give him?"

"What?"

"You have the right to name him.  He's your property."

Kal moved backwards and banged his head into a rafter.  "He's your son.  Any name you want to give him is fine."

For the first time, the man almost smiled.  "Janet and I, we were thinking maybe Timothy."

"That sounds like a good name."  The father nodded and went back to contemplating his son.  Outside the shack, a woman's voice lifted in song, weary and triumphant and thankful.  Other voices started to join in one by one, a ragged chorus in the twilight.

Bruce was scrubbing off his hands with a rag.  He reached out and cleaned some of the blood off Kal's hands as well.  "We need to head home, Master," he murmured.

"Yes," Kal said numbly.  At the door, he turned back.  "They need antibacterial agents for the incision, it'll get infected, she's not out of danger--"

"We never are," Bruce said very softly.  "They'll take care of her.  We need to get out of here before someone reports to Oswald that you're messing in slave affairs."

Kal left, careful to keep his feet above the dust of the road, his path wavering very slightly.  The children stared as they passed.

: : :

Bruce turned off the tap water.  "Master.  That's enough."

Kal could still smell the blood on his hands, under the lather.  "I can't get rid of it.  Can't get my hands clean."

Bruce caught his hands up in a towel, rubbing off the soap.  "Master."  He paused.  "Kal.  You didn't take a life.  You helped save one.  Two."  He searched Kal's eyes, his own narrowed.  "Stay with me, all right?"

"I need to get--somewhere safe.  Safe."  Kal swiveled and went into the bedroom, into the circle of silence beyond which no one could hear him.  He curled up on the chair and buried his head in his arms, shaking.  "It's too big," he said as Bruce came into the room and sat down on the bed.  "All too big.  The...the life.  And the pain.  It's all--too much.  I can't bear it."  He couldn't seem to stop shaking.

"You can," Bruce said.  "You have to."  The lights dimmed;  there was a rustling as Bruce changed into night clothes.  Had Kal removed his collar?  Yes, he had a dim memory of that.  But that memory was outside this room, outside the circle, far away.

He didn't know what he was feeling.

"It's too big for me," he said again.  Silence met him and he shuddered within it.

"It's not too big for us," Bruce eventually said quietly into the darkness.

After a while, the shaking subsided as the stillness of the room calmed Kal's heart rate.  He should get up and move to the couch, he knew.  It was his night to sleep on the couch.  Outside the circle.  Somehow he couldn't seem to face the idea of being outside that circle tonight, beyond the line of absolute silence that would cut him off from Bruce.  He didn't want to be out in that world.  He wandered between sleep and waking, waiting for Bruce to point out he needed to go. 

At some point, still waiting, he slipped into sleep in earnest.

He woke in the morning to the sound of Bruce snoring slightly in the bed. 

Kal shifted slightly and found that sometime during the night, someone had tucked a blanket around his sleeping form.

Chapter 13: No Sanctuary

Summary:

Kal and Bruce go to Metropolis and have a couple of unnerving conversations.

Kara flourished the papers at her cousin.  "Finished!"

Kal took them gingerly from her.  Kara and Bruce looked at him as if wondering he was going to incinerate them again.  He looked at them:  This human male [Bruce] is the property and possession of [Kal-El of the House of El].  More formal Kryptonian followed, describing the human's appearance, but the basics were clear from the first sentence. 

He held them out to Bruce.  "Want to check them?"

Bruce pored over the papers carefully, his brow furrowed.  "They seem to be in order.  They'll make it possible to travel.  And just in time, too."  He flashed a look at Kara.  "If the Cat's openly using Kryptonite, you know I have to talk to Lex.  It's the only place she could have gotten any without us knowing it."

As Kara grimaced thoughtfully, Kal cut in.  "Who's Lex?  Why's he got Kryptonite?  And why wouldn't you know about it?  You're all human, so aren't you all...on the same side?"

Kara chuckled.  "Where are you going to start with that tangled knot of questions, Bruce?"

Bruce's smile was sardonic.  "I guess we can start with the 'all on the same side' issue and go from there."  He handed Kal the papers that made him the Kryptonian's property in the eyes of the law.  "There are a lot of different sides.  Some sides are aiming for...less radical solutions to the situation."  A dry, humorless bark of a laugh.  "Lex's is not one of those sides.  Our faction and his have both been stockpiling Kryptonite when we can get our hands on it.  We don't know how much he has."

"Selina...works for him?"

This time it was Kara who laughed.  "The Cat works for no one but herself.  But her interests and Lex's coincide fairly often."

Kal touched the healing scar on his chest absently, remembering Selina's jade-green eyes glowing with hate from the shadows.  "I wish I could talk to her again."

"You might get your chance," Kara said.  "Zhon's heard rumors that there's going to be a parley between Lex's faction and Irons' group sometime in the next few days.  He hasn't been able to get the details yet, though."

Bruce sat down on the bed, bouncing up and down a bit absently.  "I have to get to that meeting."

"Are you going to tell them about Kal and I?"

"I'm going to have to."  Bruce grimaced.  "Lex may be a megalomaniac, but he's nominally on our side.  He needs to know what resources we have.  And maybe if we can convince him some Kryptonians can be trusted..."

Kara snorted, an unladylike sound.  "He doesn't trust Zhon, and he knows he's not a Kryptonian.  It's humans or nothing with Lex."

"I still have to try," Bruce said stubbornly.  "If we don't keep the lines of communication open, he's even more likely to do something rash."

Kara looked dubious, but she let it drop, turning back to Kal.  "You can ask my father to borrow one of the cars."

Kal frowned.  "I thought I'd just fly."

Kara arched an eloquent eyebrow.  "Bruce can't fly."

"I know that!  I thought I'd, uh..."

Bruce chuckled.  "Kryptonians don't carry humans around, Kal.  It's demeaning."  He stretched, cracking joints.  "So, much as I would love to fly away with you, the car it will be."

: : :

Kal banked the car and they floated down toward Metropolis.  The city was one of the very few left un-razed after the Arrival;  as Kal looked down at it he could see how the Kryptonian architecture overlay the human structures.  The result was an odd mix:  spires and fluted buttresses with a bedrock solidity of concrete and steel.

Odd and yet beautiful.

In the seat behind him, Bruce was silent, gazing down as well.  Kal turned to look at him, and he made the tiny hand signal that meant "Situation acceptable, do not interfere."  The five silvery spheres were packed in Kal's bag, the circle of silence waiting to be brought to life again.  There was no sanctuary at the moment.

The car glided into the garage and Kal let them into the El apartment.  Usually when the family came to Metropolis they were back in Gotham by evening, but sometimes there were meetings and parties to be held and the apartment was convenient.  Bruce unpacked their things, hanging them up neatly;  when Kal had tried to help he had merely shooed "Master" away with a wry smile.  He wished desperately for the silver spheres to buffer them against the world again, but Bruce had merely touched them lightly, running a finger over their shining surface, then tucked them back in the bag again with an odd, almost pained smile.  Kal gritted his teeth;  he knew he shouldn't get too dependent on the safe zone created by the gadgets, but somehow it made his soul ache to know there was nowhere in the world now Bruce could safely call him by his name.

They ate the sandwiches they'd brought from the El household in silence, Kal unable to talk to Bruce openly and unwilling to treat the man as his inferior.  As Kal finished eating, he was startled as the door chimed.

"Collar," Bruce murmured, and Kal hurriedly snapped it in place, apologizing with his eyes, before answering the door.

Syra Rafe-Em hovered in the doorway, her platinum-blond hair in elaborate braids around her face, her amber eyes sharp.  "Kal-El!  Dear heart!" she exclaimed, leaning forward to kiss his cheek.  "I heard you were in town, but you haven't come to call on me yet, you naughty boy."  She held two chains in her hands;  behind her stood two very tall women, their eyes cast politely down.  One had rich golden hair and pale skin, while the other had darker skin and reddish-brown hair.

"I just arrived in town," Kal said as Syra swept into the room, her two slaves padding behind her.

Syra pouted.  "I would have thought I'd be your first priority.  You haven't even called once, and you've been back on Earth for almost a week now."  She picked a grape up off the table and popped it in her mouth.  Then her pale eyebrows rose as she seemed to notice Bruce for the first time.  He stood quietly by the table as she looked him over carefully.  "I heard you had a personal slave now."  She reached out and took his chin in her hand, tilting his face up to the light.  "Oh, blue eyes!"  Syra's face lit up and she reached out to peel his lips away from his teeth.  "Good teeth, too."

Kal's vision went gray;  dimly he saw Bruce making the do not interfere hand signal.  He took a deep breath as Syra pulled Bruce's shirt up to pat at his stomach and chest, her movements clinical and dispassionate.  She tsked as she turned him around.  "I do hate it when people cut up their slaves like that.  The effects are so ugly.  I'm surprised you were willing to accept such damaged goods."

Do not interfere.  "He serves me well anyway," Kal said, the words like blood and ashes in his mouth. 

"He's a little over-muscled, but that's not genetic," Syra said critically.  "And I like his cheekbones.  He'd make a good stud to my Mercy," she said, waving her hand at the blonde slave.  "I'm trying to get a more decorative strain, one with a little more grace, to be more ornamental, better lap pets.  The blue eyes are a nice feature," she mused.

"You're..."  Kal choked a little.  "You're breeding humans?"

Syra met his eyes then, and her golden ones flared with a sudden glint of bitter pain.  "Dear, innocent Kal.  Aren't we all just breeding stock, when you get right down to it?"

Kal stared at her, unable to answer either her pain or her cruelty, and she looked back at Bruce.  "Do you know if he's been proven fertile?"  she asked, patting his hips thoughtfully.  "It would be a waste if he was unable to spawn.  Ask him if he has any young."

Do not interfere.  Kal switched into English, struggling to keep his voice level.  "The Mistress wishes to know if you have any offspring," he said, the stilted language like a shield against anguish.

"None I know of, Master," Bruce said, his voice low.

Syra's lips thinned.  "Well, he'll need to be tested.  When our households are merged, I'll want to put him to useful work."  Again the spark of anger, nearly hate.  She whirled from Bruce dismissively, picking another grape off the table.  "You're here for the Caucus?  I suppose you'll be going to Vek-Ozh's party tonight."  Her voice was vaguely contemptuous.

"I...don't think I've received an invitation."

Syra's laugh was harsh.  "You're of the House of El.  Of course you're invited."  Her eyes softened somewhat at Kal's bemused expression.  "I suppose you don't have much choice but to go.  And everyone needs to...blow off some steam sometimes."  Her eyes flicked briefly to Bruce again and her expression hardened once more.  "Well, have fun," she said briefly.  "I just wanted to say hello and welcome back to scenic Earth.  And now I'm off to visit my niece."  She blew a quick kiss to him and was gone, her slaves trailing after her.

Silence fell in her wake, gray and heavy.  After a moment, Bruce went to rummage in Kal's bag, taking out the five spheres.  Kal watched as he set them in place and tapped them to activate them.  "Interesting woman," Bruce said dispassionately as they hummed to life.

"Interesting?"  Kal choked on outrage.  "She's a monster."

"She's what the system has made her."  Bruce's glance slanted by Kal's, not quite meeting.  "It brutalizes your people as well, Kal.  Makes you cruel and coarse, when you could be so much more.  The tragedy is not all ours."

Kal shook his head dumbly.  "You should hate us all.  You have so much cause.  You should hate Kara.  You should hate--"  he broke off and swallowed. 

Bruce flipped absent-mindedly into a handstand, which had the side effect of making it impossible to meet Kal's eyes.  "The man who pulled the trigger that killed my parents was a human," he noted.  "Not Kryptonian.  Each person makes their own choices.  It's what you do that matters."  He closed his eyes.  "I have to believe that."  He lifted onto one hand, cautiously, remaining balanced.  "Hate is a waste of energy.  I learned long ago that passions like hatred were a luxury.  Inefficient.  I don't allow myself passions that cloud my judgment."  He opened his eyes again, clear and clinical.  "Ever."  He flipped back to his feet with the air of a man changing the subject.  "Have you gotten an invitation to the Vek-Ozh party yet?"

"I'm not going to any damn party tonight," Kal said, knowing he sounded sullen.  "This Caucus in the afternoon is bad enough--"

"--I need you to go to that 'damn party' tonight.  And take me.  That's the reason I'm here."

"It is?"

"These big galas are held only four times a year, when there are a surplus of bored young Kryptonians in the capital attending the quarterly meetings.  People gather to see and be seen, to eat and drink and try the latest exotic offworld drug, to...play.  And they bring their human toys along.  It's an ideal time for humans to make connections, to do some hasty communicating while the partygoers are intoxicated or distracted."

Kal felt an uncomfortable cold in his gut.  Human toys.  "I don't think I like the sound of this."

Bruce looked at him directly then, as if he could hear Kal's fears.  "I'll try to get the information as quickly as possible.  Things usually start with a rather sedate dinner for all ages.  It's only after dinner that things get complicated.  I'll get what I need and we'll get out.  But Kal," he added, "If I can't make the connection in time...you have to see it through.  You can't draw attention to us.  So drink a little, try to avoid the drugs, and if things get...complicated..."  His jaw set and he went on, "...we'll both do what we have to do."  His eyes searched Kal's face.  Whatever he saw there made him frown and reach out to shake the Kryptonian slightly, hands on his shoulders.  "Promise me you won't blow our cover."

"I'll...try."

Bruce looked unmollified.  "If you care about the Earth, or freedom, or our lives, you'll do better than try."  The hands on Kal's shoulders tightened, not harshly.  "Trust me, Kal.  Trust me to understand that whatever you do is necessary.  Trust me to understand that if you have to..."  He hesitated, searching for words, "...to use me, it's for the good of the world and no other reason."  His smile was small, almost intimate;  he made the tiny gesture that meant continue.  "You can trust me, Kal." 

As Kal headed toward his meeting, he remembered the look on Bruce's face:  Trust me.  He trusted Bruce.  Oh, he trusted Bruce.

He just wasn't sure he could trust himself.

: : :

The Caucus meeting was winding down when Kal's pager buzzed slightly.  Embarrassed--he had no idea who might be sending him a message right now--Kal flipped it open as the meeting began to break up.

Vek-Ozh, sitting next to Kal, leaned over to look at the screen before Kal could move it away.  He laughed, brushing a hand through sandy hair.  "Oh, a personal invite to meet with Zhon-Mal!  Poor Kal, he'll chew your ear off with whatever his latest crackpot plan for racial purity is."

"He wants to meet right after this meeting."

"You'd better go then.  Sitting through two hours of ranting by Zhon-Mal is a rite of passage for all young Kryptonians."  Vek grinned and whacked Kal on the shoulder.  "Then you'll truly deserve to have some fun tonight."  He stood and headed out the door.  "Bring something pretty!" he threw back over his shoulder.

Frowning, Kal floated through the marble halls to Zhon's tiny, out-of-the-way office.

As he entered the room, Zhon rose from behind his desk with a warning gesture.  The Martian went to a corner of the room, and soon Kal felt the now-familiar tingle of energy that indicated the room was shielded.

"I wanted to welcome you to Metropolis," Zhon said as Kal sat down, offering him a plate with black discs on it. Kal picked one up.  They were some kind of sweet crackers with white frosting spread between them.  Zhon laughed at his puzzled expression.  "I was able to save some of the world's supply of Chocos during the Arrival.  Try one.  They're quite delicious."

The snack crunched in Kal's mouth, extremely sweet.  Zhon watched his face.  "It's delicious," Kal said.  "Does Bruce like them?  May I have one to take to him?"

Zhon nodded gravely and handed Kal a small packet of brown paper.  "He likes them, yes."

Kal looked around the room, the sweet taste still in his mouth.  Books on Kryptonian superiority, a statue of Yuda, a painting showing the Arrival:  noble Kryptonians appearing before cringing humans, their eyes dull and awed.  Zhon followed his gaze.  "It's a reminder," he said.

"How can you stand it?  The pretense, the lies, spouting propaganda day after day." 

Zhon gave him a long, level look.  "I tell as much of the truth as I can.  In my own way."

"You sat there in front of Bruce and announced that being in a relationship with a slave was as possible as being in a relationship with a chair!"  Kal felt indignation choking him at the memory.

For just a moment, the Martian's eyes glowed deep ruby, like banked coals.  "I spoke the truth, Kal-El."  He shook his head as Kal gaped at him.  "You cannot be in a relationship with something you own beyond that of an owner and a thing."

"I can't believe that's true," Kal said numbly.  "Bruce isn't a thing.  He's...he's...Bruce."  He bit his lip, realizing he had given something away, something he hadn't wanted to give away even to himself.  Too late now.

"You may treat him kindly.  You may even be fond of him.  But in the eyes of the world, the eyes of the law, he is your property."  There was a glint of something like pity in Zhon's eyes, but his voice was implacable.  "However you act in the privacy of your rooms, in the reality of the system you are inextricably part of, he has no choice and you have all the power.  You may play at being equals in private, you may even both enjoy the game--but you are not equals in the eyes of the world, and you can never be as long as you own his body as you own your shoes.  This is not something you have a choice in, Kal-El.  You don't have the power to redefine yourself and your relationship with Bruce.  The system you belong to does that."

Kal found himself out of his chair.  His heart was aching somehow;  not the Kryptonite scar.  Something deeper.  "You're a telepath.  Read my mind and tell me if I see Bruce as my inferior."  Zhon shook his head.  "Tell me!"

The Martian's jaw set.  "It is not my place to tell you your heart, Kal-El.  Only you can ever do that."

"I need to go," Kal said dully.  He picked up the package of Chocos.  A gift.  A game.  "Thank you for having me."

Zhon's voice stopped him at the door.  "Kal-El.  You seem a good man.  But you need to understand.  In this world, there is no safe space for a Kryptonian and a human to have a true relationship.  You may care for him.  You may even love him."  Kal didn't turn around.  "But you must understand that this is the cause we've chosen.  Sacrificing your life is one thing.  But are you ready to sacrifice your happiness, your hope, to free humanity?  If you could save the world and lose Bruce forever, would you do it?  Or would you let the world burn to be with him?"

"Are those my only choices?"  Kal said without looking back, his back stiff.
 
There might have been a small smile in Zhon's voice.  "I hope not.  But any choice you have will be difficult.  That's the world we live in, the world you and Bruce live in."  Zhon sighed, the humor gone from his voice.  "As things are, Kal-El, there is no safe place where you can be together.  There can be no sanctuary for you in this world."

: : :

"Chocos," Bruce said with a pleased smile.  "Zhon remembered me."

"He sent his regards," Kal said. 

Bruce looked at him sharply.  "Are you all right?"

Kal didn't meet his eyes.  "I'm fine."

Bruce looked uncertain, but when Kal showed no incination to explain further he shrugged.  "The dinner starts soon;  we should get going."  He put the packet on the table.  "I'll save that for later."  When Kal didn't move, Bruce picked up his collar and pushed it into Kal's hand.  "Kal.  It's showtime again."

Showtime.  Kal looked down at the collar, then up at Bruce.  "Do I have your permission to put this on you?"

"I'm ready."

If he had said no, Kal could have merely clamped the collar on despite his objections, could have destroyed the spheres and reduced Bruce to chattel, and no law in the world would gainsay him.  There was nothing between Bruce and abject abuse but Kal's goodwill.

And that wasn't enough.  It wasn't enough for anything.

The collar slid on with a cold, final click.  Kal felt something like grief stopping his throat.  "I'm sorry," he muttered, his hands still on the shining silver.

Bruce reached up and touched the hands that owned him.  "We do what we have to do," he said.

"Yes."

As they left the room, Kal felt a brief impulse to stop, to linger a moment longer in the sphere of silence, the bubble of safety.  But no.  That was an illusion.

There was no sanctuary.

Chapter 14: Something Deeper Than Pain

Summary:

A Kryptonian party causes problems for Kal and Bruce and things get complicated.

"Oh dear."  Vek-Ozh's handsome face crinkled in almost ludicrous disappointment.  "You didn't bring your human here in that?"

Kal glanced at Bruce, his head bowed, wearing black robes with the El crest subtly woven into them.  "What's wrong with that?"

Vek looked like he was richly amused.  "My dear Kal.  It's just..."  He waved his hands as if unable to express himself fully.  "So...sober!  But then, you Els are always so conservative."  He shifted to English and addressed himself to Bruce.  "You.  Go upstairs.  There are extra outfits in the room on the right.  Change."

Bruce looked at Kal as if waiting for permission;  with a start Kal realized he had to give it.  "Do as he says, Brucie."

Vek took his arm to lead him into the dining hall.  "Consider the outfit a gift.  We'll send the old clothes along tomorrow.  You're just the quaintest thing, Kal.  Honestly."  Kal was going to press him on the question of why Bruce's clothing was inappropriate again, but when they entered the hall the answer was abruptly clear to him.

On cushions next to each chair the human slaves crouched, dressed only in the skimpiest of silks and leathers.  Some of the outfits didn't cover the privates, and a few of the slaves were totally naked.  Kal felt himself starting to flush with embarrassment and anger.  He took a deep breath, trying to center his mind.  Embarrassment would be notable.  He couldn't be notable.

He sat down and nibbled on the appetizers, making small talk with the Kryptonians next to him, trying to look natural.  But when he looked over and saw Bruce enter the room, he knew he was failing utterly.

Bruce was wearing something like a robe of shifting silver mesh, loose and fluid over his body.  Through the shimmering cloth you could easily see his muscled body, like pale stone under rippling water.  With his eyes cast down and his hands clasped demurely in front of him, he looked entirely decorative.  But Kal found himself remembering the strength and power of those arms, the tense vitality of the sinewy legs.  The way those hands held a knife that separated life from death with delicate and unshakable conviction.  In any way that truly mattered, Bruce was more powerful than anyone in this room.

Bruce took his place on the floor next to Kal's chair.  Kal ruffled his hair affectionately and continued his conversation with a prominent Senator.  As the Senator complained about taxation issues, Kal marveled that no other Kryptonian in the room seemed able to sense the contempt and fury that radiated from Bruce like silver flame.  Kal could almost feel it, a blaze of energy around the other man as he listened, listened, picking up information, planning.  How blind could his fellow Kryptonians be, to not see the fierce intensity and disdain right in front of their eyes? 

The meal dragged on.  There seemed to be some Kryptonians missing;  people joked about habitual tardiness, about wanting to skip the boring stuff and come only when the fun began.  Kal felt uneasiness crawl through him, queasy and dizzying.  They'd get out of here before dinner was over, he reassured himself.  Bruce would make his connection and they'd flee this room, flee its stifling closeness, the laughing anticipation.  He glanced down at Bruce, but Bruce shook his head in the tiniest of negations.  His contact wasn't here yet.  Continue, Bruce's hands flickered briefly against his leg.

The dishes were being cleared away;  Kal consumed a tiny dish of sorbet, tasting nothing, yearning for their little room and the silence there.  No sanctuary, his mind whispered, but anything was better than this.  Most of the older Kryptonians were saying their goodbyes now, some looking slightly disapproving, most giving playful winks to the younger members who stayed behind.  There were about thirty Kryptonians and their personal slaves left in the room now;  someone started to play a recording of Kryptonian music, a droning throb of reeded instruments. 

The table was taken down and replaced by small stands beside each person;  a slave put a goblet of something viscous and dark green on Kal's stand.  He twitched and almost rose, but Bruce's arm around his leg warned him.  Continue.  He picked up the heavy goblet and sipped it very carefully;  a burning warmth in his throat, heavy and insinuating.  Something offworld, designed to affect Kryptonians.  He put the goblet back down.

Vek's goblet was almost empty already.  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bottle of white pills.  "You'll like these," he said, handing them out around to crows of laughter.  "This is the good stuff, straight from Rigel."  He washed it down with the dregs of the green liqueur, smiling a sleepy and lopsided smile at Kal.  "Loosen up a little, Kal.  You're way too tense."

One of the Kryptonians nudged her slave with a foot.  "Dance," she said in English.  The slave girl began to whirl in the center of the room, a strange dervish of a dance.  The Kryptonians clapped along with her movements, laughing, and while they watched Kal slipped the white pill into his pocket.  Someone else shoved their male slave into the center as well.  "Together, together," chanted the Kryptonians.  There was some debate about if the girl was pretty enough or if the dancer they had last time was more comely.  "Kiss her," someone called to the dancing couple, and the male slave pulled the female close and kissed her on the lips as they danced.  The Kryptonians whooped.  Someone had lit some kind of incense somewhere and the room was filling with some heavy, sleepy scent;  Kal prayed it wasn't drugged as well.

"C'mere," Kal heard Vek slur in English beside him.  He looked over to see Vek pulling his slave onto his lap.  "That's it, pretty girl.  Ah," Vek muttered, shoving her back and forth on his lap.  "Move.  Move, damn you."  The woman ground up against him, winding her arms around his neck, and Vek grunted in satisfaction, his hands reaching to grasp at her breasts.  The woman's face was blank as her hips moved against his.

Kal almost stood then.  He looked down at Bruce, knowing his look was almost pleading, unable to help it.  "I really ought to go," he said in Kryptonian, speaking to Vek, his eyes locked on Bruce's.  Bruce's face was pale and set, grim and negating.  No sanctuary.

Vek's voice was dreamy, clotted with lust and drugs.  "Are you going to play with yours, Kal, or are you going to pass it on to someone who will?  Shame to waste it just because you're a prude."  Elsewhere around the room, other Kryptonians were watching their slaves kiss and caress each other, stripping off their clothes and urging them to mate.  Some slaves were kneeling between their masters' legs.  Kal felt sick and dizzy.  Toys to be used and enjoyed and broken and replaced.

There were arms winding around his neck, a body pressed against his.  Bruce had risen from his cushion.  "Master, I live to serve," Bruce murmured.  "Use me as you will, but don't cast me away." 

Vek chuckled.  "Smart boy.  Not everyone here is as kind as Kal."  He groaned and shifted underneath his slave, muttering a Kryptonian obscenity, his eyes dim.

Bruce leaned forward and put his lips very briefly to Kal's temple;  closer to a salute than a kiss.  Then he pulled himself onto Kal's lap, straddling the Kryptonian's legs, facing outward into the room.  A couple of Kryptonians across the room whistled appreciatively and Bruce raised his arms to the ceiling, letting the loose mesh robe slip from his shoulders, leaving him bare from the waist up.  His hands moved down to clasp Kal's thighs, then reached back for Kal's hands, pulling them around his waist, then lower.

There was soft cloth under Kal's hands, parting to give way to warm skin with strong muscles under it.  Kal's fingers were on Bruce's inner thighs.  "Oh, he's a bold one," someone said.  "Look at that smile, the minx."  Bruce's fingers entwined in his, urging them inward and upward until Kal could feel soft, soft skin under his hands, silken and vulnerable.  Against his fingers, Bruce's twitched peremptorily:  continue. 

Cautiously, trying not to shake, Kal stroked at the satiny skin, feeling it slip under his hands.  Bruce made a small noise and his back straightened slightly;  beneath his fingers Kal could feel arousal hardening the softness, stiffening the silk.  Kal curled his fingers around the rising heat and tightened just a little, running his thumb up and down along the shaft lightly.  Bruce rocked forward, his hands coming down on Kal's knees, and pushed his hips against Kal's hand.  On Kal's knees, through the silk of his robe, he could feel Bruce's fingers moving slowly, almost languidly: continue. There was a tremor running through his body somewhere, a long faint ripple like water. Bruce bunched up the robe until he could touch Kal's bare knees. His hands were shaking, the gesture breaking off, starting again. Con--Con--Continue. Kal tightened his grip just a little, feeling heat and heaviness, heat rising in his own body, smoldering.

"Ah," Bruce said.  "Ah."  Without any warning, he shifted backwards on Kal's lap until his body was tight against Kal's, the warm curve of him pressed hard against Kal's hips. 

It was like a match to dry tinder;  Kal's body flared uncontrollably, arousal heavy and tense against the cloth between them.  Bruce made another wordless sound and shifted his hips against Kal's, the friction delirious and sweet.

He couldn't see Bruce's eyes.  He wanted to see Bruce's face.  Instead he stared at the delicate strength of the man's spine through his skin, at the scars twining down his shoulders.  He felt a terrifying urge to put his lips to those marks of agony;  instead he turned his head and rested his cheek against them, panting.  He passed his thumb up the hot length in his hand again, feeling slickness at the tip;  his hand slipped a bit faster and the shiver in Bruce's body deepened to a shudder.  With his cheek pressed against Bruce's back, Kal could hear his hoarse breaths, the low moan trembling underneath them.  "Rao," Kal said, unsure if Bruce could hear him over the music. "Oh Rao, I'm so sorry."

The tension in Bruce's body suddenly translated into motion;  the human swiveled sharply on Kal's lap, swinging his leg over the Kryptonian's head in a fluid motion until they were face to face.  Bruce put his hands on Kal's shoulders and shoved forward almost fiercely, thrusting hard against matching hardness.  His face was flushed, his eyes half-closed and heavy.  Kal shifted his hands to re-grasp Bruce's erection, hot and tight, and Bruce threw his head back at the touch, his mouth working.  He made a guttural noise and his hands clenched on Kal's shoulders.

"Ah," he said.  "Ah.  Kal." 

Kal stared, the world slowing down in shock;  stared at the shape of his name on Bruce's mouth.  Bruce bit his lip, his face strained and distant;  but when Kal stroked him again he gasped as if it were dragged from him:  "Kal.  Yes."  His face tightened into something beyond pleasure and he opened his mouth as if to say something more, then jolted forward with a look of blank and rapturous surprise.  Kal could feel the sharp spasms under his fingers, the sudden wet warmth, but all he could see was Bruce's face and all he could hear was the hoarse, wordless noises Bruce was making.

As his climax slowed, Bruce shook his head sharply:  once, then twice.  He took a deep breath and turned his head cautiously, eyes wary.

No one was paying them any attention at all.  Beside them, Vek had sunk into some kind of glassy stupor;  most of the other Kryptonians were either similarly lost in a drugged haze or focused on their slaves' behavior.

No one had overheard them.

Bruce slid off Kal's lap with a brisk, businesslike motion that still caused enough friction to wrench a muffled moan from Kal's lips.  He was aching, unsatisfied, in an agony of need;  as Bruce cleaned himself off with a towel from the stand, he took deep breaths, focusing.  The raging fire slowed to a dull burn that he could ignore.  Bruce cast him an opaque look, entirely unreadable, then turned to pick his way through the crowd of half-conscious bodies to go to the side of a woman, her dark hair cut in a rather severe bob.

She hadn't been at the dinner;  Kal recognized her master as a rising young scientist who was currently waving a hand in front of his eyes slowly, giggling slightly.  As Bruce approached, she glanced at him, then past him to Kal.

Her eyes were hazel with flecks of green, like leaves and sunlight.  There was a perfectly straight scar passing along one cheekbone like a silver line.  Her eyes assessed Kal briefly, then turned back to Bruce without any change of expression.  Bruce took her hand in a strangely formal gesture and leaned forward as if to embrace her, pulling her close.  They looked like any other pair of cavorting slaves, but Kal could see their hands flickering in motions more complicated than the ones Bruce had taught him so far.

Eventually the woman smiled and broke away to go back to massaging her oblivious master's shoulders.  Bruce met Kal's eye across the room and nodded very slightly.  "I'm leaving now," Kal said to the snoring Vek, and headed for the door.  Bruce caught up with him at the door and Kal took his chain in hand to lead him through the dark and silent streets of Metropolis.  There were birds singing somewhere in the darkness, singing just as if the world made any sense at all.

: : :

The spheres hummed into life.  Bruce stripped his stained clothing from himself with quick, economical motions, brutally ungraceful, making no attempt to shield his nakedness from Kal.  He threw the clothes in the incinerator, then shrugged into a clean outfit.  Kal stood silently in the middle of the room, his feet on the floor, balancing.  Not looking at Bruce.

After he finished dressing, Bruce looked at Kal for the first time.  "If I do that again, you are to strike me," he said.  His voice was totally flat, his face expressionless.  "If I call you by your name in public, you are to strike me across the face.  Then you are to explain that it's a game we play, where I break the rules and you punish me.  If I ever do that again."

Kal felt cold all over, a wave of numb shock.  "No.  No.  I would rather die than ever harm you."

Bruce's jaw clenched as if he were chewing iron.  "Then we will be exposed and we will probably both die and fail the rebellion utterly.  Because I was weak.  Because I wasn't able to--wasn't able to--"  His voice cracked and rose to almost a shout.  "--Wasn't able to control myself." He met Kal's eyes and whatever he saw there caused him to wince slightly.  "Kal."  He stopped and took a long, deep breath.  "Kal.  Self-control is the only kind of control I have in my life.  I have lived for nothing beyond the day my people will be free. I have swallowed every slight, borne every insult, weathered every pain, for the vision of a world of free humanity.  I thought..." He paused, his hands clenching. "All this time I've been wondering how I would handle the moment when your unruly emotions broke free in public, when you were unable to control yourself. And then I..." His laugh was mocking and mirthless. "I'm a fool."

He stepped closer to Kal and rested his hands on the Kryptonian's shoulders as if they were hot metal, as if they burned him beyond bearing to touch.  "I need you to be stronger than me, Kal.  If you care for me at all, you will do as I ask."

"And strike you down?  For calling me what I want you to be able to call me freely?"

"Outside this circle, yes.  Outside, where we are what the world says we are."

"And inside this circle?"  Kal asked bitterly.  "What are we inside?"

Bruce looked at him a long time.  "I don't know," he said finally.  There was pain in his eyes, and something below that pain, unreadable.  "I don't know."

Something underneath it all, Kal thought, meeting those dark eyes.  They were shadowed, haunted.  Beautiful.  Something deeper than pain.

"We have to go," Bruce said, lifting his hands from Kal's shoulders gently, deliberately.  "The meeting is soon.  We're lucky I managed to make the contact at all."

Kal nodded mutely and headed for the door, Bruce falling into step behind him once more, his silver-bound shadow. 

That was the question, Kal thought as they passed through the silent streets again, the moon lighting their way:

What could possibly be deeper than pain?

Chapter 15: Understanding

Summary:

Kal meets the leaders of two cells of the Metropolis resistance and makes something of an enemy and something of a friend.

When Kal walked behind Bruce into the low, dimly-lit room below the Metropolis streets, his feet padding cautiously but definitely on the cool stone floor, the group of people in the room murmured slightly. 

It was not an overly welcoming sound.

Most of the people in the room were masked, but a few had bare faces;  Kal recognized the young woman from the party, Bruce's contact.  Her hazel eyes met his above the razor-straight scar on her cheek and she dropped her gaze.

Bruce led him to a tall, brawny man with dark skin, his bald head gleaming in the fitful light.  "Mr. Irons.  This is Kal-El, who will join our cause if you will have him."  He turned from the man to Kal.  "Kal-El, this is John Henry Irons.  He leads a cell here in Metropolis."

Irons held out his hand and Kal took it briefly, looking around for the other human leader Bruce and Kara had mentioned, the one stockpiling Kryptonite and working with Selina.  No one else seemed to be commanding the same level of attention as Irons, though.  Masked faces looked at him and away.  "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Irons."

The man's voice was deep and surprisingly gentle.  "Likewise, I'm sure, Kal-El."  His mouth curved in a slightly ironic smile.  "Would you like to make your case before the crowd?"

Kal swallowed in a mouth gone rather dry.  "If they're willing to listen, sir."

Someone laughed at his deferential words, a nervous titter that cut off abruptly.  The room seemed almost electric with tension.  Irons took a long, level look around the room, then stepped to the front of the room.  "The first order of business tonight is Kal-El of the House of El, who claims to wish to join us in our struggle.  Some of you have met his cousin Kara Zor-El, who vouches for his integrity, as does Mr. John Jones.  Tonight you may decide if you are able to trust him as well."  He gestured to Kal to step forward.

Kal resisted to urge to look over at Bruce before stepping to the front of the room.  "I thank you for allowing me to come to your House.  It is a sacred House I have come to."

"It is a sacred House you have come to.  You have come to the House of the Earth," came back the response, a low ripple of words.  Kal took a deep breath and began to speak.

He spoke of his past and his childhood, of his friend punished for his transgressions--he scanned the crowd but saw no mocking emerald eyes--of his education offworld.  He spoke of his ignorance and fears, his slow realization of the wrongs of the system.  He spoke of freedom and respect and hope for the future.  "I've finally come to see that this heinous wrong must be fought," he concluded, his words ringing off the stone walls.  "And I've come to ask you tonight to forgive me for my blindness and my missteps, and to ask if there is a world in which we can work together to bring about a better world--one in which we can live freely together."  As the last words fell into the room, he drew in a breath, his heart pounding.

Silence.

The crowd simply looked at him and Kal stared back.

Clap.  Clap.  Clap.  One set of slow, deliberate handclaps broke the silence, and Kal looked toward the door to see a tall, bald man standing in the doorway, bringing his hands together with a sardonic smile on his face.  Next to him lounged Selina in her black suit, the only un-collared human in the room, her back straight and her glittering whip twining lazily on the floor.  The emerald eyes behind the mask were unreadable as she gazed at Kal.

"Oh, bravo," the man who must be Lex Luthor said, strolling into the room.  "Well done.  Thank you so much for enlightening us on the Heroic Journey of Kal-El."  He gestured contemptuously.  "And now why don't you just take a seat in the back and let the adults discuss real strategy?"

"I was just--"

"--I know what you were doing.  And I am telling you that this rebellion, these people, do not exist as props to illustrate your boundless nobility."  Lex was pacing restlessly, prowling the room.  The eyes of the crowd flicked back and forth between the human and the Kryptonian.  "This is not your story, alien.  You don't get to define it that way.  You're not the hero of the rebellion, you are a tool that we will use or discard as we see fit."  His voice snapped in the air between them.  "Remember your place, slaver."

His caustic words met an answering flare of fury in Kal.  His hands clenched and a hiss of breath escaped him.  "How dare you--" he started.

And then he looked around the room.  Bruce's face was a blank mask, handsome and remote as the moon.  Selina looked coiled and ready for a fight.  But the hazel-eyed woman was shaking.  Above the silver scar on her cheek, her eyes met Kal's boldly, but he could see the fear in them, memories moving like shadows in deep water.

It was like being slapped across the face, the anguish in those eyes looking at him.  Carefully, carefully, he uncurled his fists and took a deep breath, centering himself.  The stone was solid under his feet, the stones of the Earth.  Then he looked up again at Lex Luthor.

"You're right," he said.

Luthor looked nonplussed for just an instant, then smiled toothily.  "Of course I am."

Kal stepped down from the front of the room.  "My apologies.  The floor is yours."  He stepped down amongst murmurs and made his way to the back of the room.  After a moment, Lex took his place and began to speak.

"Of course I support Kal-El being admitted, as I supported Kara Zor-El being allowed access.  I am not so impractical as to turn down potentially useful weapons in the fight.  But we shall vote on that another time, when he isn't here."  Green eyes flicked past him and were gone.  "I would like to take this opportunity, in addition, to urge further consideration of my long-term plan as opposed to that of our more...patient brothers and sisters."  The word was spat out like an insult. 

Kal focused on breathing deeply and steadily, ignoring the glances at him as Luthor continued.  He almost jumped at a slight touch on his elbow.  He looked to see the dark-haired woman looking at him gravely.  She leaned forward to whisper to him.

"He doesn't seem to like you," she said solemnly, gesturing toward the gesticulating Luthor.

Kal stared at her, unsure whether he wanted to laugh or cry.  Her hazel eyes were cautious but friendly.  "I can hardly blame him, really," he said wryly.

"My name's Lois," the woman said.  "Lois-Ve."  She paused and lifted her chin.  "Lane.  Lois Lane is my human name.  My real name."

Kal put out his hand.  "Pleased to meet you, Ms Lane."

After a moment, she put her hand in his and pressed it.  Kal felt callouses and scars against his skin for a moment.  "Pleased to meet you, Kal."

Luthor and Irons were arguing now;  Kal forced himself to focus.  There seemed to be two different plans being debated, although neither side was going into detail.  "We can't know the effects of your plan on the human population, Luthor," Irons was saying.  "It's too risky.  That much radioactive material--"

Luthor made a sound of disdain.  "You're just afraid to get your hands dirty, Irons.  You want your freedom and your moral purity too.  It's not that simple."

From his position to the side of the room, Bruce spoke for the first time.  "Your plan would make us no better than they are, Luthor."

Luthor's green eyes snapped anger and contempt.  "You seem to think I care whether humans are better than Kryptonians.  I don't give a damn about that.  I just want them gone and I don't really care how."  His eyes flicked over Kal.  "I support the Els being admitted because I'll use whatever comes our way to achieve our goal.  And I know how to deal with them if they cross us."  His gaze was dark and meaningful, and Selina's whip twitched as her mouth curved in a smile.

Irons sounded exasperated.  "None of this matters much because neither plan is at the implementation stage yet.  We're here to discuss how to get our hands on some of the materials we need."  He addressed the crowd.  "Did anyone manage to procure some extra cyclamed?  Or some fiber-optic cable?  Those are our top priorities."  There was a murmur of discussion and movement as some of the humans produced raw materials and put them at the front of the room.

Kal suddenly remembered the little white tablet in his pocket.  He went over to Irons, the crowd parting carefully before him.  "This is some kind of psychotropic drug," he said.  "They said it was from Rigel.  It seems to cause euphoria and mild hallucinations."

"It also causes a slight lowering of inhibitions," Bruce said behind him as Irons took the pill from him.  "Could be useful."

Irons nodded, wrapping it in a bit of cloth.  "Thank you." 

The meeting seemed to be breaking up slightly as people separated into groups, trading gossip and information.  Kal felt Luthor's glower on the back of his neck, almost tangible.  He turned to meet the eyes of the woman beside him.  "I've been told they call you Cat," he said to her.

"Nine lives, lands on her feet, walks by herself...it sounded right," Selina said lazily.  "Not to mention cat o'nine tails."  She turned.

"I'm sorry," Kal said before she could walk away.  "I know you probably won't believe me, but I...didn't remember what happened to you."

"Oh, I believe that."

"I mean--"  Kal struggled for words.  "I mean that I couldn't remember it, until recently.  Until I met you again.  I won't ask you to forgive me, but I wanted to say I was sorry.  More than I can express."

"Perhaps I will help you express it, one day."  Her whip made small circles on the stone.

"Would that bring you satisfaction?"

She bit her lip, white teeth against ruby.  "No," she said.  "Nothing will.  Forgiving you and your kind certainly wouldn't." 

"I hope..." Kal said, "I hope that you will find whatever does, someday."

For a moment, the cynicism fell away, and her eyes were the eyes of the girl he had known.  "I hope so too," she said.  Then she was linking her arm in Luthor's and walking away, Luthor looking back one last time, his face unreadable.

"A dangerous pair."  Lois Lane was at his elbow again, gazing after Selina and Lex. 

"I don't think she likes me very much either," said Kal ruefully.

Lois gave him a long, assessing look.  "You don't know how to read us very well yet, do you?"

"Bruce is always saying that," Kal said with a small laugh.  "But I think I know hatred when I see it."  He met her eyes.  "I know fear when I see it."

Lois crossed her arms and tilted her chin up at him challengingly.  "I'm not afraid of you," she said.  "Not now.  Not any more."

"Why not?"

"I saw your eyes earlier.  They weren't..."  For the first time she seemed at a loss for words.  "They were sad." 

Kal grimaced.  "I wish I hadn't let Luthor goad me."

She shook her head, dark hair swinging slightly in her eyes.  "Not then," she said, reaching to push it back.  "I mean at the party.  As you watched him."  Another light touch on his arm, and she was gone, melted away in the crowd.

Kal looked over to where Bruce was deep in conversation with Irons.  As if he had felt Kal's gaze on him, Bruce looked over and met his eyes, nodding slightly before he turned back to the conversation.

He was going to have to get better at bluffing.

: : :

"It's your night to have the bed," Kal said.

Bruce looked around the sparse apartment.  "There's no couch."

"I'll sleep on the floor."  Kal settled on the floor, wrapping a blanket around him.  After a moment, Bruce got into the bed.

"Lex's plan," Kal said into the darkness.  "It sounds...pretty final."  Bruce made a noncomittal noise, almost a hum, and Kal added hurriedly, "I know you can't talk about it in detail until they vote on me."

"They'll let you in," Bruce said.  "I heard your speech."  There was a short pause. "Lex has been stockpiling Kryptonite.  He hopes to create enough powder to seed the entire atmosphere with it."

"That's..."  Kal's voice trailed off as he imagined it, the fine dust settling over everything, the emerald rain. 

"We're working on another way," Bruce said. 

Kal's throat felt tight;  his chest burned where Selina's whip had cut him.  "How long do we have?"

"He doesn't have the tech to get that much material into the atmosphere yet.  That's the last stumbling block."

Kal took a long breath.  "Thank you for telling me."

"You deserve to know.  It's your life--it's your planet--too."  Another pause.  "Earlier tonight.  You did good when Luthor was hounding you."  Kal laughed bitterly into the dark and Bruce said, "No.  I know you got angry.  But you pulled it together fast and didn't let him goad you unduly.  This was your first real test, and you passed it, Kal.  And it won't get much tougher than Luthor.  I was hoping you might meet the Lanterns first--Guy's a hothead but he's easier to deal with.  Luthor has a gift for sensing your weak spots and going for them.  And that's why..."  He fell silent for a bit.  "Kal.  I'm sorry I couldn't...couldn't defend you against Luthor.  We can't afford to have it look like I...favor you, somehow.  So I couldn't just tell him to go to hell." 

"Did you want to?"

A very long silence.  "Yes."

"Then I'll be okay.  I don't need Luthor to understand me."

Bruce shifted restlessly, sheets rustling.  "He hasn't seen you hold a newborn human baby.  He hasn't seen your eyes when you have to put that collar back on me.  He hasn't--"  Bruce broke off, swallowed.  "He doesn't understand you."

He didn't speak again, and Kal let sleep start to sift over him like snow, scattering his thoughts to the winds.  Understanding, he thought as he slipped deeper into sleep.  To be understood. 

It was enough.  Maybe more than enough.

Chapter 16: Too Bright for Our Infirm Delight

Summary:

Kal studies obliqueness, is given an unwelcome ultimatum, and embarks on something of a road trip.

"What do you think, Brucie? The scarlet or the navy?" Kara held up two swatches of cloth as the Kryptonian tailor hovered around her, fussing with her measurements. Kal sat in an armchair in the corner, trying not to look too frantically frustrated. Kara had invited them over for tea, but the tailor had been taking too long with her adjustments and the three of them were trapped in their public personas.

"The scarlet makes your complexion glow, mistress," Bruce said with a smile.

Kara beamed at him a bit condescendingly. "You have such good taste, my dear."

"I always appreciate quality when I see it, mistress. And I worship at the feet of beauty." Bruce knelt briefly, the obeisance liquid and lithe, and pressed a kiss on Kara's floating bare foot.

Kara giggled slightly. "Oh, you flatterer. Sometimes I regret giving you to my cousin. Is it too late to snatch you back?"

Bruce leapt to his feet and paced over to where Kal slouched in his chair. "I'm afraid so, mistress." He lowered himself to the floor like a cascade of grace and twined his arms around Kal's leg. "I'm all his now, and I don't think he'd be willing to relinquish me." He gazed up at Kal, eyelashes fluttering, adoration etched on his features. "Would you, master?"

Kal ruffled hair so soft it made his fingers ache and tried to look relaxed and smug instead of wretched. "You please me far too much, pretty one."

Kara's eyes narrowed, watching the two of them closely. Then she turned to the tailor. "Thera, my mother has a bolt of new fabric from Imsk that I was hoping you could make into a cloak. Would you be a dear and go get it from her?" She gestured, and Bruce rose and bowed. "Is it all right if I send Bruce to show her to Mother's quarters, Kal?"

Kal nodded, and Bruce escorted the tailor from Kara's quarters.

As the door slid shut behind them, Kara crossed her arms, her face going businesslike. "Kal. What's going on?"

Kal squirmed a bit in his seat. He contemplated claiming he had no idea what his cousin meant, but Kara's eyes were narrowed and steely, and he knew there was no getting past her. "I feel...very uncomfortable...when Bruce does, you know...that."

"The flirting?"

Kal nodded, miserable. "It's--I don't like him mocking me like that."

Kara's eyebrows disappeared into her hair. "Mocking you?"

Kal looked down at his knees. "He doesn't have to be so theatrical about it all. He could just sit at my feet. He doesn't have to...be so affectionate when I know he doesn't--he can't--"

There was a light touch on his shoulder. He looked up to see Kara standing in front of him, her eyes sad. "Kal, dear heart, you're misunderstanding. Bruce plays his role with relish because he trusts us. If he felt even the slightest suspicion that we would use his role against him, if he felt that we would for a moment take his feigned subservience seriously, he would never do it. He would be a dutiful servant in public, but he would never exaggerate it to tease us." She reached out and took his chin in her hand, tilting his face upward like he were a child. "He plays with me because he is free to do so. And he is free to show me honest affection to the exact extent that I would never, ever presume on our relationship." She looked at him searchingly. "Do you understand what I'm telling you, Kal?"

Kal blinked. "I...I think so."

"Good." She patted his cheek lightly and turned back to her mirror as the door re-opened and Bruce returned with the tailor, carrying a bolt of glossy blue cloth. "Thank you, Brucie dear," she said.

Bruce bowed. "It's always a pleasure to serve, mistress."

"I was just talking about Terran poetry with my cousin," Kara went on as the tailor began to fuss with the silk.

"Why would one of the Arrived waste their energy with such barbaric things?" Bruce asked.

"Oh, Kryptonians believe in preserving knowledge of all kinds, no matter how primitive," Kara said airily. "I was telling Kal about an older Terran poet. Which poem was it I was reciting, cousin?" Kal looked at her blankly, and she smiled and held up a finger. "I remember now.  He doesn't really have a good memory for poetry," she said confidingly.  "But even the humans captured an idea in rhyme nicely now and then."  She stretched out her hand as if declaiming, evoking a murmur of annoyance from the tailor, and recited:

Tell all the Truth but tell it slant—
Success in Circuit lies
Too bright for our infirm Delight
The Truth's superb surprise.

"It has a certain charm, does it not?" Kara finished.

Bruce tilted his head, looking at her. "It's rather pretty, but not as pretty as you, mistress." He turned and went over to Kal, but rather than sitting at his feet curled up in his lap like a large cat. "But then, I have no need of poetry when I have my brave master, my strong master, who is poetry incarnate."

Kal stared at him and then at Kara, whose mouth was quirking slightly at the corner. Then he put his arms carefully around Bruce, holding him close, feeling his heart beating. "Oh, my dear one," he said. His voice was a little more unsteady than he would have liked. "My north star. My heart."

Bruce made a soft purring sound and snuggled against him. The tailor continued working, ignoring the silly, empty endearments. Kara watched them both. Kal felt Bruce's muscles slowly easing, his breaths becoming more even, deeper. By the time the tailor was done, the human was clearly asleep, his body relaxed and warm against Kal's chest. Kara gestured the tailor out without speaking, then stood and looked at the two of them for a few minutes. "He's been working himself too hard, keeping up with too many things," she said, pitching her voice too quietly to be heard by the sleeping man. "My news can wait until later." She turned and started to float from the room. "I'll be in the library," she said, looking back. "Stay here. Let him sleep."

Kal watched the door slip shut behind her. In his arms, Bruce twitched slightly, lost in some dream, and made a small sound. It didn't sound unhappy.

He held Bruce close, watching each slow breath rise and fall, until the dinner bell rang in the distance.

: : :

"How was your trip to Metropolis, Kal-El?"  Zor-El looked at his nephew on the far side of the table.  "I hope it impressed you with a sense of your responsibilities."

"Oh yes, uncle," Kal said meekly.  "I'm very aware of my responsibilities."  Kara shot him an almost warning glance and Bruce drummed his fingers slightly on his calf as Kal answered his uncle's questions about the caucus meeting.  Kal almost couldn't help smiling, somehow.

"Speaking of responsibilities," Alura said sweetly as Kal finished explaining the decisions made, "Your uncle has something he needs to talk to you about."

"Yes, that," Zor-El said as Kal looked back at him.  "It's about your...marital status."

"My..."  Kal stared at his uncle.  "I talked to Syra in Metropolis.  She didn't seem to think the marriage plans were moving forward anytime soon."

"I'm not talking about Syra," said Zor-El.  He put his glass down and regarded his nephew gravely.  "Kal-El.  You know that our truce with the Amazons of Themyscira has always been a...delicate one.  Something of a stalemate.  We could invade, could probably even conquer them, but there are so few Kryptonians, we just can't risk it."

Kal nodded, wondering where the diplomacy recap was going.

"Well, Queen Hippolyta has offered her daughter to a prominent Kryptonian family in marriage.  To...smooth relations."  Zor-El nodded at Kal, who was still looking at him rather blankly.  "You are probably the most prominent eligible Kryptonian, Kal-El."

"I--"  Kara and Bruce were still as falcons poised to strike.  "You're asking me to--"

"I'm not asking you anything," Zor-El said, and for a moment his voice was cold as ice.  "I am telling you that you are engaged to this princess."

"Kal-El," Alura said soothingly.  "Think how helpful it would be for our race if we proved able to crossbreed with Amazons!  An entire island of women, of potential mothers!"

Kara's voice was incredulous.  "You really think the Amazons will allow themselves to become Kryptonian breeding stock?"

"It could be...mutually beneficial," said Zor-El.  "We're working on the details.  Kal-El's marriage will open very valuable channels for diplomacy."

"What's her name?"

"What?"

"What's the princess's name?"  Kal heard himself asking again.  Bruce's hands gripped his calf.

"I...don't know," Zor-El said.  "I didn't think to ask.  It doesn't really matter."

"No," said Kal numbly.  "I guess it doesn't."

: : :

The collar clicked open and Kal drew it off;  Bruce took a deep breath as always, a long inhalation of relief.  Then his eyes went thoughtful.  "A marriage with an Amazon," he said as Kal sank onto the bed.  "Interesting.  We don't definitely know how the Amazons feel about the Kryptonians;  some say they relish the idea that human men know the anguish of slavery now.  But there have been hints and signs..."  He paced the room absently, lost in thought.  "If you were married to a high-ranking Amazon it could be a chance to shape Themysciran policy..."  He trailed off as his eyes met the Kryptonian's.  "Kal," he said.  "It's--"

"I know.  If the worst thing I ever have to suffer for the cause is marrying someone whose name I don't even know, I'll be lucky."  He took a deep breath and was surprised to find it shaking.  "It's just--it's sudden.  I'll get used to it."

"You'll get used to it," Bruce echoed him, his voice flat.  His hands clenched into fists briefly, then relaxed again.  "You'll get used to being with someone who can openly share your life and freely share your bed.  To having a companion, possibly a true equal in your life, in your arms.  Someone who doesn't have to lie all the time."  He glared at Kal and crossed his arms, but the glare was etched with pain and his posture that of a man trying to hold himself together, like he could shatter completely if he let go.

"Bruce."  Eyes like a cold sea, with riptides underneath.  "If this helps to bring about the day where you can walk in freedom, then I'll do it gladly.  All I want is to walk on the Earth beside my human brothers and sisters.  To walk beside you as your friend." 

A sudden smile, faint and lopsided, touched Bruce's mouth.  "That's all you want?"

"That's...all that I can dare to dream for."

The smile faded and Bruce looked at him for a long moment.  "I have far more ambitious dreams than that," he whispered. 

As Kal wondered how to respond to that, the door opened and Kara came in, passing into the circle of silence with a smile.  Kal welcomed her with some relief, but she was grinning at Bruce.  "Got them," she said triumphantly, waving two pieces of paper and a small package.

Bruce's eyes flashed.  "Yes."  He took the papers and looked at them carefully, then shot a glance at Kal.  "Think you can contrive a reason to be away for a couple of weeks?"

Kal knitted his brow.  "Well, they'll probably expect me to do some sulking after finding out I'm engaged.  I can always tell them I'm going to go visit friends offworld for a while."

"I'll tell them I've whisked you off to my Metropolis apartment while Kal is gone," Kara said to Bruce, her eyes gleeful.

"Why?  What's going on?"

Bruce brandished the papers.  "There's a shipping route that's used to transfer goods necessary for plantation life across the continent.  Certain slaves are tasked with driving the trucks that deliver raw materials like flour, cloth, farming equipment across the system.  Kara's managed to get us IDs as drivers."

"But...why?"

Bruce was turning the little package over in his hands.  "In part because there's...something at the end of the route I want to show you, and I'd rather not risk someone tracing us if you fly there.  In part because..."  He looked up and met Kal's eyes, "...if we're going to work together in the long run, we need to know each other better, and we have a better chance of that if we get away from here, away from the cities, and have time together.  So, what do you think?  Are you with me?"  He looked, for just a moment, slightly hesitant.

"Of course.  Always." 

Bruce looked away from him and cleared his throat slightly.  Kara stepped into the silence, taking Kal by the shoulders.  "Fortunately, you've gotten much better at walking.  But your posture will never do."

"What--what's wrong with it?"

"Too straight.  Too prideful.  Slouch, Kal."  She tugged at his shoulders and he let them sag, rounding them.  "And don't meet my eyes.  Meet a Kryptonian's gaze like that and you're done for."

Kal dropped his eyes, trying to look submissive and cowed.  A hand disarranged his hair, making it fall almost over his eyes, and he looked up to find Bruce frowning at him, arranging his bangs.  "And the final touch," said Bruce, opening the package.

In his hands were a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles.  He put them on Kal, settling them on his nose.  Kal blinked at him owlishly, adjusting his sight for the distorting glass.  "Can I really pass for human?"

Bruce snorted.  "No good Kryptonian would be caught dead walking on the ground.  And no perfect Kryptonian would allow themselves to be seen with glasses."  A brief, grim smile.  "You make a fairly decent human."

"Thank you," Kal said wryly.

"Don't let it go to your head," Bruce shot back.

Kara thumped him on the back and Bruce handed him a piece of paper.  "Of course, you need a human identity.  You're going to be posing as the long-lost son of two of our operatives who live on our route;  you'll meet them later if all goes well.  We gave you a human name that sounds a bit similar to your real one." 

He reached out and closed Kal's fingers around his papers, clasping his hand briefly.  "It's a pleasure to meet you, Clark."

Chapter 17: A Real Boy

Summary:

Kal leaves what used to be Gotham on his trip across the country with Bruce.

Dawn was just starting to gray the skies as Kal and Bruce made their way toward the southern bridge where they'd be meeting Zhon and Kara.  Kal pushed at his glasses nervously--they seemed to keep sliding down his nose.  Clark.  I'm Clark now, he reminded himself.  I'm a human slave named Clark, son of Jonathan and Martha of the Smallville Plantation.  On my way to see my folks after a decade apprenticed to learn metalworking from  John Henry in Metropolis.

He didn't feel like Clark, was the problem.  He felt like Kal dressed up like a human.  He wanted to be Clark, but he didn't know who Clark was.

He glanced over at Bruce, then felt a shock when he realized he could glance over at Bruce, that the other man wasn't following behind him as a slave was obliged to do.

"What are you smiling about?"  Bruce's tone belied his words;  it was oddly bouyant.

"I'm just...happy," Kal said.

"You're not going to make a very effective slave if you're grinning like that all the time."  Bruce pondered a moment.  "Though you may be able to convince people you're a half-wit."

Somehow this just seemed to make Kal's smile grow wider.  "That might work."

Bruce made a huffing noise but didn't seem to lose the lightness to his steps either.

Zhon and Kara were standing in front of a large flatbed truck loaded with large and small boxes.  The base of the old human bridge loomed above them, massive metal girders and stone blocks.  They were deep in conversation as Bruce and Kal drew near.  As Kal watched, Zhon gestured vehemently to make a point and Kara put out a calming hand, then let it drop before she actually touched him.

The realization broke in on him like a flash:  They're in love.  As the pair turned to greet them, Kal wondered why he hadn't been able to see it before:  the hesitancy, the yearning, the constraint and affection.  It had always been there, but it had never dawned on him until now.  Yet now it seemed something he could see easily. 

He wondered what had changed in himself to give him that kind of insight.

Zhon was holding something out.  "The finishing touch," he said wryly.  In his hands was a silver circlet.  A slave collar.

Kal took it from him and turned it over in his hands, opening it.  Then he handed it to Bruce.  "Would you?"

Bruce stared at him a moment, then took the collar from him slowly, not breaking his gaze.  He placed the collar on Kal's neck, then paused.  "I can't close it," he said.

Kal grimaced.  He reached up and put his hands on Bruce's, adding his strength until the slave collar clicked shut.  "There," he said.

The metal was cold on his skin;  Bruce's hands were warm.  "Kal," Bruce said.

He smiled.  "Nice to meet you.  I'm Clark."

Bruce didn't return his smile, just looked at him a while longer before he dropped his hands.  "Let's get going."

As they opened the doors to the truck, there was a sudden movement in the girders of the bridge above them, then a thump upon the hood of the truck as Selina landed solidly on the metal.

"Well well," she said as everyone froze.  "What have we here?"  She took in Kal's clothing and collar, and her eyes narrowed.  "I heard you were leaving town, so I came to say goodbye."  Her green-dusted whip grated lightly along the hood.  "You really think putting on some glasses and a collar will make you a real boy, Pinocchio?"

Kal couldn't help but smile slightly, remembering the stories Alfred had told them both.  "Does that make Bruce Jiminy Cricket?"

"Perhaps."  Selina's lips curved as well, a smile with no humor in it.  "But be careful, Bruce.  In the original, Pinocchio kills the cricket."

"Enough."  Zhon's voice cut in as Kal's smile vanished.  "Why are you here, Selina?"

Selina pirouetted on the roof of the car.  "To wish you luck on your trip?  Or perhaps to congratulate Kal on his impending nuptials?"  She smiled again, razor-sharp.  "News travels fast that the little prince is to be wed to an Amazon princess.  A fairy-tale wedding!"  She clasped her hands in a parody of girlishness.  "I do hope I'm invited."

"Selina," Kal said.

She dropped her hands and looked at him closely, the mock-coquettishness falling away.  "The collar looks good on you."  With a backspring and flip she disappeared into the rusting steel girders of the bridge.  "It makes you look almost human," her voice floated back down.

Bruce stared after her.  "Is Luthor going to be a problem?"

Zhon shook his head.  "I do not think so." 

Bruce cast him a slantwise look and nodded.

Kara sighed, her eyes troubled.  "I'll cover for you while you're gone, tell my parents I've heard from you."  She pulled Kal into a hug.  "Safe travels, cousin."  Zhon bowed as they got into the truck, echoing her.

Bruce started the engine and the truck moved forward, pivoting around to move onto the road and then the bridge.  Morning fog lifted from the bay and shrouded the crumbling stone and steel. 

"Almost human," Kal muttered to himself, and Bruce glanced at him, his face unreadable.

As they reached the middle of the bridge, the sun lifted over the horizon, light gilding the fog, turning the very air around them into a blaze of glory.

"Say goodbye to Gotham, Clark," said Bruce as they reached the other shore, moving west with the sun, away from the El plantation.

"Hello," Kal whispered, looking west out the window.

 

 

Chapter 18: On the Road

Summary:

"Clark" and Bruce spend a day on the road and camp in the evening.

The road wound west through scarlet iao-fields and abandoned ghost towns, weeds growing up through the sidewalks and rubble.  Their first stop was a plantation just outside the El property, to drop off some cured ham and dried beans and pick up some shovels and scythes.  "That's how the Trade Route works," Bruce explained as they hoisted the tools onto the flatbed.  "Each plantation barters a few things for something else.  A little medicine for some cloth, some flour for a handful of nails."

Kal had been terrified that the first human they met would recognize him as a Kryptonian right away, but no one seemed to look twice at a man with heavy glasses and grubby overalls, even a man who could lift heavy bundles with maybe a little too much ease.  He introduced himself as Clark from Smallville, and they nodded and thanked him for the goods.

Progress was slow, stopping every couple of hours along the way, and sometimes they were invited to have a cup of coffee or a piece of bread by someone grateful for the food and supplies they brought.  Kal mostly kept quiet while Bruce kept a steady stream of conversation flowing;  after a couple of visits Kal realized he wasn't just making small talk but carefully eliciting information about the plantations and their overseers from the people.

"Why do you do that?"  he asked after a stop.

"Do what?"

"Get them to tell you what the iao-production is, or how many kids were born here last year, or how much milk their cows produce?"

Bruce looked vaguely surprised, as if he hadn't really realized he was doing it.  "All information is valuable.  You never know when you'll need it."

"You're remembering all of that data?"

Bruce shrugged and looked out the driver's side window for a moment.  "I suppose I just got in the habit."

Sometimes they picked up a person walking along the road and gave them a lift to the next plantation.  The routine was always the same:  Bruce would slow down as they approached the trudging figure and call, "To which House are you bound?"  The person would stop and answer, "The House of Iv" or wherever their destination was, and if it was on the way Bruce would gesture them to the back of the truck for a ride.  At times there were four or five riders in the back, but as the sun started to go down the truck emptied out again until it was just Bruce and Kal.

The endless monotonous crimson of the iao-fields started to fall away as they went further west, away from the coast;  for long stretches there were nothing but forests and fields of Terran green.  Out here the road was in worse repair;  potholes jolted the truck from time to time, and once the entire road was washed out and they had to find a detour.  In the middle of the detour they came to a river;  the bridge across it looked less than fully stable.  Bruce pulled the truck to a stop and looked up at the reddened sky.  "Let's stop here and camp for the night.  Then in the morning we can check the bridge and make sure it's safe to cross.  Not all of them are now."

"We're going to sleep out here?  In the middle of nowhere?"

Bruce chuckled.  "We've got blankets and campfire material.  Don't worry."  Kal didn't know quite how to explain that it hadn't been worry but delight sharpening his voice, so he simply helped Bruce unpack their minimal gear and carry it to the side of the road.

There was a huge, gnarled tree near the road, its wide branches stretching out and massive roots gripping the ground.  Bruce spread a blanket out in between two of the roots.  "Would you gather up some wood for a fire?"

Kal collected an armful of dry branches and returned to the campsite to find Bruce already unpacking one of their hams and slicing off a couple of pieces.  He tossed Kal a lighter, and after a fair amount of ineffective fussing Kal managed to get one of the thick branches to catch fire.  He stared at the flame slowly licking its way around the wood, feeling absurdly pleased at the warmth coming from the fire.  His campfire.  Their campfire.

Bruce stretched his hands out to the flame and sighed appreciatively.  "It gets cold here at night."  He held out a makeshift griddle with the slices of ham on it, and soon the scent of cooking meat filled the air.  "There are a couple of rolls in my backpack;  saved them from earlier."  Kal rummaged around and soon they were eating grilled ham and rolls in companionable silence.  The murmur of the river and the crackling of the fire were the only sounds;  beneath the scent of cooking food Kal could smell the deep loamy richness of vegetation all around them and the faint green scent of the river underlying it all.  He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, savoring the food, the silence, the company.  For just a moment, he could feel a ghostly presence:  Clark, son of Jonathan and Martha, traveling home with a friend, sharing food under the sheltering branches of a great tree.  For a moment, he held on to the illusion, wistfully.

Bruce stood and stretched, then leapt gracefully onto one of the broad tree branches.  Springing from branch to branch, he disappeared like a shadow into the foliage;  a few leaves drifted down in his wake.  Then a small nut pinged off Kal's head.  "Hey!" Kal exclaimed, but couldn't help laughing.  He caught the next small missile and turned it around in his fingers, examining it.

"Come on up," came Bruce's voice from above him.

Kal looked up with a wry smile.  "I have no idea how to climb a tree."  He'd only gotten the hang of walking recently;  managing crawling into a tree without benefit of flying seemed beyond comprehension.

Bruce suddenly appeared on the branch just above him.  "Oh come on, it's not so hard."  Kal tried to pull himself up onto the branch;  after a great deal of comical flailing and protests, he managed to find himself sitting next to Bruce, feeling surprisingly out of breath.  "Higher," said Bruce, vanishing to the next branch.

Kal edged along cautiously after him, grateful that Bruce didn't point out that it wasn't like a fall could possibly hurt him.  These little details--the way Bruce unfailingly treated him like Clark, like a fellow human--they made him happier than they probably should. 

The bark was rough under his fingers, splotched with lichen.  Kal climbed doggedly after Bruce, catching glimpses of their campfire farther and farther below them, until suddenly he found himself on one of the highest branches.  Bruce was braced against the trunk and was looking out over the river and the countryside beyond it.

It was a moonless night and the world around them was drowned in darkness, a vast dark sea of trees.  On the other side of the river, Kal could see the ruins of buildings, faintly white in the starlight:  a mill, a few farmhouses. 

"Look," said Bruce, pointing:  in the distance, a ripple of wind was gusting through the trees, bending their dark tops in the faint light, a great wave of unseen power coming toward them.  It reached them, and for a moment the old tree swayed and bowed;  Kal could see a fierce smile on Bruce's face as the tree yielded to the wind and the leaves roared around them.  Then it was gone again, moving north along the river, a massive invisible hand that had brushed them and moved on.

Bruce met his eyes, still smiling, and for a moment they hung there in the starlight, with nothing for miles around them but wilderness.  Then Bruce slipped off his branch and bounded downward.  After a moment, Kal followed him.

At the base of the tree, Bruce was checking the fire, feeding it another large branch.  "We'd better get some sleep," he said.  "Another long day tomorrow."

Kal curled up on his blanket, rolling a jacket up for a pillow.  "Good night, Bruce," he said.

Bruce was looking at him from his own blanket.  A branch in the fire snapped and a shower of sparks sprang between them briefly.  "Good night, Clark."

: : :

They rose before sunrise and packed up the truck.  The bridge proved rickety but sound, and soon they were back on the route, winding their way across the countryside, picking up travelers and dropping off supplies at the plantations.  They were spaced out more widely here, away from the coast, and there were long stretches of empty land.

Around noon, they were in the midst of another iao-field, the acrid scent of the blooms all around them--why had Kal never noticed how strong and rank the scent of their pollen was?--when they came across a lone man, trudging the opposite direction from them, his clothes covered with dust.

Bruce slowed the truck as they drew near and nodded.  The man stared blankly at them.  "Where are you going?"  His voice sounded dead in his throat, raw and scraped.  "I'll go with you, wherever you go.  I don't care."

"Further west, to the Zho plantation," said Bruce.

The man flinched at the name.  Then his mouth stretched in a rictus that looked like it could become either laughter or a scream.  "No, not there.  Anywhere but there," he said.  "I'll be damned if I'm going back."  He paused.  "I'm damned already."  He shook his head violently, hands clawing dusty hair.  "Don't," he muttered to himself.  "Don't think about it." 

"You look like you need some help, brother," said Bruce.  He reached out a hand, but the man cringed away from it.

"I'm not the one who needs help.  Not me.  You're the ones that'll need help if you go there," he said hoarsely.  "There's nothing there.  Not anymore.  Nothing but fear.  Fear and death."  Hysteria was bubbling under his voice now.  "Stop it!" he said, not to Bruce.  "She was as good as dead anyway,  I couldn't do anything, I'm not going back!"  Bruce started to say something more, but the man staggered away from the truck, off the road.  "He'll eat your soul if you go there, send you screaming into death, and no one will help you, either!"  He turned and floundered away through the underbrush, seemingly at random.

Bruce frowned as the sounds of the man's passage faded.  "I've heard of this plantation," Bruce muttered.  "Rumors.  Bad rumors."

"Then we'd better go there and check it out," Kal said.  Bruce nodded and put the truck back into gear. 

"I know the Zho family," Kal said thoughtfully as they turned onto the long road that led to the plantation.  "I don't remember any of them even visiting their western plantations."

"It's not the Kryptonians that have given rise to the rumors," Bruce said as the truck jolted along, "It's the human overseer.  I've heard...bad things.  Nothing that makes any sense.  Ravings, distorted nightmares.  Impossible things."  He frowned, troubled.  The plantation walls drew closer.

"The overseer calls himself Scarecrow."

 

Chapter 19: Scarecrow

Summary:

Kal and Bruce encounter the overseer who calls himself Scarecrow.

At previous plantations, people had spilled from the houses along the row of shacks as the truck pulled up;  the arrival of the supply truck was a rare point of interest in an otherwise grinding day.  But today the dusty, rutted road remained empty and silent.

Bruce pulled the truck to a stop and got out.  "Supplies?" he called.  After a moment, a door swung open and a woman peeked out, glancing in all directions.  Then she beckoned them in, her eyes fixed fearfully on the main house far down the road, as if it were watching her.

"Do you need anything, sister?"  Kal asked politely as they entered the shack.  It was mostly bare, tidy, one corner screened off by a curtain.

"I'm Nicole," she said.  "Do you have any..."  She bit her lip.  "...any morphine?  Or any other...?"

"I'm sorry, we don't," said Bruce, and started to add more--but was cut off by a hoarse, agonized scream from behind the curtain, a scream that started low and rose to agonized levels. 

Nicole rushed to the curtain and threw it open to reveal a woman on a cot, her back arched in convulsions, bloody foam flecking her lips.  "Frida, dear," said the other woman, throwing her arms around her, "It's a nightmare!  It's gone!  There's nothing here!"  But Frida seemed unable to hear her, and her screams went on and on until Bruce pulled the sobbing woman away from her side.  He knelt down and touched her forehead, captured one of her flailing hands to take her pulse.  In the middle of his check she went limp with such suddenness that Nicole gasped--at first Kal thought with terror, but then he realized it was with relief and a sort of hope.  When Frida took a long, ragged breath she sobbed and turned away.

"She's dying," she said.  "She's been dying for days.  Her brother left.  He couldn't--I can't do anything for her.  I just wanted--"  She broke off and sobbed again, once, "--I just wanted to make it a little easier for her."

Frida's eyes stared through Bruce unseeing, her mouth twitching in horror at something only she could see.

"What happened?" Kal said as Bruce lifted her eyelids and laid a hand on her flushed cheek.

"Scarecrow," Nicole said, and her eyes darted to the door as though she expected something unspeakably horrible to come through at the word.  "He took her a week ago.  Three days ago she was dumped on his doorstep like this.  He was done with her."  She bowed her head, rocking in on her grief.  "She's dying, and I can't even give her a moment's peace."

"What did he do to her?"

Nicole stared at him hopelessly, her eyes bloodshot from weeping but dry.  "He tests his drugs on the slaves.  They give visions.  Horrible nightmares of whatever you fear most.  All of the people he takes die.  The lucky ones die quickly."

"He's got to have some kind of antidote," Bruce said, rising from Frida's side.

"Why?" Nicole said, her voice flat and dull.

"People like this always want to know how to reverse what they're doing.  They just don't care to do it," Bruce said.  He looked over at Kal, then reached out and lightly tapped one of his hands.  They were clenched into fists and Kal hadn't noticed.  "So, Clark," said Bruce, "Are you up for some breaking and entering?"

The smile that met Kal's was fierce and angry and beautiful.

: : :

Nicole begged them not to go, but Bruce just laughed.  "Don't worry about us," he said.

She wrung her hands.  "You don't understand, Scarecrow is dangerous.  May the Bat eat his soul!"

Kal looked up from where he was putting a damp cloth on Frida's forehead.  "The Bat?"

"Oh," Nicole looked embarrassed.  "It's not like I actually believe in it.  They're just stories."

"What stories?"

Nicole shot a quizzical look at Bruce, who smiled and said,  "He's been fairly isolated the last few years."

Nicole blushed and dropped her eyes at the implication that Clark had been a pleasure companion and thus cut off from human society.  "Oh, the Bat is Robin Hood, King Arthur, Zorro--all rolled into one.  An avenging spirit.  Justice for those who suffer." 

Bruce shook his head.  "You know the kinds of stories.  Everytime a machine breaks down, every time an overseer falls ill or a slave runs away--it was the Bat."

"I suppose it makes us feel better."  Nicole looked down at Frida's contorted face.  "He's not real."

"He'd be quite a brave man if he were," Kal said, looking at Bruce.

"But he's not," Bruce said, with a small smile.  Kal might have said more, but Frida had another spasm of screaming at that point and all of them were too busy trying to keep her from injuring herself to continue the conversation. 

"She won't make it to another sunrise," Bruce said softly when she went limp again.  "We may already be too late."

Nicole's eyes were devoid of hope, dull pebbles in a face beyond suffering.  "Don't go," she whispered again.

Kal and Bruce just shook their heads.  Simultaneously.

: : :

The moon was the tiniest sliver of silver in the sky that night, leaving most of the world plunged into darkness.  Kal followed behind Bruce as they slipped up toward the main house.  Silently, carefully, Bruce opened a window and they moved inside. 

The house was quiet, but Kal could hear rustling noises below them, sounds that broke into moans now and then.  Chills chased along his spine as they moved deeper into the house.  Everything was cobwebbed and disused, covered with dust.

Bruce met his eyes, a mere glint in the darkness, and slowly opened a heavy oak door--to stop in surprise.  The room beyond was clean and sterile, filled with neatly arranged beakers and burners, gleaming countertops and sophisticated computers.  Bruce moved soundlessly into the room and began to rummage through the neat piles of notes;  Kal did the same.  After a moment, Bruce hissed triumphantly.  "It's a red powder," he whispered.

As if his voice had triggered it, a steel shutter clanged down over the rough-hewn wooden door and a monitor flickered to life.  "Now, now," said a skinny older man from the screen.  "Is someone being naughty down there?  I'll be right down to deal with you."

The screen went dead and Kal could hear a hissing sound coming from somewhere, as if gas were being vented into the room.

"Help me look," said Bruce, pawing through the vials and flasks with increasing urgency.  "Hurry."  Kal was tempted to rip the shutter off the door, but that would surely reveal him as a Kryptonian and put them--and the rebellion--in deadly danger.  So he kept looking for a red powder, rummaging through drawers and cabinets.

"Do you think--" he started to say, but turning to look at Bruce the rest of the sentence died in his throat.

Bruce was cowering on the floor, crouching with his hands over his eyes, shaking so violently that it seemed possible he might injure himself.  Kal jumped forward to touch him, but Bruce didn't acknowledge the touch, not even to throw it off.  He merely made a high, horrible keening sound between his teeth that ripped Kal's heart to shreds.  "Bruce!  It's not real, whatever it is!"  He put his arms around Bruce's unresisting body.  "You can fight it!  You won't let it happen.  Do you hear me, Bruce?  Whatever it is, however bad it is, you won't let it happen!"  Bruce's keen turned into something like a groan, choking and lost, but he didn't take his hands from his eyes.

He heard a click and looked up to see a man standing in front of the re-sealed door.  He was wearing some kind of mask, ragged burlap covering his features.  He looked at Bruce and Kal as if at two interesting specimens.  Kal went to his knees next to Bruce, turning his eyes down, feigning the terror that was gripping Bruce.  He couldn't let the man know he was an alien and unaffected...

Footsteps on the floor as the man approached;  Bruce shuddered and muttered meaningless syllables in Kal's arms, a croon of horror that seemed to twine around Kal's spine, sending sympathetic tremors along his limbs.  "Bruce, please," Kal whispered.  "Come back.  I need you."

Bruce shivered all over.  "Kal?" he whispered, as if to himself, almost too low to hear.

"What have we here?" said the Scarecrow.  "I don't know you two."  His voice was like fingernails on slate and Kal wanted to clamp his hands over his ears to make it stop, he couldn't seem to draw breath.  "Look at me," he commanded.

Bruce ignored him, lost in nightmares, but Kal looked up to meet the man's blank, burlap-filled sockets.  Scarecrow chuckled.  "You're a strong one.  Good."

He kept speaking, but Kal's eyes were drawn to the wall behind him.  It was shifting, writhing with black-violet energy--it was a wormhole of the kind the Kryptonians had created when they came to Earth.  Opening up right here.  How could Scarecrow not see it, how could he keep talking like that?

Out of the gate, arm in arm, came Jor-El and Lara.

They were dressed exactly as they were in the portrait-- the portrait that had looked down at him every meal of his childhood.  Their eyes were filled with sorrow.  Sorrow and--he realized with a jolt of horror--anger and shame.  "Kal-El," said his father, his voice mournful, "How could you?"

They walked over to him, their feet on the floor, on the earth.  Lara shook her head, gazing at him with tears in her eyes.  "We've been trapped in this portal for years, unable to do anything but watch you."

"Watch you as you betrayed all we stood for!" his father burst out in fury.  "We fought, we struggled against this hideous reign, and you--you just accepted it, like it was your rightful due."

Kal staggered to his feet, ignoring the bewildered Scarecrow.  "Father--Mother--"

"Don't call us that!" snapped Jor-El.  "You have no right!"

"I didn't know!" Kal cried.  "I didn't know that you--"

Jor-El's mouth twisted in a snarl.  "You didn't know that slavery was wrong?  You honestly thought we'd ever be part of something like this?  I'm ashamed you bear my name."

The tears in Lara's eyes brimmed over.  "Selfish, cruel, monstrous child!  I--I wish you had never been born!"  She buried her head on her husband's shoulder, her furious weeping tearing at Kal's heart.

Kal wanted to say something, but there was nothing to say.  They were right.  He bowed his head, remorse and guilt a torrent underneath which he was lost, an infinity of shame.  Lost.

Somewhere in the anguish that tore him like knives, a voice was crying.  "Clark!  Clark!  Damn it, snap out of it!"  The voice was familiar, but Kal had no idea who Clark was.  "Help me!  Please!"  There was a crashing noise nearby.

Bruce's voice.  Bruce needed help.  Kal raised his eyes to his parents;  they swam before him, prismed by tears, witness to his shame.  "I'm sorry," he whispered.  "I have to help Bruce."

Fury flickered on their features, distorting them.  "Don't you dare," snarled Jor-El.  "Don't you dare turn your back on us, you ungrateful child."  Lara merely wept, the disappointment in her eyes more painful than the rage in his father's.  But he shook his head.

"I can't abandon him.  He needs help, can't you hear him?  Even from someone like me--"  He broke off and turned away from his parents.  "I'm sorry," he said, grief wringing his heart.

Bruce was dodging a vicious scythe being swung with surprising strength by the Scarecrow, his movements hampered by the vial clenched tightly in his hand.  A beaker had overturned onto a burner, and flames were licking around a table, moving up the wall, greedy.  Smoke was filling the room.  "Catch!" Bruce yelled when he saw Kal looking at him.  The vial arced in the air between them;  Kal caught it out of the air.  Unrestrained now, Bruce moved forward with lithe grace, slipping past the Scarecrow's guard to lay him out with a precise jab to the jaw. 

He caught the man on the way down.  "We have to get out!" he choked past the acrid smoke.  Kal ripped the metal shutter off the door and the flames leapt higher at the influx of fresh air.

They staggered out into the night air, coughing, Kal's vision still smeared by tears.  Bruce dropped the limp Scarecrow on the ground a safe distance from the house.

As one, they wheeled to run back into the flames, to get into the basement and release his other victims.

Back and forth in the night they went until all the humans in the building were out.  The house was close to collapse now, a blaze against the night.  Kal turned to go back, and Bruce caught his sleeve.  "Where are you going?"

"My parents--they're still in there.  I have to get them out!"

Bruce's eyes were wide;  reflected flames danced in them.  "Kal.  They weren't real.  They were a hallucination."

Kal stared at him for a long moment, taking deep breaths of cool, untainted air, his head clearing.  Then he staggered over to a grassy spot and sat down hard, rocking back and forth, body clenched against tears.  "They said that--that they saw it all.  My whole life.  I've failed them utterly."

There was a long pause.  Then Bruce's hand rumpled his hair, almost roughly.  "Bullshit," Bruce said hoarsely.  "Don't say that again," he said as Kal started to speak.  "I don't want to hear it."

"But you must have seen them."  They had been so real...

"No.  I saw something else, something--"  Bruce broke off.  "It doesn't matter, it wasn't real, it was a drug.  Whatever you saw, whatever we saw, it was caused by a chemical.  It wasn't real."  He turned away and went to check on the coughing, sobbing victims.  Firelight glinted in his hair like scraps of sunlight.

Kal realized there was something in his hand.  He uncurled his fingers to find the vial of the antidote.  He wanted to lay down on the grass and close his eyes and weep, weep until he washed the toxin out of his body and his mind.  But instead he stood up.  There were people who needed the antidote. 

There would be time to weep later.

: : :

The dawn was turning the skies rose as Nicole pressed a small bundle into Kal's hands.  "Bread.  I bake a pretty good loaf, if I do say so myself."  When Kal tried to give it back, she just shook her head.  "You gave me my Frida back.  I owe you more than my life.  At least take my bread."

Kal took her bread.

Bruce started the engine and the small village fell away from them.  Better to leave before the Kryptonians came to investigate Scarecrow's abuses of Kryptonian property--both the stolen scientific equipment and the lost slave labor.  With any luck the next overseer would be less brutal.

They drove in silence down the long road leading back to the main highway.  Bruce had said little since their escape, throwing himself into distributing the antidote, not meeting Kal's eyes.  Kal struggled for something to say, unwilling to push at the pain he saw in Bruce's eyes.  "They must have twisted him," he said.  "The Kryptonians.  To make him see humans as plaything and subjects like that."

Bruce's laugh was dry.  "Don't romanticise humans.  We did things like that to each other long before you got here.  And most of us just let it happen, didn't fight it.  We are...capable of great cruelty and vast apathy.  We just don't have as much power right now."

They reached the main road, a long ribbon winding from the east to the west.  Bruce drew the truck to a stop, but then didn't pull onto the main road.  He just sat there for a moment.  "The toxin," he said, then stopped.

Kal said nothing.  Waiting.  Unsure he wanted Bruce to continue at all.

"I saw," Bruce paused.  "We fought the Scarecrow and won, but I was hurt.  Nothing too serious.  But we decided...decided to turn back.  To go home.  Home," he repeated, his tone torn between softness and venom.  "We went back.  Time passed.  I healed.  I missed some meetings of the underground.  It didn't seem that important.  I became content with my life.  With our life together.  Years passed.  I stopped worrying about the struggle.  I was happy."  His voice was wondering and pained.  "I was happy."

Kal couldn't look at him.  "You'd never let that happen.  Never."

Bruce's hands clenched on the steering wheel.  "It's...not inconceivable."

"No."  Kal wanted to touch those hands, knotted around pain and determination.  He didn't.  "You'd never let that happen."

"You said that, back...there.  I heard you say that."  Tendons flexed, eased a little.  "You wouldn't, either."

"I wouldn't," Kal agreed.

"Well," Bruce said.  He nodded slightly.  "Good."

Kal gestured toward the road, the rising sun spilling out across it.  "Shall we continue?"

Still staring ahead, Bruce reached out and very briefly clasped Kal's shoulder.  "Yes," he said.  "Let's."

They pulled out onto the road, heading west, the morning sun bright behind them.

Chapter 20: Here in My Heart, I Do Believe

Summary:

On the way to Smallville, Kal and Bruce pick up some companions.

Bruce slowed the truck as he pulled up alongside a young man in a dusty jeans jacket walking down the road.  "Need a lift?"

The man looked up at the cab and grinned, his hazel eyes sharp under a thatch of unruly blond hair.  "I could use one, perhaps.  Depends on where you're going."

"To which House are you bound, brother?" 

The man's smile widened, and instead of answering the rote question with the name of the House, he said, "Why, to the greatest House of all, brother."

As Kal stared in confusion, Bruce said easily, "Then you must be bound for the House of the Earth."

"I am indeed," said the traveler.

"Hop in," said Bruce, tilting his head toward the back of the truck.

The man clambered into the back of the flatbed, tossing his backpack in.  "Name's Pete," he called through the back window as he sat down in the back.

"I'm Bruce, this is Clark."

Pete grinned at Kal.  "Where you headed?"

Kal found himself smiling back.  "We're headed a ways west still.  Going to see my folks in Smallville, they run the plantation there.  Haven't been back for years."

Pete arranged his backpack on the bed of the truck and sat down on it.  "That's interesting," he said.  "Because I'm from Smallville.  Born and raised there."  He looked up and met Kal's horrified eyes.  "And Jonathan and Martha don't have any son I know of."  There was a long pause, and then the smile stretched his mouth again.  "But if they're willing to vouch for you when we get there, I'll assume they've got a good reason...brother."

Kal saw Bruce let out a small breath of relief.  "Thank you," he said. 

Pete waved a dismissive hand.  "There aren't many people on the plantation been there their whole life, we've got a lot of people coming and going.  I don't think anyone else will call you on it.  But I'll tell you what," he said, "Come back here and I'll fill you in on some of the names and things you should know, so you'll be more convincing."  His smile went a little wistful.  "I'd love to talk about home."

Kal moved into the back of the truck and he and Pete spent the time between stops talking about Pete's home.  After a couple of hours, Kal felt like he'd practically been there.  Pete described every building, every dog, every place a young boy would love to play, fields of corn and wheat and soybeans.

"Wait, what about the iao?"

Pete chuckled.  "We're so far away from any major city it isn't worth the time to grow it.  We mostly grow food for other plantations.  Vegetables.  Fruit.  Jonathan's pumpkins are unbelievable."

From Pete's descriptions it quickly became clear to Kal that Smallville was like no plantation he'd seen or heard of.  Out in the middle of the continent, far from any of the areas Kryptonians lived, Jonathan and Martha "oversaw" something much closer to a community farm than a plantation.  And more--a major stop on the underground network of connections among the slave community.  From the way Pete described the movement of people on and off the plantation, it seemed very likely that Smallville housed runaways, runaways that stopped there for a time to rest and help and then moved on...where?

Smallville was a mystery, and Kal had the impression there were still-greater mysteries beyond it.

At their third stop for the day, Bruce picked up another passenger claiming his destination was "the House of the Earth.".  The new arrival was also blond, with green eyes and a small goatee.  Oliver turned out to be just as talkative as Pete, but with a difference:  where Pete mostly wanted to talk about his home, Oliver seemed much more interested in talking about himself.  The rest of the day was a constant stream of stories about Oliver's heroic exploits, most of which seemed to involve bedding some very grateful woman at the end of it.  The other three listened rather incredulously during their stops, with Pete casting Kal "can you believe this guy?" looks every few minutes.  His casual camraderie both warmed and embarrassed Kal;  he found he liked Pete a lot and was increasingly uncomfortable with his deception.  The silver collar around his neck reminded him that it was Clark Pete was becoming friends with--Clark, a fellow human, not an alien in disguise.

As night fell, Oliver and Pete were still with them, so they pulled off the road at a shelter, a tiny lean-to with a small fireplace.  "Just in time," Oliver said, looking at the sky;  storm clouds were massing on the horizon and the wind was starting to pick up.  They finished moving into the shelter just as the first drops of rain began to spatter the ground.

"Ah," said Oliver, holding his hands out to the little fire he'd started.  "Nice to be warm.  And speaking of warm..." He launched into another extremely implausible story about a time he had fought off a grizzly bear that was threatening a beautiful young woman.

Pete shook his head in amazement.  "Does he ever shut up?" he said sotto voce to Kal.

"You've known him as long as I have," Kal answered.  He looked at Bruce, who was watching Oliver.  It was strange, but the two men seemed similar somehow.  It made no sense, they were total opposites:  dark and fair, silent and loquacious.  Yet there seemed to be more behind Oliver's chatter than the ramblings of an empty blowhard.  Kal sincerely doubted that Oliver was no more than the glib, arrogant braggart across the fire.

"I'm beginning to suspect that he's secretly the Bat," Pete whispered loudly.  "It's the only explanation."

Oliver's expression was very serious for just a moment.  "Don't joke about that," he said, glancing out at the dark.  He looked back and smiled again, bright and glittering.  "Have I told you about the time I wooed an overseer's favorite concubine away from him while hiding under his bed?"

Pete laughed again and Oliver started to detail the lady's charms, but broke off as a gust of wind rattled the flimsy lean-to and curled in to make the fire spark and flare.  A flash of light in the distance was followed by a low rumble of thunder, and the rain picked up on the roof  "Here's to good company on a stormy night," Oliver said, lifting his tin cup in a salute.  They fell silent, listening to the howling of the wind through the trees outside, punctuated by the sound of limbs snapping now and then.

Suddenly Kal stiffened.  "Did you hear that?" he said.  The other three looked blank.  "I heard someone crying."

"It's just the wind," said Oliver.

"No," Kal said, looking at Bruce.  "It's not." 

Bruce frowned and shook his head slightly.  "The storm can sound like--"

Kal stood up.  "I'll be right back," he said, and plunged out into the torrent.

He hadn't made it more than a few yards when a hand grabbed at his elbow;  he turned to see Bruce there, already soaked with rain, the wind lashing his face.  "It's too dangerous!"  Bruce yelled over the scream of the wind.  "You can't risk revealing--"

"I can't shut off my hearing!" Kal retorted, then pulled away and headed into the woods.

Branches tore at his clothes and slashed across his face;  he limited his speed but couldn't silence the sound of someone sobbing, a tiny sound in the depths of the raging storm.  He drew closer, until a flash of lightning revealed a figure huddled at the base of a tree--a girl, her face contorted with terror at the sight of him.  "Sh," he said.  "I won't hurt you," but he wasn't sure if she could hear him over the wind and thunder.

Below the roar of the storm and the girl's hopeless sobbing, he heard another sound:  voices speaking in Kryptonian.  < Did you hear that? > one said, and Kal froze, gathering the girl up instinctively in his arms.

Then a hand was on his shoulder, and Kal looked over to see Bruce there, his eyes narrowed against the wind and slashing rain.  Kal hadn't heard him approaching.  They're coming, he mouthed into the howling wind, but Bruce was already taking out the little silver pearls that buffered against sound and setting them into motion. 

The girl stared at the spheres, but Bruce pushed both her and Kal down into a hollow in the tree, making them as inconspicuous as possible, and they all went motionless as the rain and wind pummeled them.  Kal could feel the girl's heartbeat against his chest, could feel Bruce's breath on the back of his neck.  They waited there, silent and still, until Kal heard the Kryptonian searchers move on, until the storm started to die down.

: : :

The girl's teeth chattered against the tin cup of coffee Pete had given her.  The firelight revealed a girl barely in her teens, with a narrow, alert face framed by waves of dripping red hair.  Oliver wrapped a blanket around her shivering frame, all his Casanova affectation entirely gone.  "I'm Oliver, this is Pete and Bruce, and our friend with the very sharp hearing is Clark," he said.

"I'm B-B-Barbara," she managed, huddling down into her blanket.  Her eyes were still filled with fear.

"You're safe here," Bruce said.  His voice allowed no doubt on the matter.  "We won't let anyone hurt you."

For a moment, she looked like she might cry, but then she bit her lower lip--hard--and nodded.  "Father sent me away," she said.  "Hath-Okh, my owner--he--he wanted--"  The tin cup in her hands started shaking again, threatening to slosh over the rim.  "I told father I'd rather die.  He told me to head west and keep going."  She put down the cup and reached into a pocket;  took out a small silver compass.  "He gave me this.  It's all I have left--"  There was a long, pained silence.  The compass sent off silver glints of light as it trembled in the firelight.

"Well," said Pete after a while.  "You're in luck, since we're heading west ourselves."  He looked at Bruce.  "She'll come with us, right?"

"Of course she will!" Oliver announced, clapping Pete on the back and beaming.

Bruce nodded slowly.  "We'll need to hit the road soon and put as much distance between us and here as possible.  But first--"  He looked at the girl.  "--That red hair is far too conspicuous."  He turned to Pete.  "There was a walnut tree near the road.  Go collect a bunch of fallen walnuts."

A few hours later Barbara's hair was a dark brown and they were packing up to go, casting nervous glances at the sky.  "If they stop us, she's got no papers," Pete said, worrying his lower lip.

Oliver rummaged in his bag and came up with a folded piece of paper.  He held it out with a flourish to Barbara.  "I just so happen to have some...spare papers.  The lady they belong to doesn't need them at the moment, so..."  He squinted comically at the Kryptonian writing.  "The lady's name is Dinah.  Can you go by Dinah?"

Barbara nodded and took the papers.  "Dinah," she whispered.

Oliver looked a bit worried as he spoke to Bruce.  "Dinah's older than she is.  I'm not sure she'll be able to pass--"

"Kryptonians have a hard time judging human ages," Kal said.  "It's the longer lifespan.  She should be okay."

"You've spent time around Kryptonians?" Pete asked, rolling up a blanket.  "Is it true they're like gods?"

"Hardly," Bruce snorted.

"You've never met a Kryptonian?" Kal asked.

Pete flashed him a grin.  "I've never even left Smallville until a few weeks ago.  And I don't think the Kryptonian that owns the Smallville plantation's been there in my lifetime."  He started to move toward the truck.  "Nope, never seen a Kryp in my life, and that's fine with me."

Kal followed behind more slowly.

: : :

They made good time;  Bruce pushed past plantations, hoping to put as much space as possible between "Dinah" and the last known location of the red-haired runaway.  But their progress wasn't linear.  Washed-out bridges and impassible roads forced them to strike off on detours and sidetracks, and when the sun began to set Bruce announced that they were still a full day's drive from Smallville.

"But also a full day's drive from where anyone last saw our lovely young friend," said Oliver, stretching.  He peeked into the back of the truck, where Barbara was curled up asleep on the floor.  "She must have been totally exhausted, she's slept all day," he said.

"Let her sleep a little longer," said Bruce.  "We'll set up camp right here by the truck."

The smell of cooking food eventually drew Barbara from the truck, yawning and rubbing her eyes.  She took her place at the fire and Pete handed her a cup of stew.  "Thank you," she said.  "You're all very kind."  Kal saw her touch the pocket in her coat where her father's compass was hidden, her eyes sad.

"We humans gotta stick together," Pete said cheerfully.

"What's it like?"  Barbara asked.  "Smallville, I mean?"

Pete chuckled, a sound with a hint of irony to it.  "A few weeks ago, I would have said 'the most boring place on Earth.'"  But now that I've seen a few other plantations..."  He smiled, his eyes far away.  "It's a good place.  Quiet.  The overseers are good people.  Aren't they, Clark?"

Clark had been expecting the question, so he was ready for it.  "Ma and Pa do their best."

"Smallville's a special place," Pete said.  "It's--well, you'll see when we get there."

"I'm looking forward to it," Barbara said.

They finished the meal and rolled out blankets.  The sky was clear tonight, studded with brilliant stars, and Kal stared up into them, feeling his companions settling in around him.  There was a sudden mournful, reedy sound, and Kal looked over to see Pete holding a harmonica, testing out quavering notes.  He took a breath and started on a melody;  after a moment Oliver started to sing.

My life flows on in endless song
Above earth's lamentation...

His voice was unschooled but pleasant as the notes lifted into the night, against the stars.  Barbara and Bruce soon joined in, her sweet light voice and his baritone mingling:

When tyrants tremble, sick with fear,
And hear their death-knell ringing,
When friends rejoice both far and near,
How can I keep from singing?

Kal listened to their voices and looked at the heavens.  He wished he could join in, but he didn't know the words.  It wasn't his song.  The stars glittered, far away and remote, and Kal closed his eyes and felt his chest tighten with a grief he couldn't name, couldn't express.

As the song came to an end, Bruce said to Pete, "Do you know this one?"  He started on a new song, and Pete joined in right away, Barbara and Oliver following along:  We shall overcome, we shall overcome, we shall overcome someday..."

The song was simple, the words repeated as a sort of call and response, and Kal realized it was a song created so anyone could sing along right away.  By the second verse he'd lifted his voice in harmony with the others, following Bruce's lead:  We'll walk hand in hand, someday.  Here in my heart, I do believe...

He looked over the fire to see Bruce's eyes on him as their voices blended. 

We'll walk hand in hand someday.

Chapter 21: Idyll

Summary:

Jonathan and Martha welcome the travelers to Smallville, a major stop on the route west.

"Clark!"  A woman he had never seen before this moment threw her arms around him, hugging him.  "Oh Clark.  It's been so long."

"Ma," he said, finding his voice suddenly a bit thick at the undeserved welcome.  Obviously Martha and Jonathan had not been told he was anything more than a human working for the rebellion who needed a cover identity.  "I've missed you so much."

Behind the woman a man stood, beaming at Kal.  As Kal broke away from Martha's hug, Jonathan reached out and clapped him on the back.  "Son."

"Pa," Kal said, clearing his throat.  "Pete was telling me this year's pumpkin crop was coming along well."

Jonathan's face creased in a surprised smile.  "It is at that.  I'll show you later, if you like."

"Oh, I'd like that," Kal said.  Martha was hugging Pete now, much to Pete's delight and embarrassment.  Clark gestured toward the two other men.  "Ma, Pa, these are my friends Oliver and Bruce."  Oliver and Bruce nodded politely and Martha insisted on hugging them as well.  Behind them, Barbara had been hanging back a bit, and Clark put a hand on her shoulder, moving her forward.  "And this is Barbara.  We...met her on the road."

Martha's eyes took in Barbara's torn clothing and read something elusive in her face, then pulled her into an embrace that was gentler and longer than the others.  "Any friend of Clark's is a friend of ours," she said.  "And our home is your home for as long as you'd like to stay." 

Barbara pulled in a sharp breath, then put her arms around Martha and held her.  "Thank you," she said against the older woman's shoulder.

"Come in, all of you, come in," Martha said, keeping an arm around Barbara.  "Supper's just about done and we'd love to have you all."

Over a simple dinner of chicken and greens, Kal eyed the faces of his "parents."  They were an older couple, their faces lined with years of work, care, and sunlight.  The corners of Martha's pale eyes were webbed with signs of much laughter, while Jonathan's face looked more care-worn.  Martha caught him looking at her and smiled at him.  "You're just...a sight for sore eyes," Kal said, and she chuckled and blushed a little, waving an embarrassed hand in front of her face before passing him more milk.

Pete kept the conversation going smoothly, saving Kal from having to pretend he knew Smallville more than he did.  And Oliver was always glad to pick up the slack, although his conversation was much more family-friendly here. That left Kal free to take in the farmhouse:  the worn and well-scrubbed wood, the threadbare homemade rugs, the overall air of careful frugality that didn't obscure the homeliness of the place.  He found himself relaxing almost despite himself;  looking over he saw Bruce smiling slightly at a joke, the light warm on the planes of his face.

After the meal was over, Pete and Oliver said goodnight and left together, still bickering.  Martha caught Barbara in a yawn and suggested she show the girl her bedroom;  Barbara agreed sleepily.  Once they went upstairs, Jonathan leaned closer to Bruce and Clark, his posture all business now.  "We got the message that you two needed a place to stay for a bit before moving west?" 

Bruce nodded.  "Clark's...newly-joined."  Kal wondered briefly why he was still calling him by his false name, then realized that of course he couldn't call him "Kal-El" without making it obvious what he truly was.  "I wanted him to see some of what we're doing here.  Some of the progress we've made."

Jonathan nodded, refraining from asking what "Clark's" real name was, to Kal's relief.  "Well, our house is open to you."  He turned to Kal.  "You expressed an interest in my crops?  I could use an extra hand in the fields for a few days, if you don't mind getting up with the sun and getting your hands dirty."

Kal nodded, feeling a smile creeping onto his face.  "That would be great.  I'd like the chance to help."

They talked for a while longer about small things--Martha's cooking, the weather--and then Jonathan showed them to their rooms.

They were separate rooms, of course, Kal realized with a small jolt of surprise.  There was no reason for them to share a room;  they weren't a master and slave here, nor were they...well, anything else. 

The door closed behind him and he found himself alone, without Bruce in the room with him for the first time in weeks.  It was a strange feeling.  He had been looking forward, without even realizing it, to going over the day's events with Bruce.  He looked at the closed door, reached out to touch it lightly.  Two closed doors between them and some time free of his Kryptonian master for Bruce.

He went to bed, hearing the soft breathing of the many humans in the house all around him.

: : :

The next day was a blur of images, each a bright gem to be stored away for later:

In the fields with Jonathan, the first rays of sunrise starting to trickle over the horizon.  The hoe makes a quiet chunk, chunk noise as they turn the ground together.  Pulling weeds with his hands, the delicate tracery of roots coming free of the earth, releasing a scent of loam and dust.  Dirt, black under his fingernails.  He and Jonathan don't talk much.  Picking tomatoes, the small snap as the red globe comes free.  Zucchini.  Squash.

Jonathan takes him to a barn, shows him:  seed stores, a bewildering variety, stockpiled.  "Too many Terran varieties have been almost wiped out to make way for the iao," says Jonathan.  "We're saving them here."  Tiny black seeds like sand, gray ovals, bulbs stored in the cool dark.  A renaissance of plant life, waiting for a day of rebirth when the fields of red blossoms can be uprooted.  For this alone everyone on the plantation could be executed.

Lunch back at the farm.  The kitchen is hot with the scent of canning tomatoes.  It turns out Barbara can read, and she's been put to work in an archive.  She's alight with information, brimming over with it.  "They've asked me to come back and help categorize the poetry they salvaged," she says to Kal.  "They say I'm good at it."  She throws her arms around him in a hug.  "I'm going to stay here with your parents and help.  Thank you." 

Helping Martha dry meat into jerky in a smoker in the back.  "For people making the journey west," she says.  "It's not so easy on foot."  He still doesn't know what lies west and isn't sure if he should even ask.  "Jonathan says you've got a good hand for farming," she says.  "Says you know the soil and how to treat it right."  She pauses.  "If you ever wanted to stay here, not move on...you'd be welcome."  He doesn't know what to say but thank you, but that seems to be enough for now.

Pete gives him a tour of the rest of the plantation.  They stop to pick a couple of apples and eat them, crisp sharp sweetness punctuating the conversation.  Pete tells him stories about every corner, every field.  "Isn't this dangerous?" Kal asks.  "Keeping the archives, sheltering the runaways?  What if the plantation's owner--"

Pete laughs and tosses the core into a field.  "Gur-Ko?  He's never once visited this place.  I hear he's terrified of humans, thinks we're all infectious or something.  Can't bear any contact with us.  He had a radio installed decades ago to communicate with Jonathan and Martha, but I don't think he even uses that.  Like our voices might contaminate him."  He frowns.  "Wish I could."  Kal knows Gur-Ko--knows his name, at least.  He's an older Kryptonian, a historian, who didn't make the transition well.  Mostly he stays in his quarters and watches old holograms of Krypton's glories.

They walk by an archery range where Oliver is training a group of men and women in how to use a bow and arrow.  "What can that possibly do against a Kryptonian?" Kal asks. 

Oliver pulls the string taut and the arrow buries itself deep in the heart of the target.  "Low-tech solutions to high-tech problems," Pete says.  Kal remembers the burning green powder on the tip of Selina's whip and shudders briefly.

A game of some sort using a small white ball and a wooden stick breaks out as the sun sets.  Kal struggles both to understand the rules that everyone else seems to know and to keep his enhanced abilities under control.  As a result he's the clumsiest and least coordinated member of the team, prompting some good-natured jeers and catcalls from the other side.  Pete almost gets into a fistfight with one of the jeerers.  "Jerk," he says after Kal extricates him.  "Someone oughta teach him to be polite to guests."  Kal's team wins the game when Barbara steals home;  she's carried back to the farm and dinner on the shoulders of her teammates.

: : :

Bruce was at the kitchen table already when Kal and Barbara came in;  he looked up from a book and smiled at Barbara's flushed face.  "Hail the conquering hero," he said.

Barbara laughed.  "You've already heard?"

Bruce closed the book.  "I might have been watching."

She looked curious as they sat down.  "Why didn't you join us?"

A flicker of something passed over Bruce's face and he shrugged wordlessly.  Then Martha brought the biscuits to the table and the conversation veered away into discussions of the meal and Barbara's archiving duties.

There were crickets singing outside the window as Kal slipped between the sheets, and in the distance a chorus of frogs.  He was still listening when there was a tentative scratch at the door.

"Come in," he said, expecting Barbara, and was surprised when Bruce slipped into the room, another shadow among the shadows.  "What are you doing here?" he asked without thinking, and Bruce stopped.

"I wanted to...ask how your day was," Bruce said. 

"Not bad. I didn't slip up. Everyone still thinks I'm human," Kal said.

"That's not--" Bruce started, then fell silent again.

"Besides, you were keeping an eye on me from a distance, weren't you?"

"Maybe a little."  A short silence in the cricket-singing dark.  "You looked like you were having fun.  I felt my presence would be an...interruption."

Kal wasn't sure what to say to that so he said nothing at all.  The shadow that was Bruce sat down in an armchair next to the bed, a soft creak of wood in the dark.

"I could spend more time with you tomorrow, perhaps."  Bruce's voice was level, blank;  Kal couldn't tell if there was hope or dread or duty behind it.  He bit his lip and thought for a while before answering.

"You don't have to. You should do what you want to do."

Bruce chuckled, low and ironic. "What I want to do," he echoed.

Kal nodded even though Bruce probably couldn't see him. "It's your choice. Do what you want."

Another long pause.  Then Bruce got up and went to the door.  "I'll take your advice.  Good night, Clark," he said.

"Sleep well, Bruce."

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Kal alone in the dark, cotton sheets cool under his hands.

: : :

Kal was sipping coffee in the kitchen, getting ready to go out into the fields with Jonathan again, when Bruce came into the room rubbing his eyes and yawning.  "Coffee?" he mumbled.

Jonathan handed him a mug.  "You're up early."

"Mm."  Bruce took a long sip of coffee, not looking at Kal.  "Anna just came by to say they need me at the archives to translate some material from Hindi to English.  I'll be there all morning."  Then he looked up at Kal over the rim of his mug.  "I'll be free from lunch on, though.  I was wondering if...you'd like to spend the afternoon together?  If Jonathan can spare you, of course."

Jonathan chuckled.  "If he promises to work extra-hard all morning I think I can give him the afternoon off.  If you'd like, of course," he added to Kal.

"Oh," said Kal.  "Yes."  He stared down at his coffee, afraid his blaze of delight and hope and yearning would be in his eyes for anyone to see.  "I'd like that."

: : :

They walked, the afternoon sun warm on their shoulders, walked without speaking, without purpose, just walking through the fields.  When they came to a little stream--no more than a rivulet, really, a tiny creek shaded by broad trees--Bruce stopped and washed his hands in the clear water.  Then he sat down on a smooth rock on the bank and tossed pebbles into the water.  Kal sat down on the other side of the stream and threw in a few pebbles as well; the rings and ripples touched and crossed each other.  After a while, Kal said "You didn't have to--"

"--I wanted to," said Bruce, a bit irritably.  "I'm not in the mood to second-guess myself today."  He examined one of his pebbles carefully, as if it were very important to determine if it were quartz or granite before throwing it into the creek.  "I'm tired. And I'm not very good at this," he said. "Talking to people.  You probably should be hanging out with Pete and Oliver if you want to learn about humans.  About friendship."

"I can't be friends with someone who doesn't know who I really am," Kal said.  He missed the water and his stone pinged off another rock.  "That's not friendship, that's a lie.  Clark is a lie."

Bruce made a non-committal humming noise.  "Clark's a good, decent man.  He likes plants and the earth and Martha's biscuits.  He hates slavery and he fights it.  Those aren't lies."  He tossed another rock into the water, not looking at Kal.  "Being friends with that person isn't a lie."

"I'm Kryptonian."

Bruce stood up suddenly, a sharp motion as if he couldn't sit still another moment.  He jumped over the creek in one fluid leap and landed next to Kal on the rock, crouching next to him, eyes intent on him.  "Is that the sum total of what you are?  Is that all you are?" he asked.  He was leaning close to Kal, very close.  "Because I see much more than that."  He reached out, his hand almost touching Kal's cheek;  Kal could feel the warmth of his fingertips, so close to his skin.  "Clark isn't a lie.  He's there, he's you, he's waiting for--"  One fingertip grazed Kal's cheek, infinitely light, and he pulled his hand back.  "--waiting for the right day."  Kal didn't think that had been what he was going to say.  But the moment was past;  Bruce was starting to move again, down the creek bank.  "Don't insult the people of Smallville by assuming they're such bad judges of character," Bruce said when Kal caught up to him.

Kal shrugged.  "I can't help it;  they seem to like you, so I have to have my doubts." 

Bruce stared at him.  "Did you just make a joke?"  He blinked.  "Wait, did you just insult me?"

Kal grinned.  "Human males seem to do that a lot to each other;  I thought I'd better practice.  What do you think?  Natural?"

Bruce shook his head sadly, disappointment etched on his features.  "Honestly.  I thought you were smarter than that."  He waved one arm in a despairing gesture, as if calling the universe's attention to trials he had to put up with.  "You've been all over the galaxy and you can't even get this right."

"What?  What did I get wrong?"

They were almost to Jonathan and Martha's porch when Bruce stopped and looked at Kal.  "It isn't something human males do to just any human males."  He started up the steps.  "They do it to their friends." 

He swung open the door.  "Idiot," he shot back over his shoulder as he went in.

Kal charged into the kitchen hot on his trail.  "Oh yeah?"  he retorted.  "Well...uh..."  He stopped, realizing suddenly he had no snappy comeback at all.  Martha and Barbara were washing a few dishes, pausing with dishcloths in hand to look at him.  Bruce had already snagged a biscuit and was eating it, looking smug.  "You're the idiot," Kal concluded lamely.

Barbara looked confused.  "What's the matter?"

Martha patted her hand.  "They're just teasing each other.  Boys are like that.  There's no problem, is there?" she asked, lifting an eyebrow at Bruce.

Bruce shook his head around a mouthful of biscuit, swallowed.  "No, ma'am."

Kal sat down next to Bruce, but not before stealing his biscuit.  "No problem at all," he said as Bruce sputtered and Barbara laughed at them.

And for a little while--for a few stolen hours--it almost seemed true.

 

 

Chapter 22: Touch-Me-Nots

Summary:

Kal and Bruce enjoy a few days in Smallville, but their time there is cut short.

For a few gilded days, Kal enjoyed life in Smallville.  He farmed with Jonathan, helped Martha with laundry, made furniture and played more "baseball" with Pete, took an archery lesson with Oliver and made everyone laugh with his complete incompetence.  His hands got dirty with soil, dust, and sweat.  Sometimes he would stare at them, at the dirt caught in the channels of his hands like dark paths;  the sight made him feel like Clark was real, like he was Clark.  He felt new parts of him opening like a flower to sunlight, parts he never knew he had.  The shy, reserved stranger he had been in school, in all his life, started to give way to a person with a talent for transplanting plants and soothing frightened sheep, a person who could joke and play, who could make Barbara laugh and Oliver roll his eyes.  Long days full of autumn sunlight, cool nights full of cricket song and starlight.

And Bruce.  Always Bruce.  They spent a fair amount of time apart with differing chores, but whenever they had free time Bruce was there, joking and insulting and talking about his childhood as he showed Kal how to start a fire with sticks, how to pick raspberries, how to skip stones.  Long walks along the creek lined with bright orange flowers.  "Touch-me-nots," Bruce said with a wry smile, showing Kal the seed pods that sprang apart at the lightest touch, flying to pieces, scattering.

Touch-me-nots.

Kal had never felt closer to Bruce then here, where they never touched.  The space between them was full of...something.  Maybe not friendship, but something.

And then one day he came in with Bruce through the back door and heard that space collapsing in on itself.

In the living room he heard a high, haughty voice.  "This plantation is crawling with filthy humans.  I counted at least a third again more than I ever purchased!  Jonathan, if you have been buying new slaves without my leave I shall--"

"Master Gur-Ko."  Jonathan's voice was tense with worry.  "I assure you that all is in order."  Martha was in the hall outside the living room, her hands pressed to her mouth, her face white.  The look she turned on Kal and Bruce was anguished, tight with fear.  In her pale gray eyes Kal could see it all falling apart, could see Gur-Ko finding the seed stores, the archives.  See Jonathan and Martha and everyone on the plantation carted away or executed on the spot.

"This kind of chaos and disorder is unacceptable.  I shall have to do a full check of the premises now to see what else you nasty little things have been doing." 

Martha shook her head numbly from side to side.  Bruce reached out to pat her back, his eyes filled with plans, possibilities, calculation.

And while he thought, Kal acted.

He reached up and wrenched the silvery slave collar from his neck, the collar nothing but Kryptonian strength could remove.  He put it in Martha's hands;  she stared at it.  "Stay here," he whispered. 

Then he lifted his feet from the worn wooden boards and floated into the living room.

Both Gur-Ko and Jonathan turned to face him, their eyes surprised for different reasons.  Gur-Ko--a fussy, older Kryptonian, his hands covered in white gloves, his nose turned up in a permanent fastidious sniff--broke off his tirade and glared at Kal in confusion.

Kal bowed slightly.  "My apologies, citizen.  The extra humans roaming the plantation are mine."

Gur-Ko's nose wrinkled as he took in the rough human clothing Kal was wearing;  Kal hoped there were no dirt or grass stains on them.  "You had no right--"

Kal drew himself up to a towering height.  "Do you know who I am, citizen?"

"N--No," said Gur-Ko hesitantly.

Thank Rao for that, thought Kal.  "Well, I am Van-Ve, and I work for Zhon-Mal.  Perhaps you have heard of him, citizen?"

"Oh yes.  Yes.  Zhon-Mal," stammered Gur-Ko.

"We're conducting a survey of food quality on the various Midwestern farms."

"I was not informed of such a thing," protested the other man.

"Oh?" Kal said mildly.  "Well, you may bring it up with Zhon-Mal later.  I believe tonight he is dining with his close personal friend, Zor-El.  Is that name familiar to you, citizen?"

Alarm and something close to fear skittered across Gur-Ko's face;  he cringed.  "Of course, honored sir.  Of course.  But this is highly out of order..."

He wasn't going to leave, Kal thought with a stab of panic.  He had to do something more.  Gur-Ko was wringing his gloved hands, looking uncomfortable, trapped, but stubbornly refusing to go.  He had to find some way to make the man leave.

"Bruce," he said loudly, clapping his hands together.

Bruce scurried into the room, his posture bent and crabbed, his eyes cast down.  Kal's heart twisted at the sight, but he bit down his chagrin, used it to turn his voice harder.  "Bruce, did I not tell you to keep all of my slaves in one place?  Why are they wandering free around the plantation?"

Bruce bowed deeply, nearly groveling.  "Master, forgive me.  I didn't think it would cause any harm..." 

He glanced up at Kal and as he looked up, Kal backhanded him across the mouth, one sharp blow.  The wet crack of impact turned Kal's stomach; he swallowed against a wave of nausea. Bruce went sprawling near Gur-Ko, and the Kryptonian pulled back with a squeak of panic.  "Did I give you leave to think, vermin?" snarled Kal.

There was a short, startled silence;  Kal saw Bruce touch his bloody lip, then scrub at his face, daubling scarlet across it.  Bruce shot him one brief glance that slid toward Gur-Ko.  "I'm sorry," he mumbled, his eyes locked back on Kal's, full of urgency and meaning.

Kal pounced forward, grabbing Bruce by the shirt collar and lifting him like a kitten.  Bruce's face was covered with blood;  saliva running down his chin.  Kal thrust the bloody human at Gur-Ko so their faces nearly touched.  "Yes, yes," Kal said, exasperation lacing his voice.  "Now apologize to our host."

"S--S--Sorry," Bruce managed, causing even more blood and saliva to run down his chin.  Gur-Ko shuddered, his eyes rolling.

Kal pushed Bruce to his knees.  "Kiss his robes," Kal said.

"No!" Gur-Ko cried, pulling back, his face white.  "No, that will not be necessary.  Not necessary at all.  Please."

Kal tossed Bruce aside like a rag.   "I'm so sorry," he said to Gur-Ko.  "I seem to have made a bit of a mess.  I shall have one of my reliable slaves clean it--which one is the one I mean, Bruce?"  He snapped his fingers impatiently, not looking at the man on the floor.  "You know.  The tall one.  With the hair."

"Oliver?" said Bruce from the floor.

"Right!  That one.  He's a genius with stains."  He smiled at Gur-Ko.  "And you may send Zhon-Mal the bill for what you think is reasonable recompense when you get back to Kryptonopolis."

"Back to--back--"  Gur-Ko seized on the phrase like a lifeline.  "Yes, I'll be going back now."  Bruce made a horrible drooling spitting noise and Gur-Ko shuddered all over, gagging.  He backed out of the room, keeping an eye on Bruce as if he were a dangerous animal, and was gone.

For a long time no one in the living room moved, remembering the sharpness of Kryptonian hearing.  In the doorway Kal could see Martha, her eyes wide, holding his abandoned collar.  Jonathan was staring at him.  Bruce was still looking down, wiping at his mouth, his hands covered with his own blood.  Kal's eyes were burning, his face was burning.  He wanted to be sick.  He wanted to fly away, to bury himself in the earth if it would have him.  No one moved.

Pete came bursting through the door.  "He's gone, he--"  He stopped dead, looking at the tableau, Kal floating in the middle of the room.  "What the hell happened?"

: : :

"That was brilliant!"  Bruce's grin threatened to widen the split on his lip.

"Please hold still," said Kal, dabbing at the nasty wound.

"Totally caught him off guard. Wham," Bruce said gleefully, mimicking Kal's backhand. "When I heard him squeal, I realized what you were up to. Brilliant, just brilliant."

"Don't," Kal said, looking down at his hands.

"Don't what?  That was perfect, Kal.  I was a little afraid you wouldn't think of shaking me in his face like that, but you got the hint.  I was lying there on the floor almost trying not to laugh at the poor bastard, we got him so good.  Man," he said with relish.  "That was great."  He frowned at Kal's expression.  "What's the matter?"

"I promised I'd never hurt you," Kal said.

"What?"  Bruce seemed honestly surprised. 

"I promised," Kal muttered.

There was a hand on his chin, forcing his face up to meet Bruce's gaze.  "It would have hurt me a hell of a lot more to see my friends executed and this outpost destroyed, Kal.  We have to make hard choices sometimes.  You did the smart thing."

Kal daubed petroleum jelly onto his fingers and smoothed it onto the broken lip;  Bruce flinched a little, then relaxed into the touch.  Kal got a little more of the clear balm and applied it again, his fingers tracing the line of Bruce's lower lip slowly.  Bruce exhaled, a long slow breath that brushed at Kal's fingers.  Kal finished following the line of Bruce's lower lip and traced the curve of his upper lip, very lightly;  Bruce's eyes drifted half-closed and he drew in a slightly shaky breath.

Kal pulled his hand back and put the lid on the balm, trying to steady his own breathing.  "Are you all right?"  Bruce asked.  When Kal looked up in surprise, he went on with a small smile, "Did you hurt your hand on my head?"  Kal didn't have time to answer before Bruce was taking his hand in his, tracing along the knuckles with exaggerated care, a feather-light touch.

Kal felt like he was falling apart, scattering to the wind, splintered with yearning.  "I think I'm okay," he managed.

"Much more than okay," Bruce said, but he let go of his hand with a small smile.

There was a knock at the door and it opened to reveal Martha, a plate of cookies and two glasses of milk balanced on her arms.  "I thought you might need some fortification after all that," she said cheerfully.

Kal felt the stab of shame go through him again;  exposed as a Kryptonian, an enslaver, an alien conquerer.  To know that she and Jonathan and Pete would never see him the same way again...he felt walls going up all around him, blocking him in.  "Thank you," he whispered, "And I'm sorry."

Martha chuckled.  "Sorry?  For saving us all?"

"Sorry for lying to you."

Martha put her hands on her hips and frowned at him.  "Lying to us?"

"About being human."

At that, she threw her head back and laughed.  "Oh Clark," she said, wiping her eyes, "Jonathan and I knew all along you were a Kryptonian.  It wasn't some kind of secret."

Kal stared at her.  "You knew?  But you didn't say anything."

Another frown creased her forehead.  "We didn't feel it was necessary.  What difference did it make?"  She pointed to the plate of cookies as Kal gaped.  "Don't let those go to waste."  Then she marched out of the room.

Bruce grabbed a cookie, then shrugged a little sheepishly at the look Kal turned on him.  "I was afraid if you knew they knew it would make it harder for you to relax."

"Everyone knew?"

Bruce shook his head as he gingerly took a bite of cookie.  "Just Jonathan and Martha."

"Oh."  Kal felt worry close in on him again.

Bruce grimaced.  "It won't matter to everyone."

"But it will to some."

"I won't lie and tell you otherwise," Bruce said with a sigh.  He turned to look at the window at the sun setting in the west.  "I guess it's time we move on to our final stop anyway," he said softly.  "But it was a good time here, wasn't it?"

Kal remembered the smell of the earth, the crack of a ball against a bat, the taste of raspberries.  Touch-me-nots under his curious fingers, springing outward into the unknown future.  "It was."

: : :

The morning skies were graying as Kal and Bruce piled into the truck again.  Jonathan, Martha, and Barbara were there:  Martha hugged them both and Jonathan clasped their hands.  "There's always work here if you want to come back, son," he said to Kal, and Kal swallowed and nodded.

Barbara's hug was more tentative, more hesitant.  Kal couldn't really blame her;  after what she'd been through he was surprised she came to say goodbye at all.  The walnut dye was starting to give way to her natural red again.  "Take care," she whispered.

Bruce was starting up the truck when there was a yell from down the street.  Kal looked to see Oliver and Pete arriving at a gallop.  "You're not getting away without saying goodbye to us," Oliver said, thumping them both on the back.

Pete hung back a bit, eyeing Kal.  He scuffed one toe in the dirt for a bit.  "You could have said something," he muttered.  "I feel like an idiot."

"I'm sorry," said Kal.

Pete stepped forward and gave him an awkward hug.  "Thanks for everything."

"No, thank you," Kal said.  Pete looked up at him.  "For...showing me around.  Letting me play baseball."

"I guess you let us win at that," Pete said.

Kal couldn't help a startled laugh.  "Are you kidding?  I never figured out the damn rules!"  Everyone else laughed, and after a moment Pete joined in.

"Time to go," said Bruce.  Kal hopped into the car. 

Everyone waved as the truck pulled away from Smallville and turned onto the road heading west.

"How's it feel to have friends?" Bruce asked.

Kal watched the farm dwindle away behind them, reluctant to turn his face west just yet.  "It felt good," he said.

"You don't need to use the past tense," said Bruce.  He reached out with one hand and slapped Kal's head.  "Dork."

 

 

Chapter 23: In The Heart of Cheyenne Mountain

Summary:

  Kal and Bruce make their way to the final destination in their trip.

They drove west, the rising sun at their backs.  The landscape flattened out, the gently rolling hills giving way to prairie that stretched out in all directions, impossibly vast.  Long lines of clouds marched across the land, blown before the winds that swept the plains, and then scoured them down to scrub and wasteland as they went further west.  There were no plantations here, nothing but ghost towns scrubbed clean by wind and time, and Bruce pushed the truck until its crystal-fuelled engine hummed.

The long, straight road sloped upward, almost too gradually to sense, but Kal could feel the air growing cooler and thinner.  They sped through barren country, gray and endless, and Kal was heartily sick of the unending vista when on the horizon, far in front of them, he saw the first wrinkled ridge of mountains appear. 

"There's our destination," Bruce said.

"That's where we're going?  Over the mountains?"

Bruce grinned briefly.  "Not exactly." 

The mountains grew larger, but with infinite slowness;  the distance between them was deceiving.  But eventually the monotonous landscape started to give way to foothills as the mountains loomed ever closer.  This was an aspect of Earth Kal had never encountered--majestic mountains rising slowly from evergreen-covered slopes to massive white-capped towers of stone.  It made him feel small and awed and strangely grateful.

There was a dusting of snow on the ground and the air was thin when Bruce pulled the truck over into a dense copse of trees.  "We walk from here on," he said.

As they hiked, Kal was silent in the face of the giants reaching into the sky, beautiful and aloof.  Bruce seemed to be finding signs and markers in the landscape that Kal couldn't spot;  he led them further into the mountains, across scree-covered slopes and rocky outcroppings.  It was growing dark when they came to a door set into the mountainside:  it was a thick steel door, wrenched from its hinges and bent by some inhuman strength.

Bruce picked up a broken branch from a pine tree and handed it to Kal, then slipped through the door into gloom beyond.  As Kal followed, a soft glow came from Bruce's hands;  one of his silver spheres emitting an eerie blue-green light.  "Use the branch to get rid of our footsteps," Bruce said, and Kal looked down to realize there was a thick layer of ash and dust under their feet.  As they moved along, Kal obliterated their trail with the branch and with some judicious puffs of breath.

It was a tunnel they were in, wide enough for a vehicle, but filled with debris and rubble now.  Bruce picked his way along the tunnel, winding downward, downward, as the dust became thicker on every surface.  It was cold;  their breath hung in the still air, clouds of mist in the silence.

After a long descent into the heart of the mountain, the tunnel passed through another set of massive, broken steel doors and into a vast room.  The light in Bruce's hand flickered off massive screens lining the walls--dead and broken, nothing on them but darkness.  As Kal's gaze fell to the desks and tables filling the room, he realized with a shock that the place was full of bodies.  Mummified skin clung to skeletons slumped within military outfits;  bodies left to lie, sprawled in defeat, skulls and backbones shattered.

His horrified intake of breath made Bruce turn to look at him;  Bruce's reassuring smile was made ghastly by the dim aqua light and the grisly surroundings.  "Shouldn't we...shouldn't we do something for them?"  Kal's question hung in the frigid silence.  "They shouldn't just be left here."

Bruce shook his head, picking his way through the debris.  "We have to leave them.  They died to make our defeat convincing, we've never been free to give them the burial they deserve."  He paused, looking around the room.  "This is all the memorial they can receive.  That and our respects.  For now."

They both stood a moment in silence, gazing at the remains of a vast slaughter.  Then Bruce moved silently on.

More rooms, more tunnels, more debris, more corpses.  Eventually Bruce turned down a small passageway, then stopped to pry open a metal trapdoor in the floor.  "Lead," he noted.

The trapdoor lifted to reveal a ladder, going down, disappearing into darkness.  Bruce grasped the rungs and they descended deeper, deeper into the heart of Cheyenne Mountain.

The ladder went on for what seemed like an eternity, until it felt like they were descending into the underworld itself.  It had to be tiring for Bruce;  Kal listened anxiously for the sound of his grip giving way, wondering if he could catch him...but Bruce's hands stayed sure and steady.  Down.  And further down.

After a long time Kal started to hear faint noises, muffled, and the tunnel started to grow almost imperceptably lighter.  And then the ladder came to a sudden stop and Kal found himself back on solid rock, his hands cramped from holding on the rungs.  Bruce was breathing on his own hands, rubbing them.  He walked forward and tapped an inobtrusive panel on the wall;  a blue beam shot out and played over his eye.  Down the corridor a door creaked open and light leaked out.

"Welcome to the heart of the resistance, Kal," Bruce said.

They were met at the door by a man wearing a leather jacket with large block letters on the arms spelling out "Fair Play."  Behind him, in a vast room, hundreds of humans moved about, working on paper, arguing in groups.  "Bruce," the man at the door said said, and clapped him on the back.  "I see you've brought my t-spheres back to me safe and sound."  He lifted the glowing orb from Bruce's hand.  "Did they work?"

"Like a charm," said Bruce.  He gestured to Kal.  "Michael, this is Kal-El."

The man held out a hand for Kal to shake, seeming unfazed by the Kryptonian name.  "I've heard about you," he said simply.  "It's nice to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine," Kal said.

"Kal, this is Michael Holt, one of our finest scientists."

Michael smiled broadly as he released Kal's hand.  "I see he's learned how to flatter while he's been away."  He eyed Bruce's face narowly--the injured lip and jaw turning greenish-purple with bruises.  "You look like hell, Bruce."

"I see you haven't learned how to flatter at all," Bruce shot back, and Michael laughed.

"I call them like I see them.  You should let Pieter take a look at that when you have time."

"Sure, when I have the time," Bruce said easily, and Michael grimaced.

"I know you.  You never have the time."

"Guilty as charged," Bruce said, walking past him into the room.  When people saw him they nodded politely, a few sketching a quick gesture that looked like a salute.  Some cast Kal cautious looks, others ignored him entirely.

An older man with fierce eyes walked up to Bruce.  "Good timing, Wayne.  We've got a meeting this evening.  You'll be pleased to hear about the progress we've made."

Bruce nodded.  "Carter Hall, this is Kal-El."

Hall nodded curtly, then pivoted and walked over to another group.

"Do they all know who--what--I am?"  Kal asked a little uncomfortably as they made their way through the crowd.

"Most.  The ones who don't will by this evening."  Bruce gave him a keen look.  "Don't let it bother you."

Kal felt the pressure of dozens of pairs of eyes on him, felt his back stiffening as Bruce led him toward another corridor.  He glanced over at Bruce's bruised face.  So far the most "heroic" thing he'd done for the Earth was to strike down his friend.

He was going to have to do better than that.

"Bruce!"  A diminutive blonde woman was running across the room;  she threw herself into Bruce's arms and he lifted her and spun her around.

"I met that new man of yours on the road," said Bruce.  "He said to tell you he'd be on his way back here in a month or so."

She beamed.  "I'm sure you got along great with him."

Bruce rolled his eyes.  "Oh yes, we're kindred souls."  The woman--she must be the "Dinah" whose papers Oliver had--shot him a wry glance.  "Who's your handsome friend?" she asked.

"This is Kal-El," said Bruce, and Dinah froze. 

"It's a pleasure," said Kal, holding out a hand.  Dinah looked at it.  After a long moment, she took it, her eyes cold. 

"If you vouch for him, Bruce," she said.  "But I don't have to like it."  She nodded politely, then left.

"I'm sorry," said Bruce as they continued down a wide corridor.  "She's lost a lot."

"No need to apologize," said Kal.  "I can't expect everyone to like me."

"No, I suppose you can't," said Bruce.  "But I know it still bothers you."  He moved down the corridor and Kal followed, biting his lip.

Bruce finally opened a door and ushered him into a tiny, cell-like room, bare of anything but a cot.  "This will be your room while you're here.  I'll be across the way.  We'll probably only be here one night."

"Bruce," said Kal.  "Why have you brought me here?  Why didn't you just tell me about it?  Why the long trip?"

Bruce paused in the doorway.  "I wanted you to see it."

"Here?"

"Here, this facility, yes.  But Smallville too.  And all the places in between.  I wanted to see how you acted when you were away from Kryptonians, when you could interact with humans as people."

"This was a test.  You might not have brought me here."

Bruce grimaced.  "If you had seemed...squeamish around humans, if I had felt you were holding back part of yourself, feeling secretly superior to us..."  He paused, looking down.  "I didn't think you would, but I needed to see it for myself.  How much I could trust you."  He looked back at Kal.  "I'm sorry."

Kal put his backpack down on the cot.  "I'm glad to be here."

Bruce looked at him for a long moment.  "I'm glad you're here."

: : :

Kal took his place in the assembly, sitting between two strangers.  Bruce was on the stage in front of the crowd, talking about the meeting in Metropolis with Luthor.  "Signs indicate that he's achieved a critical mass of Kryptonite and is prepared to deploy it through the atmosphere."

"Any reason we should stop him?" called a voice in the crowd;  a few people shot nervous glances at Kal as a murmur of reaction swept through the room.

Bruce was unruffled;  he paced a couple of steps on the stage.  "The effects on Earth's ecosystem could be disastrous.  We have no way to clean the material from the atmosphere, and it could well trigger what pre-Arrival scientists called a 'nuclear winter,' a new Ice Age across the globe.  In addition, we have no idea what long-term effects on the biosphere would be of that much radioactive material falling back to earth."  He stopped and looked out at the crowd in the direction the voice had come.  "In short, we believe the risks to be too high."  He looked to the side.  "Mr. Holt?"

Michael stood up and joined him on the stage.  "Besides which," he said, "Our alternate plan is ready to go.  It still has risks, but we judge it to be safer."  He sketched a quick drawing on a chalkboard, something that looked slightly like one of his t-spheres.  "The nanobot light filters are finally ready.  When spread through the atmosphere, they'll filter the yellow sunlight of Earth into a frequency in the red spectrum.  This plan has the advantage of being temporary--we can program the nanobots to shut off after just a few hours, saving Earth's biosphere from long-term effects.  There's just one remaining problem.  Fortunately, it's the same one Luthor is facing."  He nodded to Carter Hall, who stood.

"Both Luthor's plan and ours lack a deployment system," said Hall.  "We both need a way of getting our respective materials into the atmosphere, and spread evenly enough to affect roughly the whole Earth at once.  This has been a serious challenge.  However, it has recently come to our attention that the Kryptonians are holding in Metropolis the schematics and notes for the 'weather wand' used by Mark Mardon, also known as the Weather Wizard."  He looked out over the crowd.  "With those notes, we could put together machines that could control wind currents and air pressure and make it possible to deploy the nanobots in a relatively short time frame."

Bruce stood up again.  "Our source most likely sold this information to Luthor as well, and he will be planning a way to get to those notes.  If he does, you can bet that he will waste no time in poisoning the Earth's atmosphere."  His lips thinned, looking over the crowd.  "We must find a way to get to those plans before he does."

A brown-haired man leapt to his feet.  "I can get into the vault, my ring can scan the papers--"

Bruce shook his head.  "I'm sorry, Hal.  We cannot risk the Green Lanterns getting actively involved yet.  If the Corps intercedes and takes you out of the game, we'll lose some of our most valuable firepower."  Hal looked like he was about to argue, but Bruce shook his head again.  "We can't risk losing you, John and Guy all at once," he said.

A buzz of conversation broke out in the room as people debated how to get in, how to get the schematics.  If we had a camera small enough...  But if they even suspect what we're doing... 

Kal found himself on his feet.  "Send me," he said.  His voice didn't seem to cut through the babble, but Bruce turned sharply to look at him, frowning.  "Send me," he repeated, more loudly, and people started to fall silent around him.  "I have x-ray vision, so I can see the papers without disturbing them or leaving any sign I was there.  I have eidetic memory, so the recordings will be safe and undetectable in my mind.  And as a free Kryptonian, I can bluff my way out if I'm caught."

Carter Hall looked at Bruce. "What do you think?"

Bruce was chewing his lower lip.  "It's risky," he said.

"I'm willing," said Kal.  "I want to do something to help."

After a while, Bruce nodded.

: : :

"You could have just assigned me to the job to begin with," Kal said, sitting down on the little cot in his tiny room.  "I'm the obvious choice."

Bruce was leaning in the doorway.  "This isn't an army.  I don't assign people dangerous jobs."

"I won't let you down, Bruce."

"I'm going with you," said Bruce, and Kal felt a sudden flare of anger.

"Don't trust me to do the job right?"

For a long time Bruce simply looked at him.  "It's not that at all," he said after a while.

"What is it?"

Bruce suddenly made a sharp, almost helpless gesture with his hands, clenching in front of him.  "I couldn't bear it," he said.  As Kal stared at him, he shrugged.  "It's going to be dangerous."

"It couldn't be as dangerous as that stew you fed me on the road," Kal said, trying to lighten the mood, almost alarmed at the intensity of the emotion that had flickered across Bruce's face for a moment.

To his relief, a small smile broke the solemnity of Bruce's expression.  "That's why you need me along.  You have no sense of taste whatsoever."

"Obviously, if I'm continuing to hang out with you," Kal retorted, feeling rather pleased with himself.

Bruce clapped him briefly on the back.  "You're improving," he said.

Chapter 24: Watching the Moon

Summary:

  Kal has problems adjusting to life in Gotham--and meets his betrothed.

"It's good to have you back, nephew," said Zor-El.  He moved one of the triangular pieces of glass on the playing board, sat back and waited for Kal's move.

Kal stared at the board, but he wasn't particularly seeing it.  The morning sun slanted across the board, making the translucent pieces glow.  He and Zor had often played this game when Kal was a small child, before he had challenged his uncle's authority, before he had been sent away.  Many afternoons they would sit and play on the porch, Kal fidgeting in his seat, trying to concentrate.

He had always lost.

Kal moved one of the pieces nearly at random and Zor-El frowned.

"You haven't told us anything about your trip," said Alura from her chair overlooking the garden.  She was working on one of her holosculptures, spinning threads of light between her fingers, gazing out over the garden.

"There isn't much to tell, aunt.  We--I--had a good trip.  The spa was...very relaxing."  Next to his aunt's head, morning glories twined around a house column.  The brilliant blue flowers nodded slightly in the breeze.  He felt the sudden urge to pick one, to take the cerulean flower and put it behind Bruce's ear, just to watch Bruce's eyes roll in annoyance and hear him scoff.  The blue was as intense as Bruce's eyes, as deep as the sky.  But Bruce was seated at a cushion at his feet, and if Kal did anything so rash as tuck a flower behind his ear, he would merely cast his eyes down demurely.  No insults, no gibes, just sweetness and docility.

The healing bruises on Bruce's face were darker than the blue of the flowers.

Kal's hands itched suddenly to crush the flowers, to shatter the columns, to scatter the pieces of the game across the porch.  Anything to break the cloying silence and give him back the astringency of Bruce's mocking voice.

Instead he watched his uncle move another piece, then reached out to push one of his hexagons to meet Zor's advance.

Zor cocked his head and looked at Kal in silence for a while.  "You're still sulking about the marriage, aren't you?"

"The what?"

Zor's smile was thin.  "Let's not play games, Kal."  He moved another piece.  "You still haven't forgiven us for arranging a betrothal without checking with you."

Kal bit his lip, trying to keep his mind on the game, but the pieces were meaningless bits of color.  Game pieces shoved about the board.  "You still don't even know her name, do you?"

An eloquent shrug.  "Does it matter?"

Alura sighed from her seat.  "Syra will be so disappointed."

Zor snorted.  "Syra will survive.  She's a good Kryptonian and will understand that establishing diplomatic ties with the Amazons is more important than her personal future."

Kal somehow doubted that.

"Oh," said Zor as if a thought had just occurred to him, "Your new fiancee will be dining with us tomorrow night.  She wishes to meet you and to see the place she will soon call home.  You will, of course, show her around."

"Of course," said Kal.  "Maybe I'll even learn her name."

On the floor beside him, Bruce shifted on his cushion, bringing his head to rest on Kal's thigh.  Languid fingers trailed up and down Kal's calf, and Kal's hand was slightly unsteady when he reached out to move another piece.   As he waited for his uncle's move, he let his hand rest on Bruce's head, letting dark hair slip between his fingers, caressing.  He felt more than heard Bruce's small sigh at the touch, a tiny exhalation;  the fingers tightened on his thigh briefly.

Kal remembered firelight reflected in that dark hair, the way the wind lifted it as he looked at Kal, his gaze direct and fearless.  Laughter in his voice.  Untouchable. 

He shifted one of his stones across the board and Zor-El looked at it for a long time.  He sat back in his chair slowly.  "You win," he said.

Only when he looked at the board did Kal realize it was true.

: : :

Bruce and Kal were in the kitchen with Alfred when Kara came home from Metropolis.  Bruce was engrossed in conversation, so Kal left him and went to Kara's room.

Kara was seated at her desk, working on something.  She put her pen down as Kal approached, smiling.  "Cousin," she said.  "How was your trip?  Are you glad to be home?"

"Home?"  Kal couldn't keep the scorn from his voice;  he saw Kara's smile soften into something sadder, more wistful. 

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she said.  "Terra."

"How much have you seen of it?"

She rolled the pen on her desk.  "Quite a lot.  I've been to Japan, the Sahara, the Maldives.  The Arctic--oh Kal, the aurora borealis in the arctic sky, it's so beautiful.  So peaceful."

Kal felt his breath catch.  "I want to see it!  I want to see all of it.  Even the little I did see--"  He remembered the gnarled forests, the rolling fields and scrublands, the mountains soaring into the sky, "--I want more.  I want to know it all."

Her smile was fond but still sad.  "I hope you can, Kal."  She turned back to the desk.  "I ran into Syra in Metropolis."

Kal's exhilaration faded abruptly.  "She must be furious."

"She isn't exactly thrilled, no," Kara said wryly.  "She insists you speak to her in person the next time you go there."

"Oh dear," said Kal, and Kara threw back her head and laughed. 

"You look so woebegone, cousin.  Come now, she's just one woman."

"You're just one woman as well, but one would do well to fear you," said Kal, and Kara bowed her head at the compliment, chuckling.

"Is it hard?"  Kal heard himself say.

Kara's smile faded.  "Is what hard?"

"Being away from Zhon so much."

Kara tilted her head thoughtfully, not deflecting the question.  "He's a telepath, Kal."  She tapped her temple.  "We're never that far away from each other."  She paused as if searching for words.  "And even if we didn't have that link, we would never be far apart in the way that matters."  This time her hand rested lightly over her heart.  "Not even galaxies could keep us apart in that way."

"How did you...how..."  Kal found himself wordless at the light in her eyes.

"He came to me," Kara whispered, as if she'd never spoken of it to anyone.  "He heard my despair, my confusion, and rage and hope, and he came to me.  He told me that I wasn't alone."  Her smile was terribly sweet.  "He didn't know it then, but I knew it right away, that I'd never be alone again with him in my life."  She touched her hand to her heart again, gently.  "Not even galaxies," she murmured.

"I see," said Kal.

"Yes," said Kara, "I think you do."

: : :

Kal lay in a patch of moonlight, staring at the ceiling.  Eventually, silently, he lifted himself from the bed.  Bruce was asleep on the floor at the foot of the bed, curled up in a pile of blankets.  Kal watched his breath rise and fall for a while, then made his way quietly out of his quarters and into the garden.

The kitchen gardens were still and silent, most of the garden beds bare in autumn.  Kal sat down with his back to the stone wall, listening to the wind rustle the ivy.  The leaves were red now, brushing his shoulders and hair.  The plot next to Kal was bare;  Kal let his left hand sift through the soil, feeling the dirt and small rocks trickle between his fingers.  His right hand was closed around cool metal and glass.

A whispering rustle, a thump;  Selina landed on the grass next to him.  Kal blinked.  "I wouldn't let anyone catch you doing that, little prince," said Selina.  "Getting your hands dirty like a common slave."

Kal patted the grass next to him and Selina cocked her head inquisitively.  "I was watching the moon," said Kal.  "I wouldn't mind some company."

Selina's lip curled, but she dropped to the grass next to him, keeping the green-tipped whip handy.  "Did you get tired of playing human?" she asked.

"Not really."

"I hope you didn't get too attached to it all," said Selina.  When Kal didn't respond, she continued, "You don't really think you'll be allowed to stay after we win, do you?"  She shook her head, making the ivy rustle.  "Even if you survive, there'll be no place on Earth for a Kryptonian.  You must know this."  Kal continued to look at the moon.  "Don't you care?" 

"Of course I do," said Kal.  The dirt was cool under his hand;  he crumbled a small clot of earth between his fingers.  "Of course I do."

He had the impression she was looking at him, but he kept his eyes on the moon, hanging silver in the sky.  After a while, she sighed.  "Do you remember the day I was collared?" she asked with the air of someone changing the topic.

"Yes."

"It was my seventh birthday.  I came to you crying because it threw my balance off, I couldn't do cartwheels any more.  Do you remember what you said to me?"

Kal nodded.  He remembered.

"You told me that I would always be free, in my heart."  Selina's voice was whittled with pain.  "In my heart.  You were so kind, so well-meaning."  She shook her head again.  "I looked at you and for the first time really realized what it meant that I was a slave and you were not."  She took a long, careful, shaking breath, then another.  Kal said nothing.  "What," she said sharply, "No helpful platitudes today?  No words of hope and encouragement to give me?"

"No," said Kal.  He turned and met her eyes, glinting green in the silver light.  "I'm sorry."

Her jaw tightened, and she reached out, placed cool fingers along the side of his face.  "Damn you," she whispered.

Then she stood, scooping her whip up, the swagger back in her posture.  "You look good with your hands in the dirt," she said.  She leapt to the top of the stone wall soundlessly.  "Almost human."

She was gone. 

Kal sat and looked at the moon.

"Master?"  He heard Bruce's soft whisper outside the kitchen garden, and then Bruce appeared in the archway, his figure limned by moonlight.  "Master, can't you sleep?"

Kal just looked at him and couldn't answer.

Bruce drew nearer, dropping to his haunches to look in Kal's eyes.  "You should be sleeping," he said.  "You need to be rested for tomorrow."

"Bruce," said Kal.  He couldn't seem to find any other words beyond the one that mattered.  "Bruce."

"Kal," whispered Bruce, almost too low to hear.

"I'm watching the moon.  Will you watch it with me?"

"Of course." 

Bruce settled onto the grass next to him, his back against the wall.  They looked up at the sky together for a time. 

"It's so beautiful," Kal said.  "I could fly there, but it would just be dead rock if I did.  It's only beautiful from far away."

He felt more than saw Bruce's attention shift.  "What are you holding?"  Bruce touched his right hand, and he curled his fingers around the cool glass and metal protectively. 

"Nothing."

"Don't say that."  Bruce pried the glasses free and looked at them for a long time, opening and closing them, the temples making small clicking noises.  "You kept them."

"I miss him."

"I know."

"I miss...his friends."

"I know."

Bruce leaned forward, close and then closer, and slipped the glasses onto Kal's face.  "He's here," Bruce said.  "We're both here."

Kal looked back at the moon.  Through the slight slimmering distortion of the glass it was even more lovely.  He put his empty hand back down on the earth.

After a moment, warm fingers rested on it, light but sure.

They sat together and watched the moon slide down the sky.  Kal felt the grass under his hand, the warmth of Bruce's touch over it.  He seemed to feel the earth beneath him, spinning them inexorably into the future, hurtling them through space, toward freedom or failure.

I won't fail you, he thought, unsure if he meant Bruce or the earth itself.

I won't fail.

: : :

Kal looked toward the head of the table to where a statuesque figure sat, dark hair in waves around her veiled face.  "Amazons always wear veils when we travel abroad," the princess had said in a low voice when he had asked.  "Our faces are not for general viewing."  Scorn dripped from her voice.

She deftly lifted a wine goblet to her lips behind the veil;  even her eyes were covered, so Kal couldn't tell if she was looking at him.  She seemed able to see through it, but it was opaque on this side. 

Kal found it unnerving.

Bruce was elegantly arranged on the cushion, all silk and silver chains, the very image of decorative submission.  Kal slipped him some food as Zor-El made small talk about with the princess about her journey.  The veiled face turned slightly toward him, and Kal had an impression of attention focused on him.

"Of course, we shall see no more of...that...when we are wed," she said in a voice like ice and steel.

"Of what?" 

"That thing at your feet," she said.

"Bruce?"  Kal felt like the floor was dropping out from under him. 

"Call it what you will, but I believe we all know what its purpose is, and it will not be seen in our household."

This wasn't how he had imagined his first conversation with his betrothed going.  "But he's--I mean--he's mine," he said, trying to get back into his persona as haughty Kryptonian and mostly sounding only pleading.

The princess made a sound in her throat that was almost a growl.  "It will be sold.  Or you shall turn it over to me and I shall find other employment for it."

"Now see here," Kal said, feeling indignation, fear, and guilt nearly throttling him, "You don't have the right--"

"I shall make its removal from this household a prerequisite for any further negotiations with the Amazons," she said.

"Now now," said Zor-El placatingly, "We'll talk about all this soon enough."  He shot Kal a warning look.  "It's not that big a deal, nephew."

Kal opened his mouth but couldn't come up with anything to say.  The princess's hands were clenched on the tablecloth, sinews and tendons standing out stark, her knuckles white.

The rest of the meal passed in silence.

: : :

"It might be better," Bruce said in Kal's quarters later.

Kal was jolted from his thoughts.  "What might?"

Bruce looked down at his hands.  "Leaving.  Being sold.  I can escape a new owner and go back to the Rockies.  It might be better than...being here."

Kal swallowed.  "If that's what you want."

A dry laugh.  "What does that have to do with anything?"

Kal was saved from having to respond by a sharp rap at the door.  He opened it to find the princess in her white formal gown, her face still veiled, hands fisted at her side like she yearned to be holding a weapon.  "You are a rude, spoiled child," she said without preamble, "And I have no desire to wed you beyond the benefits it might bring my people."  She entered the room, pushing him aside.  "Oh," she said.  "I intended to be kind and polite and nice, but I cannot, not when I see--"  She pointed at Bruce, standing with his eyes lowered.  "I will not live side by side with your pleasure slave," she spat.

"I'm sorry, but I can't--"

Kal's stammered statement seemed to goad the princess past bearing;  she took a deep breath and the veil flattened against her mouth.  With an irritated snarl she reached up and ripped off her veil, revealing a sternly lovely face, currently contorted with anger.  "You listen to me, you--you--Kryptonian," pointing a furious finger at him.  "I will not--"

Bruce's voice was full of shock:  "--Diana?" 
 

Chapter 25: First Kiss

Summary:

 Kal's new fiancee, Diana of Themyscira, has showed up at his door after dinner with the El household.  Why does his "slave" and comrade-in-arms Bruce know her?  And why is she demanding Kal dispose of him?

"Diana?"  Bruce's shocked voice hung in the air between the three of them, but the Amazon--Kal's fiancee--seemed not to hear it at all.  She was holding some kind of golden rope in one hand, Kal realized, twisting the strands between her fingers almost nervously.  Still glaring at Kal, she pointed at Bruce with her free hand, her finger rigid with fury and her eyes snapping.

"That will not be allowed to be in this household once we are wed.  In fact, I insist on its disposal right away."

"Diana!" Bruce exclaimed again;  she ignored him.

"And if you do not see fit to do it, I shall take it and dispose of it myself."  She turned and grabbed Bruce's arm like a rag doll.  "I shall repay you for your property, of course.  But it will be gone."

"Diana!" Bruce said a third time as she began to drag him toward the door.  "It's all right, he's with us.  I don't need rescuing.  It's okay."

Diana's jaw set as she stared at Bruce, at the ugly bruising fading to mottled green on his face, the gash of his split lip.  Then she whirled to face Kal.  Brandishing the gold cord she was carrying, she advanced on him and caught his wrist in a circle of glittering rope.  "Who hurt your slave?" she gritted.

Kal opened his mouth to explain that Bruce wasn't his slave, that he was Bruce, and they were working together.  

"I did," he said instead.

The words fell solid and ugly into the room.  And then there was a roar of anger and Diana had her hands around his throat, lifting him to slam him against the wall.  "You foul monster," she snarled.  "Fair of face and black of heart like all your kind--my magic lasso compels the truth from any caught in its coils, and thus you can deny your evil no longer!"

There was a roaring in his ears and the edges of his vision were going dim as her grip tightened on his throat.  He pulled ineffectually at her hands, but he didn't want to hurt her--she had only seen the truth, after all--

"Diana," Bruce's voice cut through the whine in his ears.  Bruce held up his hand, wrapped in golden rope, between them.  "Listen to me.  Kal is on our side.  He hates slavery.  I trust him.  He's a friend, Diana!"  A long pause.  "I--I--he's--my friend."

The hold on his neck relaxed slightly, enough that Kal could take a deep, whooping gasp of air.  "Explain," Diana snapped.

"He was forced to strike me in order create a distraction, to protect a group of humans.  I believe he would never hurt me willingly."

"Never," Kal said.  His voice rasped in his throat.  "I'd never want to hurt him.  I can hardly bear seeing what I did to him.  I cherish his life above my own."

There was a moment's silence, and then Bruce reached out and untangled the golden rope from around Kal's wrist, his fingers gentle.

Diana glared at Bruce, her eyes narrowed.  "You care about him," she said, almost accusingly.

Bruce met her glare squarely, holding up his bound hand.  "I do," he said.  Then he unwrapped his hand and gave the lasso back to her.  "Telling the truth is not something I want to make a habit of," he said wryly.  "Please don't make me use that again."

Diana shook her head, her shoulders slumping.  "I did not think there was such a thing as a trustworthy Kryptonian."

"There are three aliens on Earth I trust," Bruce said.  "Kal is one of them."

"You two know each other," Kal said, rubbing at his throat and feeling a few steps behind in the conversation.

Bruce lifted a sardonic eyebrow at the princess.  "Apparently not as well as I thought.  I had no idea she was an Amazon.  She spent a year with us and never mentioned it."

Diana lifted her chin.  "I wasn't supposed to be in Man's World.  But I wanted to know more about it, so I...left Themyscira.  What I learned appalled me.  I've been petitioning Queen Hippolyta to take a more active role ever since."

Bruce moved to pour water from a pitcher into three goblets, handing one to Diana and one to Kal, who drank the cool water gratefully.  "Is she amenable?" he asked, his voice shrewd and calculating.

"She is...cautious.  The Kryptonians are powerful, and we risk much by antagonizing them.  But after some...spirited debate, it was decided that we would send one person as a...liason, to gather information here under the guise of a diplomatic marriage."

"A spy, you mean," Bruce interjected, and Diana smiled and continued.

"The Queen was unwilling to send her precious daughter--"  There was an ironic twist to Diana's mouth, "--So we had a contest to decide who would come in her stead."

"And you won the right to pretend to be the princess," Bruce said.

"No," Kal said, watching her face.  "She is the princess."

A flash of surprise and humor in sky-blue eyes;  Diana inclined her head slightly.  "I competed masked, and won.  My mother was...not pleased.  But she was bound by the rules of the sacred contest, and so here I am."

Bruce barked laughter.  "Princess Diana, you are a force to be reckoned with."  Kal chuckled ruefully and touched his throat, and the expression in Diana's eyes shifted toward chagrin.

"My apologies, Kal-El," she said.  "I acted rashly."  She sighed.  "My mother warns me often about my temper--and when she reluctantly sends me to spy on the Kryptonians, I nearly kill my fiance, so I am forced to admit she may have a point.  But when I saw my friend Bruce sitting at your side in chains, like your pet...I wondered if perhaps your people had broken him."

"Impossible," Kal said without thinking, and caught the flash of Bruce's smile from the corner of his eye.

Diana nodded slowly, her eyes on his face.  "There are formalities and negotiations that must be worked out before our marriage can take place.  They could, sadly, delay the blessed event for many years," she said as if it were not a non-sequitur.  Then she smiled, conspiratorial and wicked.  "Now, shall we get down to discussing what the Amazons can potentially contribute to the cause of Terran freedom?"

: : :

Kal took Diana's hands in his and spoke the formal words of public betrothal.  "In the sight of all my House and under the eye of Rao himself, I swear my soul is bound to yours, Diana of Themyscira."  Her face was unreadable, hidden behind her veil.

He saw his uncle smiling in the throng as Diana repeated the words back to him and a ripple of applause went around the room.  Zor hadn't questioned how Kal had convinced Diana to let him keep his personal slave;  if he had noticed the dark bruises under his nephew's high-necked collar he had apparently decided it was none of his business.  

An interminable dinner later, they were finally safely back in Kal's quarters.  Diana and Bruce were arguing about Atlantis:  Diana claiming their neutrality against the Kryptonians was even more hidebound than the Amazons, Bruce insisting that even at this late stage diplomacy could make a difference.  "I've met King Arthur," Diana said, shaking her head.  "A more proud, stubborn, intransigent man I've never encountered.  Well, maybe one," she said with a wry smile for Bruce.  

She looked over at Kal, who was staring at a map of the Eastern Seaboard, tracing lines on it with a finger.  "You seem thoughtful, Kal.  Is something worrying you?"  Her smile for him was more reticent than her smile for Bruce, but it was still heartfelt;  the last few days of conversations and planning had apparently started to convince her Kal truly was on their side.

Kal shook his head.  "It's nothing."

Bruce made a scoffing noise.  "Spit it out, Kal.  You're absolutely no good at hiding when something is eating you."

"It's silly," Kal said.  When the other two just waited, he went on reluctantly, "I just...feel kind of badly that I've spoken vows to you that we're not planning on keeping."

"No offense," Diana said, "But I don't really want to marry you."

"None taken," Kal said hastily, hearing Bruce snort.  "But...I gave my word I'd marry you."

There was a rustle of robes and Diana was sitting beside him, taking his hands in hers.  He could feel the callouses on her blunt fingers.  "You swore that your soul was bound to mine, Kal-El, and so it is."  She reached out with one hand and added Bruce's hands to their clasp.  "We're bound together as comrades and warriors now, bound to a cause and an ideal."  Her face was solemn as she tightened her grip on their hands.  "No matter what, the three of us will be true to that bond, and to the fate of the Earth.  I swear it is so."

"I swear it is so," Kal echoed her, and heard Bruce murmur the words with him.

Diana flashed a smile and extricated her hands, pausing for a moment to curl Bruce's hands around Kal's fingers.  She got up to pour a glass of water and Kal found himself holding hands with Bruce.  There was a long moment where they looked at each other, Bruce's fingers cool on his, tightening into a grip that was almost fierce, although his face stayed unreadable.  

Then she turned back to them and the moment was gone as Bruce pulled away to examine the map again.  "If you manage to convince your Queen to send a squad of Amazons, how long will it take you until you can reach Colorado?"

"If we must be stealthy, it will probably take us a week.  If the time for stealth has passed, we can fly almost anywhere in the world in a matter of hours."

"We may need you quickly," Kal said.  "If we manage to get the plans for this weather-control device, we may be ready to make our move within the month."

"If your plan to filter the sun's light into a red spectrum works, you won't need our help once it's put into effect.  The Kryptonians will be helpless without their powers--from what I've seen, many of them would no longer even be capable of walking on their own."  Her mouth was twisted with disdain.

"That's just the problem," Bruce said.  "If it works."  He tapped a pen on the map absent-mindedly, a harsh rattling noise.  "There are too many variables I can't predict, and too many things I don't know.  What I need is a squad of people who can fly, and--" he looked up and met Diana's eyes, "--Who will obey me and only me."

Diana's dark eyebrows went up.  "Of course, but--"

"I'm worried about Luthor.  He's almost certainly trying to get his hands on that weather wand technology as well.  And even if we get it before he does..."  Bruce sighed.  "I am not absolutely confident that the teams of people sent to operate the machines won't substitute green Kryptonite for the nanobots.  Luthor may have plants in every team."  He shook his head.  "And even if we get the technology and he doesn't, and even if the nanobots are deployed, and even if our plan to lure the Kryptonians into the open so they'll be affected quickly works... I don't know what the aftermath of the battle will look like."  A frown creased his brow.  "I am...not privy to those plans."

Diana planted her hands on the table, looking at Bruce.  "Are you telling me you don't know what the rebellion is planning to do with the Kryptonians after they defeat them?"  Her eyes slid briefly to Kal.  "You're high-ranking in the movement, don't you--"

Bruce narrowed his eyes and shook his head once, sharply.  He looked angry, but it didn't seem to be directed at at Diana.  "The fewer people know specific plans, the safer a guerrilla movement is."  The scowl made his face thunderous.  "I am also somewhat...compromised."

Diana looked disbelieving.  "You're asking Kal and his cousin to help this rebellion without giving them any certainties about what awaits them after it?"  She jabbed a finger at the map for emphasis.  "They will also lose their powers under the red sun, they will be left helpless, and you give them no reassurance about their future?"

Bruce stood up, shoving his chair back with a sharp grating noise.  He paced away from the table, his shoulders stiff, hands clasped behind his back.  Kal could see his fingers digging into his palms.  "I have several theories as to how the Kryptonians will be...disposed of.  Any of them could happen.  There are many in the rebellion who share my...reluctance for violent solutions.  There are others who do not.  I have had...some heated words on the topic.  But I'm only one man.  And the plans for post-battle reconstruction have not been entrusted to me."

Diana took a sharp breath, but as she opened her mouth, Kal cut in.  "It doesn't matter," he said.  The Amazon stared at him.  From the corner of his vision, he could see Bruce swing to do the same.  "Kara and I are in this fight to free Terra.  We have accepted that there will be consequences for that decision."  He felt his mouth tilting in a wry smile, unbidden.  "Diana.  The odds of Kara and I--of any of us--surviving the final battle are...not good.  I'm not making any plans beyond that day.  I cannot assume that I'll have a life of any sort.  I'm ready to give my life to make up for what my people have done.  Anything beyond that is a gift unlooked-for."

Diana looked at him for a long time, her eyes narrow.  Then she clapped him on both shoulders, hard enough to make him stagger.  "I have misjudged you, Kal-El," she said.  "You have the heart of a warrior."  She put her hand to her heart in an oddly formal gesture and bowed to him, then to Bruce.  "It is an honor to be a comrade-in-arms of you both."

"The honor is mine," said Kal.

: : :

The late fall wind was blowing across the island that was once Gotham as Diana stood outdoors, preparing to leave.  "And I return to Themyscira confident that the bond between Kal-El and I will prove a fruitful and triumphant one."  

Kal could hear the smile in her words behind the veil, the double edge, as the Kryptonians gathered to see Diana off applauded politely.  He stepped forward and handed her a communicator.  "Keep this, Princess.  I shall call you when the preparations are complete."  Words under words, meanings under meanings.  Bruce was at his side, chained and silent.

She took the communicator from him.  Then she paused, the wind fluttering her veil.  

With a quick motion, she pulled her veil aside, and Kal could see that her eyes were sad.  She moved forward and kissed him on the mouth.

It was a chaste kiss, sisterly, a parting kiss between two warriors.  She smiled and whispered, "I'll see you soon."

"I hope so," Kal said, then watched her as she rose into the sky, her lasso glittering at her side.

Later, Bruce arranged a plate of fruit and cheese for them in Kal's quarters.  "Alfred says Diana is an impressive woman," he said with a smile.

"She is," Kal said, frowning down at the grapes and Brie.

Bruce made a snorting sound.  "What's bothering you now?"

Kal laughed shortly.  "I'll never be able to bluff you, will I?"

"Not when it matters.  Fess up."

Kal shook his head.  "It's stupid.  It's just...I've never been kissed before.  What?" he said at Bruce's comically shocked expression.  "There weren't many options when I was growing up here, and when I was at school off-planet I knew my aunt and uncle would have a fit if they caught wind of me dallying with a non-Kryptonian.  I was engaged to Syra, and she...wasn't interested in kissing."  He popped a grape in his mouth, trying to look nonchalant.  "So yeah, that was my first kiss.  No big deal."

"No big deal," Bruce echoed.  His expression had shifted to a serious one that made Kal distinctly uncomfortable.

Kal shrugged.  "It just wasn't...quite what I had imagined."

"And what had you imagined?"  Bruce's voice was low, almost hesitant.  Kal looked away.

"I don't know.  It doesn't matter."

"It does to me," Bruce said, and Kal found he had no answer to that at all.

"I'll tell you someday," he said eventually.

"Someday," Bruce said, like a promise.

Kal nodded and ate another grape, ignoring the voice in his mind that said there may well not be any 'someday' for either of them.

That's the future.  A gift unlooked-for.

What Kal had was the present--and a present with a friend and comrade, and a world to change together, was enough.

Chapter 26: Forms of Freedom

Summary:

Kal and Bruce have dinner with Zhon and Kara, then leave to break into the Archives. They get a bit sidetracked on the way.

Kal glared down at Metropolis as the hovercar descended into the city: the crystal architecture overlaying the human brick and steel, the Kryptonians floating as the humans toiled below them. The streets were festooned with garlands and ribbons in preparation for tomorrow's Festival of the Three Sisters. On Krypton at this time of year, the three great synchronized fire-geysers would be erupting. A festival for a long-lost planet, celebrating natural wonders that didn't exist anymore. "I hate this city," he muttered.

"Really?" Bruce sounded honestly surprised. "I think it suits you." Kal swung to stare at him, and Bruce's eyebrows lifted at the expression on his face. "Look," he said, waving at the city below them. "It's a blend of human and Kryptonian, a melding of the two. A good solid stone foundation, and crystal spires that lift into the skies." He gazed out at the streets. "I can imagine you here, in another world. If things had gone differently."

The hovercar slid gently into the El apartment's bay before Kal could think of a response.

Kal had only just removed Bruce's collar when there was a chime at the door. Kal moved to put the collar back on, but Bruce held up his hand. "It's Zhon and Kara," he said.

Kal paused, a little unnerved. "Did he..."

"Talk to me telepathically? Yes." Bruce grinned at him as he went for the door. "It's a handy skill sometimes." Kal wasn't certain he'd want someone in his mind like that, but Bruce seemed comfortable with it.

The door opened and Kara and Zhon were indeed standing behind it. Zhon was in Kryptonian form, looking like any minor functionary; Kal found it hard to believe sometimes that he had seen the man with green skin and glowing red eyes. "Cousin," Kara smiled, kissing his cheek.

"Kal-El," Zhon said, his voice low and controlled as always. He paused, looking at Kal, his eyes narrowed. "I have not seen you since you left on your journey," he said. "It went well?"

"Very well," Kal said. "We met some amazing people, saw some incredible things."

"It has changed you," Zhon said. "I sense great resolve in you, a heart fixed on its goal."

Kal tried unsuccessfully to suppress a wince. If Zhon was reading his mind, he would see so much there that was shameful-- But Zhon was shaking his head.

"I would never invade your mind without your permission, Kal. But your determination radiates from you. Surely even the mind-blind could see it."

"Indeed," Bruce said from behind him, and Zhon looked beyond Kal to him.

"Friend Bruce. You change very little," he said, a slight smile on his lips.

"You see no changes in me at all?" Bruce's light tone held a note of challenge, and Zhon shook his head, still smiling.

"I did not say that."

Kara was spreading a tablecloth out and placing boxes of food on the table. "It's nothing fancy, but it'll do. Better a crust of bread in peace than a feast eaten in fear," she said.

"You've been studying human folklore," Bruce laughed as they sat down.

"Aesop's fables, yes," she said, picking up a piece of carrot. She tapped Zhon on the arm. "You don't have to look Kryptonian here," she said.

Zhon looked at Kal and Kal realized abruptly that he was waiting for permission. "Oh please," he said hastily, "You don't have to disguise yourself with us."

Another tiny smile, and Zhon's skin darkened to emerald, his eyes brightened to ruby. Beyond that and the loss of his thick brown hair, he looked much the same. "My thanks," he said as he took a sip of tea.

Bruce tilted his head at Zhon. "But that isn't your true form, is it? That's...somewhere in the middle."

Now Zhon looked uncomfortable. "It is a compromise," he said. "My true form is less...pleasant to the eye."

"You're our friend," said Kal. "I want you to be at home in our house. Please," he gestured. "Be in the form that makes you most at ease."

This time Zhon was looking at Kara. She smiled and put her hand on his arm, waiting. Zhon's form blurred, his head lengthening, his features becoming distinctly alien, his fingers long and delicate. "I do not often spend time in this form," Zhon said, staring at his own hand.

Kal shrugged. He had gone to school with people who looked stranger than a Martian. "You honor us with your true form," he said, and Zhon cocked his head to the side in a distinctly alien movement.

"You all honor me with your friendship," he responded.

"We know your heart," Kara said. "Your form is thus beautiful to us in all ways." The language was formal, her tone that of a person quoting. She seemed entirely unconcerned with the change in Zhon, her hand still resting lightly on his arm, and Kal realized she must have seen him this way before.

Zhon's scarlet eyes blinked at her. "You have been studying Martian poetry as well."

Kal was surprised to see Kara blush. "We have a few pieces in the archives. That one...spoke to me."

Zhon's voice was low. "My love cleaves my heart with beauty," he recited. "And among the fragments I find myself anew." There was an awkward pause in which Kara's blush deepened to near-crimson.

"H'sharr Sh'han," Bruce broke the silence. "Sonnets for the Love of Justice." Zhon blinked at him and Bruce shrugged. "We have some archives as well."

The meal flew by as Kal and Bruce shared stories of their trip. Zhon watched expressionlessly (or at least with no expression Kal could easily read), but Kara's mobile face reflected horror or laughter or curiosity back at them as they talked. "I shall speak to Gur-Ko and confirm your story to him tomorrow," Zhon said as Kara eyed the fading remnants of Bruce's injury with wincing sympathy.

"Don't wait too long," Bruce said. "I think we'll be making our move on the Weather Wand in the evening."

Kara nodded thoughtfully. "The Festival."

"The guard should be lighter because of the festivities," Bruce concurred.

"You might not be the only ones harboring such thoughts," Zhon noted, and Bruce nodded again.

"All the more reason to do it tomorrow."　

They talked strategy for a while longer, and then Kara and Zhon rose to go, Zhon shifting fluidly back into his Kryptonian form. Kara kissed them both on the cheek, but Zhon raised a hand in something like a blessing. "May good fortune shine upon your hopes," he said, and left before Kal could start to wonder which hopes he was referring to.

: : :

The streets were loud with celebrating Kryptonians as Kal and Bruce made their way toward the archives. The guard would be lighter tonight, but the town itself was busier; a calculated risk.

Kal felt his heart pounding as he smiled and nodded at passing people. All his other actions against slavery had been reactive, responses to crises he couldn't ignore; this was different. This was a calculated blow against his people, and he knew in a certain way it was a final barrier to cross. After tonight he would be a traitor to his own kind.

No, he told himself. "My kind" are not people who enslave other beings. I am no kin with those who would perpetuate this injustice.

He took a deep breath of cool autumn air and knew he was ready. Ready for their burglary, ready to commit to humanity in all ways. He began to cross the final street to the archive.

And found his elbows suddenly grasped by two smiling Kryptonians: Vek-Ozh and his brother Shir-Ozh. "On your way to the party?" Vek asked with a glassy smile. He'd clearly already been into the intoxicants. "Let's go together!"

The two linked arms with Kal and started to drag him off. Kal didn't dare risking a look back at Bruce, following at a polite distance. It would look suspicious now if he shook them off; they'd just have to hope they could get out of the party early.

The party itself was crowded and busy. Kal moved from one conversation to another, searching for a polite out, feeling more and more anxious. On the plus side, this would give them a good alibi if the break-in was discovered. But they had to get out of here, and soon.

There was a brief eddy of silence in the buzz of conversation; Kal looked toward the door to see Syra, his erstwhile fiancee, looking down her nose as she surveyed the room. The silence lasted just long enough to become awkward and Kal realized most people were looking between the two of them: their first appearance in public together since Kal had broken their engagement and thrown her over for an Amazonian princess. He felt himself flushing and looked away quickly.

As he tried to make his way toward the door, Bruce carefully in tow, he suddenly found himself face-to-face with Syra. Her pale hair was looped in an elaborate coiffure, and her eyes were like chips of ice. "Kal-El," she said.

The other partiers resolutely ignored them both as Kal reached out to kiss her offered hand. "Syra."

She leaned close to him and spoke very low, under the buzz of the party. "You want to get out of here." His look of surprise made her mouth curve slightly. "You forget, Kal-El, I have been engaged to you for almost a decade. It has been my life's work to learn how to read you. A life's work wasted, apparently," she added, continuing before he could speak, "so I know your 'please let me out of this damned party' look quite well." Her smile deepened slightly. "You want to get out of here? Then allow me," she murmured.

And then she slapped him hard across the face.

Kal stared at her as the party noise came to total stop.

Syra drew herself up haughtily and glared at him. "You deserve all that and more for the shabby way you and your family have treated me," she spat at him. "I hope your Amazon chit is as selfish and thoughtless as you--you'll be a perfect match." Her mouth twitched and for an instant tears shone in her amber eyes. Then her jaw tightened again. "I can't believe you thought you could humiliate me like that and appear in public to laugh at my shame!" She whirled and rushed from the room; Kryptonians moved hastily out of her way.

Kal stared after her for a moment, aghast, his ears ringing. Then he headed after her. "Syra! Syra, wait!" he called, leaving the sounds of the party behind him, Bruce a silent ghost near his heels.

He caught up to his former fiancee a few blocks away. She turned as he approached and Kal was surprised to see that even though her eyes were still bright with tears, she was smiling a shaky smile. "There. I told you I could get you out."

Kal gaped, then collected himself. "I'm...I'm so sorry, Syra."

Her eyebrows lifted; she brushed a hand across her eyes and was cool and composed once more. "Are you, truly? I had no idea you desired me as a wife so deeply." Her voice was mocking. "Oh, Kal," she said as he stood in the moonlight, speechless. "Did you really think I yearned so to marry you? To commit to a life of running a household and raising a brood of babies, pregnancy after pregnancy if I was lucky enough to be fertile, endless medical tests and prying questions if I was not?" She shook her head. "You never wondered if perhaps I might want something else."

"We...never had many options, Syra."

She looked up at him, her eyes suddenly shining with something other than tears. "But now I do, Kal. No one will be shocked that I am anxious to leave after this humiliation, especially this very public confrontation. I can slip away to nurse my broken heart...and no one will wonder unduly if my self-imposed exile stretches for weeks, then months." Her smile became wry. "Then longer. I would rather my freedom had not come with such a mortifying price, but...I am at last free of all this." Her gesture took in everything around her.

"But...what will you do?"

"I want to study planetary geology. I was good at it in school, did you know that? I want to study how to stabilize at-risk planets, keep something like Krypton's tragedy from happening elsewhere. And now I can." She gave him a lopsided smile. "I've already bought the tickets. I leave tomorrow. And I'll never come back."

The vehemence in her tone shocked him. "How could you leave your home behind forever?"

The smile twisted closer to a sneer. "Home? This mudball? I want so much more than this pathetic, dirty backwater." She met his eyes and puzzlement came into hers. "You actually like it here, don't you?" She shook her head and sighed. "You always had such limited horizons, Kal." She glanced beyond him to Bruce and her eyes grew thoughtful. "I'll leave you my personal slaves if you like. I still think your human would make a good stud for Mercy or Hope."

Kal tried to keep his tone polite. "I would be happy to be responsible for them."

She flashed him a puzzled grin. "You're such an odd one, Kal. Believe it or not, I do hope you're happy here, with your savages and your dirt. But it's the stars for me."

She waved goodbye and floated upward. "She's given us a decent alibi," Bruce's voice said from behind him, a bare whisper in the night. "Everyone will remember you at the party after that show. Though if we do this right, no one will ever know there was a break-in."

Kal tore his eyes away from the distant Kryptonian. "Then let's do this right," he said.

They slipped into the shadows, making their way for the archives.

Chapter 27: Moving Forward

Summary:

Kal and Bruce break into the Archives in the search for the blueprints that will make the final battle possible.

The heavy lead-lined steel door that guarded the archives swung open slowly and Kal caught his breath at the sight: a huge hall filled with rows of shelves, stretching into the distance.

Bruce was moving into the room, closing the door carefully behind him. A quick glance upward and a hand signal: The cameras. Kal glanced around and found them, moved to disable them. He frowned as he reached the first one.

"They're already offline," he whispered.

Bruce looked around the vast hall. "You might as well come out," he said conversationally. "You can't hide for long."

A whisper of sound and a shadow dropped from the ceiling to land in front of them, uncurling gracefully as it fell. Selina's glittering whip described lazy arabesques around her feet. "Well, well, well," she drawled. "It seems Lex wasn't the only one to plan on getting his hands on the schematics for that wand."

"Just how did you intend to find it, Selina? Unless you've learned to read Kryptonian fluently."

She made a brief hissing sound of disdain. "Luthor's got the cameras looping old footage. I have all night. I'll find it."

"We don't have time for this," Kal said. He started scanning the long rows of drawers--lead-lined, of course. The artifacts seemed to be filed by the date confiscated; a treasure trove of magic and science.

Selina was opening drawers, apparently at random. "You'll find it, and then what?" Bruce's voice echoed behind Kal as he searched. "They'll know if it's taken and it will alert them. Kal has the photographic memory and super-speed, he can steal without taking anything."

"I have a micro-camera, stupid," snarled Selina.

Bruce's sigh rustled through the archives. Kal's eyes flicked over the labels swiftly: rings, rods, helmets, blueprints for inventions of every kind. "And if you do find it and steal it, what then? Will you let Luthor poison Earth's atmosphere with Kryptonite? He could destroy the whole biosphere, Selina!"

"Your red-sun nanobots aren't fully tested. Luthor's is the only way. The only way to be sure."

"Don't do this, Selina." Bruce's voice was pained. "You're better than this. I know you are."

Selina responded only with something torn between a laugh and a snarl. Kal barely heard it: in front of him was the label indicating the blueprints for the weather wand were within. He said nothing, hoping to avoid alerting Selina, but his sharp inhalation was apparently all the sign she needed, for as he opened the drawer he heard her voice to his left:

"Step away from those, Kal-El."

There was a sheaf of papers in the drawer; ignoring her, he started to read the top one. A whip-crack echoed near his head and green after-images danced briefly in his eyes, but he didn't stop memorizing the schemata.

"Selina," said Bruce.

"He will step away from those papers or I'll scar his pretty face!" she cried. "I'm trying to free humanity!"

"So are we." Bruce's voice was both compassionate and warning. "Your price is too high."

There was a brief silence.

And into that silence all three of them heard the sounds of Kryptonian conversation coming toward the archives.

< You're insane to insist on looking that up on Festival night, Ala, > laughed one voice.

< I'm telling you, it was some kind of crazy vitamin that could make a human really strong for an hour. I read about it! >

< That's just silly, > said the other Kryptonian.

They were at the door now. The only exit. Desperately, Kal continued scanning the blueprints, using x-ray vision to read and memorize the ones underneath without disturbing them. If he could just finish memorizing them, maybe he could bluff his way out of this, somehow. Somehow.

The voices were getting closer. He wasn't done committing the information to memory. He couldn't forget any of it or all this would be useless. They were four rows away. Three.

Two.

There was a quiet hiss of annoyance behind him, and suddenly Selina's voice was at his ear. "You'd better make this worth it, Kal. You'd better make it work." And then there was a scrabbling down the aisle, the sound of a drawer opening and paper being snatched loudly from it, a desperate scramble along the marble floors.

< What the--by Rao! > yelled one of the Kryptonians. < An intruder! She's stolen something! After her! > There was a whip-crack and an agonized scream from one of the Kryptonians, then sounds of hot pursuit.

"Don't stop." Bruce's voice by his ear was tense; only then did Kal realize that he had almost moved after them. "We've got to get out of here with that information."

"They'll kill her," Kal whispered.

A long silence. "Only if they catch her."

Outside, sirens were starting to shatter the night. There were two more sheets of paper to memorize. The lines in Kal's vision blurred and wavered; he blinked hard, focusing.

"Done," he said at last. "Let's get out of here before more people come."

Outside the crowd was already starting to celebrate the capture of the human scum who had tried to steal secrets from the archive.

: : :

"When I saw her face on the vis-reels, I recognized her immediately," Kal said to the Kryptonian in charge of the jail. "She's escaped property of the House of El." Behind him he could sense Bruce radiating disapproval at his refusal to go somewhere safe and immediately write down the specifications for the weather wand from his memory. "I'd like to see her."

The jailer bowed, fawning. "Of course, sir. Of course. This way."

Kal and Bruce were ushered down a long cement corridor until Kal found himself in front of a cell. Inside was Selina, bruised and battered, dried blood streaking her face like tears. She looked up at him and fury contorted her features. "What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded, jumping forward and grasping the bars.

"Hey there, scum," the jailer barked, reaching out to slap her hands away from the bars, "Don't you speak that way to your rightful master."

Kal found he couldn't muster the ability to act the part to her blood-stained face, so he just glared haughtily, his heart aching.

"He just wanted to get a last look at you," sneered the jailer.

"Well, he should go and not waste his time here," growled Selina. "I'm sure he has more valuable things to do."

Kal crossed his arms, ignoring her, and addressed himself to the jailer. "This human is El property. Release her to me and I shall take her home and...deal with her there." He put enough emphasis on deal with to make it sound truly ominous. "I'm sure you understand why the House of El would rather not have it known widely that one of our humans has been responsible for such actions."

The jailer's eyes widened and he swallowed nervously. "I would love, simply love, to oblige a member of the illustrious House of El--"

"--Heir," Kal cut in. "Not member," he clarified at the jailer's puzzled look. "Heir."

"Of course, of course," the jailer babbled. "So terribly sorry, so sorry!" But just as Kal began to hope he was going to make some headway, the man's jaw firmed. "But I'm afraid there's simply no question of releasing her to you, sir. If she had stolen from your family on your grounds, of course you could do with her as you willed, but this--this is a federal crime, a crime against Kryptonian culture itself. Besides..." He spread his hands out, "It's not in my power either way."

Kal put his hands on his hips and glowered angrily--it wasn't hard to do in this case, and he nearly managed to enjoy the way the hapless jailer cringed. "Then let me speak to your superior," he snapped. "I have no time to waste on minions."

Flushing, the man fumbled with a portable vis-screen. As he struggled to raise Commissioner Ril Azh-Mo, Bruce murmured behind him, all politeness and servility: "Master, if this one may speak?" At Kal's nod, he went on, "This one is saddened to think that the House of El may be held responsible for that unworthy one's ungrateful actions." He nodded toward the cell where Selina had turned her back on all of them, her spine rigid.

"Responsible?" Kal stared at him, wondering what Bruce was implying.

"Yes, of course. People--stupid and ill-informed people--could whisper that your honorable and worshipful uncle should have done more to catch her, that he was negligent. Some may even imply that he deliberately turned a blind eye to her activities, for surely if he had wished to capture her he could have at any time. It could be a terrible blot on your magnificent House's name, my master." Bruce cast his eyes down once more. "This one writhes in shame at voicing such a possibility even second-hand. Please forgive this one's presumption."

Kal nodded slowly. "I forgive your impertinence, but only because you are motivated by the purest loyalty to our House and my person." Behind the bars, Selina's shoulders twitched slightly as if she were suppressing a chuckle. Kal was about to say more, but the jailer held up his vis-screen, the austere lined face of Ril Azh-Mo filling it.

"Kal-El of the House of El," she intoned. "Of course I understand your desire to reclaim and dispose of your property. But this crime cannot go without a public punishment. The thief will suffer the fate of all human traitors to their benefactors: she shall be executed and her remains left in the public square unburied eight days, for all to see and witness the fate of rebels."

Kal swallowed the gorge rising in his throat. "Then I require she be given a full trial that lays out her crimes in detail."

The Commissioner looked surprised. "She was captured with evidence of her crimes in her hand, Heir of El. There is no need to--"

"--There is need," Kal cut her off with a snarl. Her features congealed somewhere between fury and respect as he continued, "The House of El will not permit our good name to be sullied by association with this bit of offal. We insist on a complete trial that fully investigates her history of thievery and exonerates us from any connection to her whatsoever." The woman on the vis-screen began to speak again and he waved one hand in a slicing motion, silencing her. "Our House has its rights, Commissioner, and it is unacceptable that she be executed without a detailed inquiry into her past that clears our good name."

Ril Azh-Mo sighed, her lips thin. "You are, of course, correct. You do understand a complete trial will take weeks and require a great deal of money--"

Extra weeks. Precious time. Kal waved a careless hand. "The House of El shall be glad to give a substantial donation to the Department of Justice, of course."

She shook her head slowly, a look of mingled disgust and admiration on her face. "As you wish. I shall call your uncle to make arrangements." As the vis-screen blinked out, Kal could only hope that his uncle would accept his reasoning as well.

The jailer shrugged. "Must be nice to have the power of the House of El behind you," he said. "Oh yes," he added as if something had just occurred to him, "Since she's technically your property and all, you'll want her properly collared." He opened a cabinet and took out a heavy steel collar. With heat vision, he quickly engraved the symbol of the House of El on it, then opened the cell door. "Slap that on her so she'll remember her place."

Kal took the collar and stepped into the cell, smelling blood and sweat. Selina raised her chin defiantly, but her jade-green eyes were resigned. For a long moment, they stared at each other.

Then Kal cast the collar aside with a clatter. "You misunderstand me. She is not our property. She belongs to no one, for she is unworthy to wear my family's sign," he said, lifting his lip in contempt. "Let her die as she lived, free of the protection of any decent Kryptonian House."

The livid bruises made Selina's expression difficult to read. "Your kindness touches me," she said sarcastically, voice dripping venom. Beneath the caked blood, her eyes gleamed.

"I hope you get the fate you deserve," Kal said loftily as he left the cell.

"Oh, she'll get that and no doubt about it," grinned the jailer, re-locking the door.

Kal left the jail with Bruce at his heels, walking through the public square. He stopped as a wave of dizziness swooped down upon him like a flock of ravens, staring at the marble block at the center of the square, swallowing sudden bile.

"Keep moving forward," came Bruce's voice behind him. "It's all we can do now."

They kept moving forward.

Chapter 28: Promises Yet to Keep

Summary:

Kal and Bruce say goodbye to their respective families and make their way to Cheyenne Mountain to prepare for the final showdown.

Zor-El frowned down at the piece of paper in his hand. "Syra sends her best wishes and farewells and passes on ownership of her two personal slaves to you?"

Kal-El nodded and took a sip of water. Hope and Mercy had been escorted to the kitchen, where Alfred was probably presenting them with platters of food as they spoke.

Kal's uncle raised his eyebrows. "Three personal slaves. Kal, you're on your way to having a busy household."

"I thought Diana would appreciate them as her attendants. As a princess, I'm sure she's used to being waited on." As Zor chuckled and Alura smiled indulgently, Kal went on, "That's the other thing I've come to ask permission about, Uncle. Princess Diana has invited me to Themyscira to meet her family."

"I thought men were not allowed to set foot upon their island?"

Kal radiated offense. "Uncle! A Kryptonian never sets foot upon ground that has never seen the light of Rao. Thus the problem is solved."

"Clever boy," said Alura, smiling.

"Of course you may go," Zor said. "When do you leave?"

"As soon as possible. Today, if that's all right." Kal felt urgency blazing along his nerve endings, the need to get to Cheyenne Mountain and copy the schematics he'd stolen last night. But he schooled his voice to mildness. "I'll be there a couple of weeks."

"What a shame you'll miss the trial of that slave girl of ours they caught robbing the archives," Alura pointed out. "Can't you put off the trip just a little?"

"And risk insulting my fiancee? I have a duty to further ties between the Amazons and our people, after all. No, I'll watch the recordings when I get back," Kal said.

Zor-El gazed a long moment at his nephew, and Kal felt his stomach clenching; had his uncle seen through his deception? Then Zor nodded, standing to clap him on the back, his eyes warm. "Kal, you've changed since you returned to Earth. You've become a man who understands his responsibilities, who understands how important family is. Your handling of the Amazons, and now this business with that escaped slave--you've truly become worthy of being the heir of the House of El. I'm very proud of you, and I think your parents would be as well."

Kal stood, looking at the aunt and uncle who had raised him to be a good Kryptonian, at the portrait of his parents behind them, smiling down on him.

One way or another, he would never be returning to his family home.

"I hope they would," he said softly, kissing his aunt on the cheek and shaking his uncle's hand.

: : :

In the hall outside the kitchen, he paused as he heard voices from the pantry: Bruce and Alfred, speaking quietly. He started to move into the kitchen and then stopped. He knew he shouldn't eavesdrop, but hearing Bruce speak to Alfred, his voice free of the reserve and restraint that always lurked under his conversations with Kal...it was beautiful, Kal thought suddenly. He wanted to hear more of it.

"--wish I had something I could give you, something I could leave with you as a reminder," Bruce's voice was saying. "To have found you again after so many years...but there's nothing, it's all been lost, I have nothing that truly belongs to me anymore."

"I beg to disagree," Alfred responded, his voice dry. "But as that cannot be given, I shall suggest this instead." There was a silence, a tiny snick of metal, and then Alfred continued: "If someone comes across it, it will be impossible to confirm it as from your head. But we shall not be separated long, Master Bruce."

"Alfred..." Bruce's voice was suddenly hoarse, uncertain. He cleared his throat. "It's risky, Alfred."

"I did not say you would not face death," Alfred replied gently. "But if you fail--and the only way you will fail will be if you die in the effort--then my hopes and all of humanity's die with you. And if that happens--" There was a brief pause, the slightest hitch of breath, "--then we shall not be separated long."

There was a longer pause. When Alfred spoke again his voice was collected and efficient once more, if kind. "Good luck in your endeavors. And Master Bruce--" This time Kal could hear a faint smile in his tone, "--if you could find some time in your rather busy schedule to be a little happy, I would be very pleased indeed."

Bruce snorted. "I'll...I promise I'll try. Take care, my old friend," he said, his voice thick. Kal heard the pantry door swing open and closed again and came to himself with a start, mortified to catch himself eavesdropping on private conversations. Squaring his shoulders, he floated into the kitchen.

Bruce looked up at his arrival, his stance deferential and polite. "I have finished preparing some food for your journey, master."

They moved together through the kitchens, their voices pitched to be overheard. "Are you ready to be taken to Metropolis to be left in my cousin's care?" Kal asked.

"Indeed, I am always ready to be left in your cousin's capable hands," Bruce replied, a faint hint of a smirk in his voice, and Kal heard a couple of the kitchen staff snicker appreciatively; apparently Bruce had been playing up his status as Kara's favorite toy. He swallowed bitter bile at the idea of people assuming he and Kara handed Bruce back and forth like a shared bauble, but choked down the emotion, letting it turn his expression supercilious and disdainful.

An hour later, Bruce was aloft in the El family car and Kal was nominally on his way to Themiscyra. The fields blurred below him, the scarlet iao starting to wane toward its autumn bronze shades. He veered from the proper route and headed for the outskirts of Metropolis, toward the rendezvous point. Soon he spotted the dark figure waiting under a tree on the edge of the fields, his face turned warily to the sky. The wariness abated somewhat as Kal landed in front of him. "Let's go--the sooner we get somewhere safe and you can get transcribing those schemata, the happier we'll all be." He stood, waiting, and his expression started to shade toward the impatient. "What are you waiting for?"

"I'm...going to have to carry you." He'd be flying as low as possible, sometimes keeping to the ground and running to avoid detection, but Kal abruptly realized he'd never quite figured out how exactly he was going to get Bruce there with him. He gestured rather helplessly. "Do you want to, uh, get on my back?"

Bruce made an inelegant snorting sound, close to a laugh, and Kal felt himself flush. "I haven't exactly had time to figure out the logistics," he said defensively. "Should I..." He reached out and hooked his hands gingerly under Bruce's armpits, keeping him at a decent distance, and Bruce made that exasperated sound again.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," he said, and stepped forward to put his arms around Kal's neck. His body was warm and seemed to fit against Kal's alarmingly well, pressing close in all the right places. His breath tickled Kal's ear. "Just pick me up and let's fly."

Kal lifted him, putting one arm under his knees and cradling him. He expected Bruce to stiffen and put some distance between them, but instead he stayed close, his head on Kal's shoulder. "Are you comfortable?" Kal asked, hoping he didn't sound too nervous as he lifted slightly into the air.

"It's fine." Bruce's voice was slightly muffled against his shoulder; a moment later he stifled a yawn. "Sorry. I've been so busy planning, I'm a little worn out."

Kal started to move forward carefully. "See if you can rest a bit. It'll take a couple of hours since I can't exactly go at top speed." He felt Bruce's head move against his robes in a nod as he picked up speed, skimming over the treetops as low as possible, sometimes passing under them, trying to stay out of sight of anyone who might be watching the skies. Bruce's body was warm in his arms, and he tried not to think about it too much.

He didn't do very well.

The sun was setting as they arrived at the door of the base, alighting just outside. The air smelled of frost and pine. As his feet touched the ground again Kal realized for the first time that Bruce's body was completely relaxed, the muscles heavy with sleep, his head lolling against Kal's shoulder. Kal peered down at his face, lit by the rich gold of the setting sun. Bruce's mouth was slightly open, his expression relaxed, but even in sleep there was a sharp line between his eyebrows, an incipient frown. Kal stood there for a moment and tried to imagine that face in full repose, in some world where Bruce had no worries, where he was the loved and pampered child of doting and wealthy parents, the world the Kryptonians had taken away from him.

He couldn't do it. He simply couldn't imagine Bruce's face not filled with restless energy, not thinking and scheming and planning. In any world, Bruce Wayne would never have been a restful man.

Kal resisted an impulse to press his lips to that precious crease between Bruce's brows. "We're there," he murmured instead.

He had expected Bruce would wake cat-sudden and alert, as he always did. Instead, he stretched slowly in Kal's arms, curling around Kal's torso lazily. "Mmmm," he said, and for a moment he smiled at Kal, his eyes half-closed, and Kal almost dropped him in the surge of startled reaction.

Then he was uncoiling from Kal's grip, catlike and independent again, swinging himself to the ground. "Sorry," he said, his voice anything but apologetic. "I was just...imagining for a moment that I could fulfill a promise I made to Alfred."

Kal stared after him for a moment as he disappeared into the darkness of the tunnels beneath Cheyenne Mountain. Then he hurried after.

Chapter 29: The Last Night in This World

Summary:

Final conferences of war, final conversations, and a final night before the battle.

Carter Hall's fist banged angrily on the table; some of the people around it jumped nervously. Kal-El was not one of them. "Impossible! The timetable cannot be moved up."

"The weather wands will be complete in a week, maybe ten days. We can move as soon as they're done. There's no need to wait a month." Kal-El felt his hands curl into fists against the wood of the conference table as he faced Hall, glowering on the other side. Hall didn't seem to enjoy having his plans questioned. Kal felt the other leaders of the resistance watching him, felt Bruce's quiet presence across the room. He took a deep breath. "The sooner we strike, the less likely it is information will leak and the Kryptonians figure out what's going on. We don't even need a deliberate turncoat; all it would take is one slip, one incautious overheard word. We should move as soon as possible."

Dinah was pacing the room restlessly; she stopped to cast Kal a challenging glance. "And I suppose this has nothing to do with your desire to save Selina and salve your guilty conscience?" Ollie caught her hand as she stalked by him and she glared at him but didn't shake off his touch.

Kal looked around the room, meeting dozens of pairs of human eyes: doubtful and hopeful, bitter and kind. "I would like to save Selina, yes. She sacrificed herself to help us. I would rather not abandon her. But moving quickly also has tactical advantages--"

Hall made a scornful sound. "May I remind you Selina was working for Luthor, not us?"

Bruce leaned forward slightly: a tiny motion, and yet every eye in the room turned to him. "Luthor is technically on the same side as us," he said smoothly. "And she did put his goals aside for the sake of the greater good."

"So you support this mad plan to risk everything by moving up the schedule?"

"I didn't say that." Bruce moved to the conference table, casting his eyes over the world map etched across it, the tiny markers scattered across the continents. "Our forces are spread thin. Delaying a couple of weeks would give us a chance to muster more support. There might be cells that haven't checked in, especially in Asia where communications are sparse." He touched the map in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. "I'm still hoping we can get support from Atlantis."

Ollie snorted. "That cold-blooded bastard won't lift a finger to help us, he's made that perfectly clear."

Bruce frowned. "But with a few more weeks...time to test the wands more carefully, to recruit more help...it would be much safer." He shifted position and touched Metropolis. "Metropolis is key. I have Diana's Amazon squad focused there, for maximum chaos. But I'd greatly prefer to deploy the Amazons as flying shock troops, moving up and down the Asian coast." One of his hands curled into a fist and he tapped it gently against his mouth, lost in thought.

Kal pointed to a handful of purple markers placed on the side of the board, off the map. "What about those?"

"Hnh. Those are Luthor's people. We have no agreement with Luthor--I can't count on them. Though I suspect--"

A screen on the wall sprang into crackling life and Ted Kord's face appeared on it, looking harried. "General Hall," he said. "Luthor is calling. Wants to speak to you."

Shocked silence echoed in the room. "An interesting coincidence," Hall said. "Put him on."

Ted faded out and Luthor's face filled the screen, his chin tilted arrogantly, green eyes glinting. He chuckled slightly, apparently at the stony expression on Hall's face. "Come now, Carter," he said, "Don't get paranoid. It doesn't take a network of spies and informants to tell me that when Wayne and your Kryptonian quisling show up there, the war conferences are set to begin."

"And how did you know we'd arrived here?" Bruce raised one eyebrow but looked otherwise totally unruffled.

"Oh, that." Luthor preened just a bit. "Well, I suppose a spy or two in the El household might have informed me when the two of you left rather abruptly. The rest is simply deduction. Brilliant deduction, but not spying."

"What do you want, Luthor?" Hall's voice was curt.

Luthor put a hand to his heart. "To be of service, somehow, in the great revolution. To add my small part to bring about the glorious day of emancipation." His smile sharpened, lost its oiliness. "I will be responsible for the attack on Metropolis. While you deploy the nanobots, my people will provide a distraction there, lure the Kryptonians out into the open sunlight."

"What kind of distraction?" said Bruce.

"Well now," Luthor drawled through a lazy grin. "I don't think I need to tell you. I'll let it be a surprise." The smile fell away as if it had never been there; for a moment Luthor seemed entirely predatory, his face avid and angry. "Metropolis is mine, one way or the other. Consider it a gift that I'm even bothering to alert you of the fact."

The transmission went dead.

In the thoughtful silence that followed, Bruce removed the yellow Amazon markers from Metropolis and moved them to Asia. Then he put Luthor's purple markers on the map. They made tiny clicking noises as he set them down. "Maybe the Kryptonians will do us all a favor and off him," muttered Ollie sotto voce.

"With Luthor covering Metropolis, we can move earlier," Kal stated into the stillness. There were murmurs of support around the room; surprised, he looked around to see that most people in the room were nodding. "We don't have to abandon Selina to her fate." He looked at Hall. "I know it's your decision, but must we found our new world on the blood of our comrades?"

Hall looked around the room, reading faces, and his eyes were flinty when they met Kal's again. "I'll put it to a vote," and Kal could hear the resignation in his voice.

The vote was close but in favor of accelerating the plan. Kal took a deep breath, seeing again Selina's face streaked with blood, and felt some weight lift from his shoulders.

But Carter Hall turned as he left the room and pointed at Kal. "I believe your motives are good, Kryptonian. But there is no battle without sacrifice, and victory is always won at the cost of comrades' blood. Remember that."

: : :

With the schemata done, Kal's major job in the preparation was complete. Since then he had mostly been a glorified errand-boy, carrying messages and material as fast as possible through the endless warren of tunnels beneath the mountains. At times he caught a glimpse of a vis-screen showing Selina's trial: a glimpse of her mocking green eyes, an echo of the prosecutor's implacable voice listing her crimes. He kept moving forward.

He was returning from delivering a heap of circuit boards to Michael Holt when Bruce stopped him in the hall. Kal blinked at him, slightly surprised; he had only caught glimpses of Bruce here and there since they arrived. "Come with me," Bruce said.

Kal signed the forms indicating his delivery was complete. "I've still got to--"

"Someone else can do that. How long has it been since you slept?"

"Uh..." Kal racked his mind. "I know I have since getting here at least once. Maybe twice."

Bruce looked disgusted. "Come with me."

"This is my room," Kal said blankly when Bruce ushered him in.

"I know that. Sit."

Kal sat on the cot. There were two large machines that looked like lamps installed in the tiny room. "What are those?"

"Hush."

"That's an interesting name for them--" Kal was cudgeling his mind for some kind of joke to finish the sentence when Bruce flipped a switch.

Warm, golden light filled the room, washed over Kal's skin. "Ah," he said involuntarily, closing his eyes as the radiance kissed his face.

"You've been in a cave for five days now. No sunlight," Bruce said.

"I was fine," Kal said, although the blissful sensation of soaking in light was giving lie to his words.

"You were looking like hell," Bruce said. "Oh, you could function okay, but you wouldn't be feeling great. So I requisitioned a couple of these for you."

Kal blinked at Bruce. "Thank you."

Bruce shook his head, unsmiling. "We're going to need you in the coming battle, and we're going to need you at full capacity. I'm just being pragmatic--doing maintenance on our secret weapon." He took Kal's chin in his hand and tilted it up into the light. His face was expressionless, but his fingers on Kal's jawline were gentle, almost caressing. "Any additional benefits at seeing you look less haggard and more healthy are...entirely extraneous."

Kal smiled up at him and Bruce's hand tightened slightly, his eyes narrowing for a moment. "Thank you," Kal said again.

Bruce released him and turned to the door. "Stay here for two hours minimum. If you can't get some sleep, at least get some light." He paused, his hand on the doorframe, face turned slightly. "As we no longer share a room, I see you rarely. Make sure you look more rested when I do." He started to swing the door shut.

"You voted against moving up the schedule," Kal said suddenly, a little surprised to hear himself say it.

Bruce's shoulders slumped slightly, and he moved back into the room, his jaw set. "I did," he said. "It risks the whole enterprise to rush it. Selina wouldn't want us to fail at the big picture in order to help her."

"I know," said Kal. "I understand why you voted that way." There was a faint flicker of surprise in Bruce's eyes. "I just...I just couldn't..."

"I know," Bruce said in turn. "You are who you are." He smiled, very faintly. "I was not...entirely unhappy to lose the vote, Kal. Despite what people might say, I do actually have a heart, you know."

Kal stared at him through the dazzle of sunlight he had brought, his gift to Kal, warm as an embrace. "I know you do," he said, his voice much lower and rougher than he had expected. "Oh, without a doubt."

Bruce blinked and took a step forward without seeming to realize he had. He stopped, one hand extended slightly. "Get some rest, Kal," he said very gently. His eyes rested on Kal's face a moment longer, and then he was gone.

Kal fell asleep still bathed in sunlight, warm as an embrace.

: : :

The corridors of Cheyenne Mountain were emptier than they had been--maybe not to the casual eye, but as Kal moved through them he was aware of how many people were missing, moving into position for the final stage of the operation. Ollie, Dinah, Michael, Tora, Bea, Ted, Kimiko, Vic--all of them were in the field now, on teams ready to strike. But as Kal entered the conference room his sense of loneliness and disquiet fell away at the two familiar figures there.

"Kara! Zhon!" He moved forward to embrace them both as the humans in the room continued to speak quietly. Bruce was adjusting one of several screens in the walls; he looked up to meet Kal's eyes and quirk him a fleeting smile, and Kal almost stumbled, winding up in a huge hug from his cousin. "I was beginning to be afraid you wouldn't be here."

"Last-minute distractions," Zhon said as he shook Kal's hand.

"I was busy stalling Selina's trial a bit more," Kara laughed. "It's taken them an extra three days to untangle all the demands and requirements from the House of El about our 'property'." She shook her head, the smile dimming a bit. "It wasn't much, but it was enough. After tomorrow, one way or the other it won't matter."

"One way or the other," Kal echoed, anticipation and anxiety tightening his chest.

"All right," Bruce said, "Let's begin the final briefing." The room fell immediately silent. "As you may already know, every active member is on one of three teams: distraction, deployment, and central command. The distraction teams are to create as much chaos as possible on our signal, to lure as many Kryptonians out into the open and keep them from realizing our true goal. Once the unrest is at its peak, the deployment teams will use the weather wands to disperse nanobots into the stratosphere. Once the nanobots are fully deployed, they'll all be activated simultaneously from central command here. It must be simultaneous, or the Kryptonians from unaffected areas will simply find and destroy the other wands." He turned and flicked a switch. "We're going to do a last check in with our teams in the field." The screens flickered to life, each team reporting in.

"We're planning to torch the California iao fields," Dinah said, her face grim. Behind her, Ollie flashed a peace sign. "That should get every Kryptonian on the West Coast out to stop us."

"Attacking the iao fields is the most certain way to lure as many Kryptonians as possible into the Western hemisphere where they'll get a full dose of red sunlight. Alan Scott is on his way to help you," Bruce said, clicking over to another monitor.

Tora and Ted were preparing an attack on a crystal-refinery in eastern Siberia, where the sun would be just starting to rise. "That should get most of the Kryptonians in Asia into the light." Tora kissed Ted on the cheek "for good luck" and Ted blushed while Guy made a growling sound.

Kimiko was preparing to strike directly against what used to be Tokyo, one of the few remaining cities and concentrations of Kryptonians. "Solid-light holograms should distract them effectively while Michael uses the wand from the northern island."

His next call was to Diana. Behind her Kal could see marble pillars and a green sward of grass. "I have a squad of twenty Amazons ready to strike at the Asian Rim," she reported briskly. "We shall provide a moving target, striking and running, drawing them out into the sunlight." She smiled fiercely. "Though some of us object rather strenuously to the 'running' part."

"You'll get your fight, Princess," Bruce said.

Diana bowed, a mischievous smile on her face. "As you wish, General Bat," she said.

Bruce snapped off the monitor as a ripple of laughter went around the room. "I told her not to call me that," he muttered, prompting more laughter.

He moved on to check in with the deployment teams, scattered evenly acorss the globe. After the final checks, Bruce turned off the screen, then stood with his back to the room for a moment. Kal saw him take a long breath. He turned and paced across the room, his steps measured. "The distractions will begin at 10AM, our time, spreading from Africa into the Western continent. The deployment will begin at 11:30, and the activation at noon--if all goes well. It is in the time between the beginning of deployment and the activation that we are most vulnerable. It is a window of only thirty minutes, but if the Kryptonians figure out what is happening, if they find some way to track us here...by destroying this facility before activation they will win the war. All will be lost."

He met Carter Hall's eyes briefly, then looked deliberately around the room. "This is why we need a force of people with flight capacity to defend Cheyenne Mountain. I'm asking the people I trust most. We're finally going to use our Green Lanterns: Hal Jordan, Guy Gardner, and John Stewart. I am also asking J'onn J'onnz--" He pronounced Zhon's name with a strange lilt that turned the Kryptonian syllables alien, "--Kara Zor-El, and Kal-El." He looked in turn at each of them; his eyes locked last with Kal's and stayed there as he continued. "It is an essential and dangerous job. If the Kryptonians trace us they will come in the greatest number they can mass, and they will strike with all their fury to stop us. You will be humanity's last defense, our last hope. Are you willing?"

"Hell yeah!" whooped Guy Gardner, throwing his fist in the air. "Lemme at 'em!" The room broke up in nervous laughter, but Bruce's eyes didn't leave Kal's.

"Thank you," Kal said quietly, knowing Bruce would see the words on his lips, would understand. Thank you for trusting me. Thank you for giving me this chance. Thank you for knowing I would want to protect you at the end, to stand between you and harm. "Thank you."

: : :

The facility was eerily quiet; a tense silence, not a restful one. Kal lay down on his cot and stared at the ceiling, trying to will himself to fall alseep, to catch a few hours of rest before the morning came. It was no use--his brain wouldn't stop scurrying in circles, playing out every possible way the next day might go. He saw Cheyenne Mountain razed in his mind's eye, Bruce's body buried forever beneath tons of rock, and turned restively from side to side, trying to banish the images from beneath his eyelids. "No, no, no," he muttered to himself, throwing a forearm over his eyes.

He almost leaped through the ceiling when a voice suddenly spoke next to him. "Trouble sleeping?" Kal blinked at Bruce Wayne, standing next to his bed, and realized he had actually jumped into the air slightly and was still hovering there at about eye-level. "Sorry," said Bruce, looking anything but.

"What--uh--"

Bruce lifted a package wrapped in brown paper cradled in his arms. "I have something for you."

Kal lowered himself to the bed; Bruce sat down next to him, his shoulder almost touching Kal's. "This is..."

"Open it."

Kal untied the rough string binding the package to reveal tissue paper wrapped around something soft. A small note in precise, looping handwriting sat on top: To my son, Clark, with love. Ma.

The tissue paper lifted to reveal cloth, soft and silky, red and blue fabric gleaming in the dim light of the room. "What..."

"If things get...complicated tomorrow, we need a way to tell our side from their side," Bruce explained. He pulled the paper aside more and scarlet silk spilled across both their hands. "The Lanterns have their uniforms, and J'onn is quite distinctive. But you and Kara...so I asked Martha to make you something."

"It's...beautiful," Kal said, touching the jewel-bright colors reverently. He lifted it up and only then caught sight of the golden insignia emblazoned across the chest. The outfit dropped as though it burned him. "I can't--I can't wear that," he stammered.

"It's your symbol," Bruce said.

"The symbol of slavery, the symbol of all the pain and suffering my House has visited upon your people, upon the world!"

Bruce took Kal's hands in his, put them back down onto the cloth, touching the stylized shape. "Symbols mean what we make them mean. It's time you make it stand for something more. Courage. Freedom. Hope."

"Hope," Kal echoed in a whisper, looking down at the symbol, at their hands locked together over it.

"Tomorrow the world ends, Kal. Understand that. If we succeed, this world ceases to exist, and together we enter a new world. If we fail--" For a moment his hands tightened on Kal's, "--If we fail, I would like you to be wearing something you received from me, at the end." He cleared his throat and looked away from Kal with the air of someone changing the subject. "So. I have found that I sleep better with you in the room." He cast a quick glance at Kal, then looked away again. "I need a good night's sleep tonight. Thus I shall be staying here." Another long pause. "If that's...all right with you?"

Kal blinked and suddenly realized Bruce was waiting for a response. "Oh. Of course. That would be...nice." He resisted burying his head in his hands and groaning only with a great effort. Nice. "Yes."

He expected Bruce would leave to go get an extra cot or a bedroll, and almost jumped again when Bruce shoved his shoulder. "So move over." Kal stared, and Bruce huffed an annoyed breath. "Do you really think I'm spending the night on the concrete floor, Kal?"

"No! Uh...no." Apparently unable to manage more than monosyllables, Kal laid down on the cot, still holding on to the bright costume like it was a child's favorite stuffed animal. He turned his back to Bruce to grant the other man his space, and found himself further shocked when Bruce curled up behind him, his chest pressed to Kal's back, his legs tucked in next to Kal's legs. His breath brushed the back of Kal's neck and Kal felt his breath shuddering in his throat. "Bruce--"

"Our last night in this world," Bruce murmured. "I'll spend it as I please. Unless...you want me to leave?" Bruce's voice was suddenly uncertain, and Kal shook his head vigorously, not trusting himself to speak. Bruce sighed, sending shivers down Kal's spine, and put an arm around Kal, pulling him closer. He tugged the red cape over both of them. "Then get some sleep."

Kal had assumed he wouldn't be able to sleep a wink with Bruce's body against his, warm and solid, but to his surprise his nervous thoughts stopped spilling over each other and he felt his muscles relaxing. He wanted to savor the moment, the sensation, but the world shifted sideways and he fell into dreamless sleep, sheltered under crimson cloth.

: : :

He stirred, half-awake, and felt a hand on his forehead, stroking his hair. There was a touch on his temple, feather-light and fleeting...but by the time Kal turned over and opened his eyes the room was empty.

He put on the red-and-blue costume still half-asleep and made his way through the corridors, ignoring any double-takes. Courage. Freedom. Hope. His eyes scanned the hurrying figures in the corridors, his eyes yearning for one in particular despite himself. Kara came hurrying up to him, wearing a costume that matched his. "Kal, you look...magnificent," she said, making him laugh. "We need to get outside with the Lanterns when the distracting attacks begin. Let's go."

They hurried through the halls, joined soon by J'onn, the three of them striding through the rocky corridors toward the surface. Kal didn't see Bruce anywhere. "You ready?" Hal Jordan's voice cut into his thoughts, and he looked up to see Jordan, Stewart, and Gardner waiting in front of them in full Green Lantern costume, their rings glowing eagerly.

"We're ready," Kara said for all three of them, and together they went out onto the slopes of the mountains to wait.

Cold, thin wind whipped at Kara, Kal, and J'onn's capes; the air smelled of frost. Guy Gardner brandished his ring at the sky like an eager hound. "Come on, ya alien freaks, just give me a chance to punch some of ya in the snoot." He glanced at his companions. "No offense to any of the good guy aliens," he said, his voice unapologetic. "So J'onny boy, you said something a while ago about some kind of psychic link thing?"

"If I have your permission, I shall connect our minds with a light mental link. That way we can coordinate any possible defense more easily."

Kara was looking at the sky, her face drawn. "Perhaps they won't trace us. Maybe we won't be needed."

"That'd be a shame," muttered Guy. "Go on, link us up."

The others nodded, and Kal braced himself for the invasion of his mind. But when it came, it was merely the most delicate of touches, a polite brush along the surface. I shall keep us all connected. J'onn's mental voice was dry and gentle as a spill of sand.

Kal could feel each of their minds as a light pressure nearby, unobtrusive but present: Guy's molten, barely-contained violence like a curl of lava, John Stewart's clean, crisply-structured lattices of thought, Hal Jordan's thoughts like a forceful wind, pushing. He touched Kara's mind and caught a glimpse of her thoughts, a scent like cinnamon and sandalwood, scarlet dunes under twinned moonlight--he pulled away feeling he had somehow broached her privacy. She smiled at him and touched his hand as if sensing his apology. Before he could say anything, a new voice touched the link.

This is Wayne. J'onn will keep me in touch with you in case you are called to action. Kal's heart and thoughts leapt toward the mental touch, and he felt a sudden rustling tremor in his mind, like dark wings folding around him. May hope fly with you today. Bruce's "voice" slipped away from the link with a last flickering caress across Kal's mind.

"The distractions are beginning," J'onn said, his voice calm. "In Africa, in Europe, as dusk falls there." Kara's hands clenched tightly in her cape, holding it around her body as if for warmth. They waited, the whistle of wind across rock the only sound. Even Guy was quiet, his eyes scanning the horizon. An interminable time later, J'onn stated, "The distractions have spread to the North American continent. Metropolis is under seige by Luthor's forces. The Western iao-fields are ablaze."

"They won't need us," Kara whispered as if to herself as the sun inched upward toward noon, toward the moment of activation. "They won't need us."

"Deployment of nanobots has begun. An estimated ninety-five percent of the Kryptonian population is quelling the distractions," J'onn said tonelessly. "There are twenty minutes remaining until the deployment is compl--" he broke off, tilting his head to the side. "They have traced us," he said. "They are coming."

"How many?" said Jordan.

"Nearly all of them," J'onn said, his voice flat. "It is time." He rose into the air, and the others rose with him, into the golden sunlight above Cheyenne Mountain.

From the East and West Kal could see them coming: thousands of Kryptonians, a vast wave of them, coming to destroy the mountain and everyone in it. "Don't let them get to the base," Stewart snapped. "Nothing else matters."

"They won't get past," Kal heard himself say, felt his certainty blazing through the link. The Lanterns turned briefly to stare at him as if he had burst into flames. "They will never defeat us."

Three humans and three aliens, together they waited under the yellow sun, standing between humanity and those who would destroy its hope.

Chapter 30: High Noon

Summary:

The battle for the fate of the Earth, and its aftermath.

"Oh boy," Guy Gardner's thoughts echoed through the link, "This is gonna be fun." There was a distinct impression of knuckle-cracking.

"I estimate they will be upon us in less than a minute," J'onn said. "There are still eighteen minutes until the nanobots can be deployed."

"The ones coming from the West Coast will get here first," Hal noted, and the six of them wheeled to face west. The sun was almost directly above them: high noon in just a handful of minutes.

"The first wave from the west will be younger and likely not battle-trained," Bruce's voice came through the link. "The older, experienced Kryptonians will be coming from the troops in Metropolis. You should be able to scatter these fairly easily. There'll be more coming from the east soon, so strike these hard and fast and demoralize them before the big guns arrive."

"...Teach your grandma to suck eggs..." Guy's mental murmur elicited laughter from Bruce that felt like a handful of gravel thrown into water. "Crap," Guy said more strongly as the first Kryptonians came at them, "There's only like three hundred! I'll barely break a sweat."

Indeed, the first Kryptonians to arrive were hardly a challenge. They arrived raggedly rather then en masse, scanning the ground intently, unaware that there would be flying defenses. A shower of green beams from the Lanterns snapped them to attention, but far too late--Kal could see their looks of shock, anger, and horror as they were bombarded with brilliant energy.

Kal heard Kara murmur a brief prayer to Rao, then she went flying into the fray. Kal followed her scarlet cape into battle.

As Bruce had predicted, the Kryptonians were young and undisciplined. The one Kal closed with was almost a boy, his eyes wide. He screamed once as Kal's fist connected with his chin, sending him head over heels in the air. Then he bolted away from the battle. Kal felt almost guilty, watching him retreat--until a searing bolt of heat vision burned past his head and forced him to turn his attention there. A sharp exchange of blows sent his new opponent spiralling downward, but then Kal saw a Kryptonian lunging at J'onn. He surged forward to help--but as the Kryptonian reached him, J'onn's body shimmered and went insubstantial. His foe yelped in alarm as she went right through him, only to have J'onn resolidify behind her and send her careening out of the sky. Kal would have stared, but someone grabbed him from behind and they went spinning through the air, grappling desperately until Kal shook him off and struck him down.

It seemed to take forever, but as the last of the Kryptonians turned tail or went spinning earthward, J'onn's calm mental voice informed them the skirmish had taken five minutes. "The second wave from the east will be here in less than a minute," he added.

The six of them re-assembled in the air. Guy Gardner's lip was bleeding but it was stretched in a fierce smile; beyond that none of them were injured. They turned eastward, where the sky boiled with approaching Kryptonians, almost twice as many as in the first assault. "They'll have the Crimson Guard with them," warned Kal. "They're all older Kryptonians, combat-trained, the best fighters of Krypton."

"My father is at their head," Kara noted, her mental voice strained.

"Can you talk to him?" asked Hal. "Stall. We don't need to defeat them. We only need to keep them from locating and destroying the command center another ten minutes."

"I can try," she said, but there was no hope in her voice.

At the forefront of the wave of Kryptonians Kal could make out his uncle, Zor-El. "Father!" cried Kara across the space between them. "We must talk. We don't want to--"

< Traitors! > Zor's voice howled across the narrowing gap. < Faithless, wretched--you shall burn forever in Cythonna's icy grasp after we tear you limb from limb! >

"My ring didn't get all that," said Jordan evenly, "But I get the impression talking isn't high on his list of things to do."

< Ungrateful vipers! > Zor's face was contorted with rage. < I should have left both of you to die with my worthless brother! > At the last words, his heat vision lanced out, closing the gap. Kara cried out in shock and pain and clapped a hand to her shoulder, and Kal and J'onn surged forward as one to crash into the oncoming rush of Kryptonians.

Everything dissolved into chaos, a maelstrom of red and green light, heat vision versus green energy. Vast emerald walls sprang up around the mountain, a massive edifice, and through the link Kal could feel Stewart's satisfaction. Nearby, Guy was unleashing furious bolts of crackling power, his fury surprisingly focused and devastating. Zor-El was lost in the tumult, but Kal caught a brief glimpse of a vast, scaled dragon like an alien nightmare twining through the battle, teeth clashing, and felt J'onn's cold and implacable anger within the form.

Cousin? Kal reached for Kara and found her in pain but fighting, her blows driving back a score of Kryptonians. The Lanterns were channeling the fight with great gleaming barricades, keeping it from reaching the mountain, pushing it back. A form broke through their line and Kal darted forward to wrestle it backwards, feeling heat vision score his chest. For a brief moment his eyes locked with Vek-Ozh's, and Kal saw mad hatred flare in them, but he threw his classmate backward, sent him tumbling into a wall of green energy, stunned and disoriented.

The battle seemed to go on interminably, the yellow sun beating down upon them. Kal could feel burns and welts along his back and chest, aching. Seven minutes left, J'onn's voice intoned in his mind. Hold the line. Hold--

And without warning the mental link was gone, vanished like a burst bubble, leaving Kal's mind strangely empty. He reeled, reaching--and heard a scream of agony pierce through the air: not J'onn.

Kara.

His cousin rose like a star into the midst of the battle, an avenging spirit, and all fell before her. Kal caught a glimpse of her eyes: they were bereft of sanity, bereft of hope. Her cape was in tatters, her hair a wild corona around her head. The Lanterns were reduced to merely corralling the other Kryptonians as she scythed through them.

< You! > Kal heard the clarion call and saw Zor-El barrelling toward him. < This is all your fault! You have corrupted my daughter, betrayed your race! I shall rip you apart as I ripped apart her demon lover! >

The two collided with a crack of compressed air, Kal standing his ground against his uncle. "Me? No, this is your fault, uncle!" he cried in English over the sound of Kara's desolate keening. "Your fault for your overweening pride and cruelty! Yours!" With a strength he hardly knew he had, he drove his uncle toward the earth. "You abandoned my parents to die because they opposed your mad dreams of power! You warped our people into tyrants and slavers!" With a desperate, furious blow he slammed Zor into the rocky ground, sending waves of shattered earth in every direction. He landed beside his uncle and slammed his head against the ground again, nearly sobbing with rage. "It ends here!"

Zor glared at him, his face streaked with blood and grime. < You seek to shame me by forcing me to kiss your filthy dirt. But it is you who shall be humiliated! > With a surging roundhouse, he threw Kal into the air; Kal felt his arms and legs grabbed and pinioned by members of the Crimson Guard, yanked backwards until he gritted his teeth in pain. As Zor-El lifted himself into the air and fastidiously bushed dirt from his clothes, a soldier slammed a fist heavily into Kal's gut, knocking the wind from him. < Make him hurt before he dies, > Zor said casually. < As for me, I have larger game to hunt. > As Kal endured a volley of kicks and blows--one connected with his temple and he felt blood trickling down his forehead, into his eyes--he turned his attention to the mountains below them.

Kal blinked blood like tears out of his eyes, reaching with his mind for Kara, the Lanterns, anyone, but the link was gone and he was alone. How long until high noon? He couldn't tell anymore, it felt like years had gone by while he hung in pain, why was the sky still blue and the light still yellow? His uncle's scanning gaze passed over the mountains, and then his eyes widened.

< I see you now, you burrowing worms, > he crowed. His eyes narrowed and Kal saw them kindle into scarlet light.

With a wild cry, he threw off his tormentors, sending them flying, and launched himself in front of his uncle. Searing pain in his shoulder, agony that he flew through to collide with Zor, sending them spinning through the air. "No more!" he cried. "No more!"

Zor-El's hands managed to close around Kal's throat; Kal could feel the knuckles grinding into his larynx, cutting off his speech. He struggled for breath and found none. No air. No breath. His vision went scarlet at the edges, the world growing dim, blood-soaked and hazy.

And then suddenly red light flooded the whole sky.

Kal could see the horror in his uncle's eyes, the realization. < No, > he whispered.

And then they both started to fall.

: : :

Wind snatched the air from Kal's lungs as he fell, the ground rushing to meet him, vast and rocky. At least I'll die on the earth, he thought briefly, inanely. Zor-El's hands were still locked around his throat, cutting off the air as they both tumbled downward.

They were almost at impact when green tendrils of light reached down, curled around his arms and legs. They were thready, overextended, but Kal stopped falling with an abrupt jolt. He heard a dull snapping noise and felt pain lancing up his left arm; his uncle's hands were ripped from his throat, nails scoring his flesh as Zor-El continued his downward plunge. Kal-El reached for him and caught only a fringe of cloth that tore away in his hand. Zor-El's eyes glaring mad defiance were the last thing he saw before he closed his eyes.

He felt the green light give way as if exhausted of power, the emerald threads dissipating, and Kal started to fall once more.

He landed in a patch of sagebrush and briars. Despite the cushioning brush the wind was driven from his lungs. He lay under the dull purple sky, feeling a thousand fresh scratches burning his skin, his arm screaming in agony, and couldn't seem to move.

"In the name of the Green Lantern Corps, I command you to stand down!" An unfamiliar woman's voice, strangely-accented, resonated eerily from the sky, amplified in some way. "Guy Gardner, Hal Jordon, John Stewart, you have violated Regulation Three Six Five Point Two regarding--"

"Katma!" John Stewart's voice also carried easily to Kal's ears. He pried open his eyes to see the three human Green Lanterns hanging in the air high above, captured in energy bubbles created by a dark-skinned alien woman in a Lantern Costume. Behind her, the sky was filled with Corps members of every size and shape. "Katma," repeated Stewart, "We surrender ourselves willingly to the Corps for judgment. But we request the Corps take action to stop the genocide unfolding on our planet--"

"The genocide your people are perpetrating?" the woman said scornfully. But then she seemed to relent. "Even now the Corps is interceding to save the Kryptonians you have robbed of their powers. They shall be taken from this planet and resettled...somewhere more appropriate. Somewhere uninhabited, with a red sun." She considered the three humans for a long moment. "The Guardians have been...concerned about the Kryptonians for some time now. But you three must still face judgment on Oa."

Stewart, Jordan, and Gardner bowed their heads--Gardner the last and most slowly. "We submit to the will of the Guardians," said Stewart.

"It was totally worth it to finally kick some ass," Guy muttered, his amplified voice echoing against the mountainsides.

"Come, then," said the woman, and soared away, the three green spheres trailing after.

Kal closed his eyes again as they disappeared. With a horrible shock he realized he could hear hardly anything; had he been deafened in the battle? Then he realized it was just the muffling of his senses caused by the red sun. He could hear weeping and cries of pain faintly in the distance, curses in Kryptonian. He managed to sit up before the pain in his arm caused the world to tilt sideways and disappear for a while.

: : :

"He's with us, I tell you. You can't take him." There was a shadow falling across Kal; it took him a moment to recognize Bruce's voice. What was Bruce doing out here, away from the safety of the base? He tried to ask, but his mouth wasn't moving.

"What if he wants to go with his own people, huh?" The other voice was a deep, rumbling bass. "Maybe he wants to stay with them when they go."

There was a small silence. "He might," Bruce said. "I've...never had the chance to ask him. He might want to leave." There was an odd, aching sound underneath Bruce's voice, a hoarseness Kal had never heard before. "But for now, let me get him back to safety. Please." The unseen Green Lantern made an uncertain growling noise. "The two of us can get back without assistance. Help the others. And if you find a woman wearing this same costume, please...help her."

"Stubborn poozer, ain't you?" said the Lantern. "Good luck to you both, then. I'll come back and get him later if he wants to leave the planet."

There was a cold breeze playing over Kal; the red light provided no warmth. He felt himself shivering. "Kal," whispered Bruce as if to himself. "Don't leave me now."

He pried his eyes open and Bruce's face swam into view. "Never," Kal managed, his voice thready and weak. Bruce's eyes widened. "I'll never leave you. If you'll have me. If you'll let me stay on this world."

The red light and pain were doing odd things to Kal's vision; Bruce's eyes seemed strange somehow, glimmering with light and something else. "I wasn't sure," he said, his voice low and rough. "I wasn't sure if you'd want to go to your peoples' new home."

Sensation was coming back into Kal's hands. He could feel Bruce's fingers gripping his and clasped them as tightly as he could in weakened fingers. "You are my people. This is my home."

Bruce scrubbed his sleeve across his eyes briefly, looking away, then met Kal's gaze again. "Can you stand?"

"I can try."

It took them a while, but eventually Kal was more or less standing, Bruce supporting him with an arm slung under Kal's good arm. The other hung awkwardly and Kal bit his lip and hissed a breath when it was jostled. White vapor hung on the cold air. "We're pretty close to the entrance of the base," Bruce said. "We'll take it slow."

"Sorry," Kal muttered, wavering on his feet and trying to get his balance. "Sorry to be a burden."

Bruce's laugh was so quiet it hardly shook the shoulder supporting Kal. "It's not a problem. Okay. Ready? Nice and slow."

Kal took his first tiny step, feeling gravity drag at his feet for the first time, the way the ground pulled him downward. Another step. Another. His feet stirred the frosted dust. He leaned heavily on Bruce's arm.

Together, they moved forward.

: : :

Later, Kal would hear about how Bruce Wayne had seen him plummet from the bloody sky and had bolted for the exit, shouldering aside all who tried to stop him in his haste. "You don't need me now," he had shouted over his shoulder at an apoplectic Carter Hall, "And he does."

Later, as he lay in the infirmary, he would see Alan Scott, his face streaked with blood, his arm around a stone-faced Dinah. "He's just missing," Dinah said, her voice flat. "Ollie's a stubborn one, nothing can keep him away for long. He'll turn up like a bad penny, you just wait and see." Alan nodded and his arm tightened on her shoulder briefly.

Later, he would sit by his cousin's side and whisper her name, hearing the sounds of celebration starting to ring through the grim mountain halls. Kara would turn her face to the wall, her eyes distant and dull as if listening for vanished music, heedless of the sounds of joy.

Later, he would see the footage of Lex Luthor's glorious raid on the Metropolis prison. Clad in a massive battle-suit, flanked by two tall women with pistols that shot green energy--Kal would blink to recognize Hope and Mercy, their long hair lifting in the heat-shimmer of burning buildings--Luthor ripped open the prison walls to free Selina. As the sky went scarlet and chaos reigned, he took her hands in the public square and went to one armored knee to ask her to rule at his side as the Lord and Lady of Metropolis. The massed human mob cheered in a frenzy of joy before turning on the dazed, fallen Kryptonians--just as the sky filled with Green Lanterns.

Later, he would hear Diana laugh as she described the end of the battle. "And then these strange ships came up out of the water and dumped a bunch of half-drowned Kryptonians on the beach, and he came striding up out of the sea and glared at me and said, 'Don't dump your trash in my kingdom.' The arrogant, high-handed gall of the man..." She laughed again and shook her head. "Kal, I think I'm in love."

Later.

For now, it was just the two of them, moving step by careful step together. By the time they reached the entrance, Kal was gasping for breath in the thin air, every scratch and bruise on his body burning. His knees buckled and he reeled against Bruce. Bruce held him up, and Kal found himself almost nose to nose with the other man, their breath mingling between them in plumes of mist. Kal found himself leaning forward as if the earth's gravity was pulling him--but Bruce turned his head aside to look out across the landscape, dark red in the setting sun.

"Look," he whispered. "Look, Kal." Kal turned to look across the rocky terrain, the mountains rising into the dusky sky. Beside him, Bruce continued, his voice yearning with a dawning wonder: "Welcome to the new world, Kal. Our world."

Kal turned back to look at Bruce again and this time Bruce's mouth was there waiting for him, as simple and as sweet as that. Bruce's lips were cold but his breath was hot, and for a moment all of Kal's injuries vanished in a flood of warmth and delight. "Welcome home," Bruce whispered into his mouth, into his heart, and Kal tasted the words like honey, echoed them back.

Welcome home.

Chapter 31: Clark

Summary:

Clark searches for his place in the new world.

"The new world seems to have some things in common with the old world," Kal grumbled as he watched the monitor in the infirmary. On the screen, Lex Luthor was directing rebuilding efforts in Metropolis, speaking earnestly into the camera.

"...Under my leadership, Metropolis will become a shining city on a hill, a haven of safety and prosperity for all willing to abide by my rules. The best and most promising of humankind are welcome to join us in shaping a new future free of the alien yoke..."

"It sounds rather nice," Tora Olafsdotter said almost wistfully from her infirmary bed, her silvery hair fanned out across her pillow.

"Sure it, sounds nice," snorted Ted Kord, starting to wave one cast-bound arm and giving up with a wince. "But what they don't show you is that he's kicking out any 'undesirables' who are too old or broken to be in his utopia. They don't show you the cameras on every street corner, monitoring people for disloyalty. Peace and order--but with a price."

Kal closed his eyes, remembering the people he had met in Metropolis, their bravery. John Henry Irons and his air of command. Lois Lane's quiet fire. "They deserve better than that," he heard himself murmur. "They deserve to be truly free."

"It never really ends," said Bruce's voice from his shoulder, causing him to jump a bit. His powers were starting to come back slowly with judicious time spent under the sun lamps, but they weren't at full. "The fight for freedom." Kal met his gaze and Bruce smiled at him wryly, his eyes affectionate.

"Have you heard from Guy?" Tora said from her bed, her voice small and wistful.

"I'm afraid not. But he'll be okay," Bruce said.

"I know." Tora turned her head away from them, gazing at the wall. "He knew it was going to happen. He told me before we left, that he'd be leaving. He knew they'd come to get him."

"Yes," Bruce agreed. "And they timed it just right so the Corps would show up just in time to keep the bloodshed to a minimum." He chuckled, so low Kal could barely hear it. "It was brilliant strategy. Jordan or Stewart must have cooked that one up, it certainly wasn't Gardner."

Tora's eyes flashed and she looked like she was about to defend Guy, but then she laughed. "Well," she said ruefully, "That's probably true."

"It required some restraint," Ted Kord noted from across the room, "Which is a good indication Guy went along only under serious duress."

Tora's light giggle faded off into a sigh. "I hope he'll come home soon."

"Trust me," Bruce said, "If I know Guy the Guardians are probably getting the tongue-lashing of their immortal lifetimes. They'll let him go just to be free of him." His eyes turned from Tora to Kal, and his smile warmed in a way Kal couldn't quite describe, a way that left Kal feeling a bit dizzy. "Kara wants to speak to you," he said. "She asked me to come get you. Can you walk?" He held out his hand and Kal took it, cautiously getting out of bed. Bruce slung an arm around him as they entered the corridors.

"I'm almost healed. I can walk on my own," Kal said.

"That's good to hear," said Bruce.

He didn't remove his arm.

Kara looked up as they entered her room. She was sealing up a small bag; the room was bare. "Cousin," she said, coming to Kal and embracing him. Her eyes were still sad, but there was a light in them Kal hadn't seen before, and a kind of peace. "I'll be leaving soon. I wanted to say goodbye."

"Leaving? But--"

"--The Green Lanterns have asked me to serve as a liaison between New Krypton and Oa. I've accepted. Not all of the Kryptonians supported this regime," she went on at Kal's horrified look. "Some of them are eager to rebuild someplace that's truly our own. The conditions are hard and cruel on our new planet, but it's a chance for a kind of redemption for those who are willing to learn once more how to be free of our own crippling system."

"But so many will hate you," Kal protested.

"My mother needs me," Kara said. "Her spirit was broken at my father's death. I can't leave her alone, even if she never forgives me."

"And what about your spirit? You'll be so alone," Kal said, but she shook her head with a small smile.

"My spirit wandered in darkness for a time," she said. "But I had forgotten something I never should have forgotten."

"Something you..." Kal let the sentence trail off into a question.

His cousin touched her heart lightly. "I told you once that even galaxies could not separate J'onn from me. In the darkness, I learned how true that was." She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "Don't worry, Kal. I will not be alone." She turned to Bruce, held out her hands; he took them in his and lifted them briefly to his lips. "Take care of my cousin, General Bat," she smiled.

"As well as I can," he said simply.

And then she was gone.

Bruce was looking at him. "I have to go too," he said, almost reluctantly. "I have to get back to Gotham. Find Alfred. Start rebuilding."

"Of course."

Bruce slipped something out of his pocket, held it out to Kal. "Come with me." Not a command. An invitation. Almost a plea.

Kal opened the glasses, ran his finger along the temple. "I can't. Not yet," he added as Bruce started to say something. "I'll come to you when the time is right. You know where you belong, Bruce. You know what you're supposed to be doing. Kal-El's job in this world is done. Clark Kent...he still needs to find his place."

Bruce nodded slowly, as if it pained him to agree. He leaned forward and brushed his lips gently across Kal's. "I'll be waiting for you."

: : :

There were lacy patterns of frost on the window, pale golden sunlight streaming into his attic bedroom and kissing his knuckles as Clark Kent sat in front of the computer. Soon he would head off to help with the processing of the refugees that trickled into Smallville daily--a steady stream of people moving east or west in search of family they had lost, or simply a new beginning. Soon he would help Jonathan Kent with feeding the livestock, or Martha Kent with the washing, or Barbara Gordon with her data entry. Soon.

But first there was his morning ritual.

He put his hands to the keyboard.

Dispatches from Smallville, #17: Nov. 20, Year 1 A.L. When the skies turned red, he didn't waste any time with looting or burning. Instead, he started walking west. He walked until the ancient leather on his shoes gave way, and then he wrapped his feet in strips of cloth against the cold. He walked through the frozen days, across stony fields and icy rivers. He walked without hope, searching through his despair, asking people if they had seen a young woman with red hair. He walked until he came to Smallville.

When James Gordon came into Smallville, his feet bloody, his back still marked with the stripes his owner had given him after his daughter's escape, Barbara Gordon ran to meet him and they lay down on the frosted ground together and wept.

This is their story.

Clark heard the teakettle starting to whistle downstairs and stopped typing, hitting "save" reluctantly. Maybe tonight he could finish it and send it out along the wires, like the other stories before it, stories that needed to be told. Every day there was a new one, overheard while working, or over dinner, a new tale that demanded to be written down, recorded, shared. Clark had written the first one in a feverish pitch, the words seeming to flow from his fingertips as he described the way Jonathan Kent held the precious stores of grain and seed so tenderly, how he spoke of his dream of green and golden fields replacing the scarlet seas of iao and the suffering they stood for. Martha had read the story with a hand pressed to her mouth, blinking hard, and hugged him fiercely after. Then she had sent it to a friend on their fragile new network, and a friend had passed it on to a few others, and they had asked for more...

And ten days later Clark was still writing, one or two stories a day out of the innumerable tragedies and triumphs that walked into Smallville, passing through. He found that he loved writing, loved capturing the faces and hands and voices of people in words, cataloguing the range of the human spirit.

The stories were inexhaustible, and Clark rejoiced in that.

People had started to call him "that writer," some jibing, some with affection. The few people in Smallville who knew Clark wasn't human--the Kents, Pete Ross, Barbara Gordon--treated him exactly as they always had. To most he was just "Clark Kent," back from Metropolis where he'd been apprenticed for more than a decade, who now spent his days pounding on a keyboard, writing stories. He gathered histories and was humbled anew each day by them, humbled and elated by the chance to bring them to life in words, discovering a gift that had nothing to do with the yellow sun or his tainted heritage.

And if at night he wished he could capture a certain pair of dark blue eyes in words, if he wished he could spill out a million words of praise for beauty and bravery and passionate fierce freedom contained in one cherished form--well, he would have time for that later, he hoped.

As he descended the stairs, he heard some kind of commotion outdoors. Martha caught his arm as he reached the bottom. "It's Luthor," she whispered. "He's here. With soldiers."

Clark pushed his glasses up on his nose, scrunched his shoulders under the heavy sweater, and stepped out onto the porch.

In the middle of the street, Lex Luthor was talking with Jonathan Kent. Luthor had an affable smile on his face, but his entourage included a variety of formally-dressed soldiers with guns casually and openly holstered at their hips. Besides the soldiers, there were some civilians--with a start Clark recognized Selina, standing near Luthor. Dressed in jeans and a black turtleneck, she seemed out of place among the regalia surrounding the Lord of Metropolis.

"...And of course, my people need food to survive. Wheat, corn." Luthor's stance was relaxed and non-threatening; a conversation between friends. Behind him, his emerald-clad soldiers rested their hands on the butts of their guns. "I wouldn't want it said that you let people starve." He gestured and one of his soldiers handed Jonathan a piece of paper. "We'll need what's on the list."

A crowd was gathering. Jonathan Kent smiled back at Luthor and folded up the piece of paper, not looking at it. "We'd be happy to help the people of Metropolis, of course; there's no need for a show of force. We've set aside your share of the stores, the same share we're giving to Gotham, Star City, Central City, every place that needs it."

"Oh." Luthor seemed to find Jonathan's agreement both annoying and anticlimactic. "Well, then." He gestured toward a few of the civilians. "Go check the quality of the seed. We wouldn't want--"

As he turned back, his eyes fell on Clark Kent, standing on the porch, and he stopped speaking, his face contorted with rage. "You!" he snarled. "I knew you wouldn't leave, you arrogant megalomaniac!" The soldiers behind him unholstered their guns with a barrage of safeties being released as he strode forward to confront Clark. "You monster, you--"

He almost collided with Martha Kent as she stepped in between them. "How dare you speak that way to my son?" she snapped.

Luthor stopped, glaring at her. "Your son? Are you mad? This is--"

"--My best friend from way back," announced Pete Ross, stepping forward from the crowd. "I grew up with Clark. We played baseball together as kids. You know any Kryptonians who play baseball? If he's an alien, I'm a--a unicorn."

"Clark helped me when I ran away," Barbara Gordon said quietly from beside him as a ripple of laughter went through the gathered people at Pete's words. "He saved my life at the risk of his own. I don't know anyone more human."

"I'd advise you to be careful what you say about my son in Smallville," Jonathan Kent said as others in the crowd murmured and nodded.

Luthor glared, baffled, at Clark's supporters. Then something like triumph lit his green eyes, and he whirled and grabbed Selina's arm. "I tell you, the man is a Kryptonian slaver. He owned this woman--Selina, tell them. Tell them who he is."

Selina disengaged her arm from Luthor's grip and stepped forward to stand in front of Clark. For a long, long moment, she studied his face. She reached out and took his chin in her hand, turning his head back and forth to examine his face from every angle. Then with a sudden motion she bared her teeth and snapped at the air in front of his nose. Clark recoiled involuntarily, and she burst into a peal of mocking laughter, turning back to Luthor.

"Lex, dear," she said, shaking her head and smiling, "I swear you see Kryptonians everywhere now. You've imagined you've seen Kal-El three times this week, but this is the most ridiculous." She tossed a glance back over her shoulder at Clark. "That meek little man, a Kryptonian?" She took Luthor's arm with a smirk. "I can assure you, Lex, that man never owned me for a moment."

Luthor shook his head, unconvinced, but the belligerence had gone out of his stance. "Very well, Kent," he said to Jonathan, "You may take me to the seed stores so my scientists can examine them. But I'll be keeping an eye on you," he shot at Clark as he walked away.

Selina was still holding his arm. She didn't look back at Clark once, but there was just a hint of a satisfied swagger in her walk.

"You're Kent?" Clark turned to see one of Luthor's civilian entourage, a burly, graying man, staring at him. "Have to say, I thought you'd be more impressive."

"I...beg your pardon?" The crowd was drifting away; Pete Ross threw him a quick thumbs-up as he loped off. "Have we met?"

"Not in the flesh. Read your dispatches. Good stuff. Came here to meet you." The man held out a hand and Clark took it, bemused. "Perry White. Editor of the Daily Planet." He laughed, a rueful chuckle. "Well, editor, beat reporter, sports reporter, typesetter and gopher, at the moment. We're a bit short-staffed. I could use a good reporter. I think you're the man for the job."

Clark frowned. "That propaganda rag of Luthor's? You don't know me very well if you think I'd ever work for that."

Perry White chuckled and slapped Clark's shoulder with his free hand; Clark winced. "You don't mince words, do you, Kent? I like that, I like that. Yes, Luthor owns the Planet, just like he owns everything in Metropolis. But he doesn't own the minds of the people who work at it, if you follow me. Have to start somewhere, Kent. Have to start somewhere. Make a difference where you can." He met Clark's eyes and nodded. "I've read your stories. I think you can make a difference."

"I want to," Clark said.

"Come to Metropolis," said White. "There'll be work there waiting for you."

With a last pound on Clark's shoulder, he strode off after Luthor.

"Work there waiting for me," Clark repeated, his voice low. "Yes. I think there might be."

Chapter 32: Wildflowers

Summary:

Four months in Metropolis and Gotham, as winter turns slowly to spring.

The city lay in the icy moonlight, quiet for a brief moment. Her protector crouched on the ruined walls that had been the El plantation and looked out across it.

Gotham was a tent city now, the thin fabric of the shelters shivering in the cold wind. Every day new refugees arrived, people turned away from the bright walls of Metropolis, people drawn to the shadows of Gotham. Starving, desperate people, destitute but for the rags on their backs. The dregs of the earth, their eyes bleak, searching for a new life somewhere.

Gotham turned no one away.

It was a dangerous place, full of dangerous people. And yet it was full of hope as well, and promise. And over Gotham brooded the spirit of the Bat, and her people knew that his dark wings sheltered them.

The Bat moved through Gotham like a shadow, watching over his people.

He was on the bridge to the mainland when another shadow detached itself from the darkness and landed soundlessly on the rusted girder beside him. "I have a message for you from the Lord of Metropolis," Selina's voice came from the blackness.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he growled, and she chuckled in delight.

"Oh, very well. I have a message for Bruce Wayne from the Lord of Metropolis. Would you be a sweetheart and pass it on to him, Tall Dark Stranger?"

"What is it?"

"Lex Luthor would like to meet with Bruce Wayne about trade agreements, arrangements between the two cities. To put it bluntly: Metropolis has technology, Gotham has land for growing crops. He believes that you could each benefit each other." A sideways glance at him that he didn't acknowledge. "And speaking of benefits, I met rather a handsome man in Smallville a few days ago. Clark Kent." She waited for a reaction and sighed ostentatiously when there was none. "He traveled back to Metropolis with us. It seems he'll be working at the Daily Planet from now on. A nice boy, very sweet, if a little naive. You really should come to Metropolis and meet him sometime."

A gust of wind swirled the dark figure's cape for a moment. "You can tell Lex that--"

"Oh, I'm afraid you'll have to tell him yourself," Selina purred. "I won't be going back to Metropolis."

He looked at her directly for the first time. "You won't? But you could be--"

"The Lady of Metropolis, yes," she said. She yawned, putting up a hand to delicately cover her mouth. "How do I say this? Metropolis was a bit...dull for my tastes. I prefer to work somewhere a little more...rough and tumble." Her eyes glinted laughter. "I think I'll be staying here."

"You would give up control of Metropolis to become a common thief?"

Selina snorted. "Come now. Do you honestly think I would merely trade one set of fetters for another? Lex is a dear, of course, but I've come to rather cherish my freedom." She held out one leather-gloved hand in front of her. "I stayed long enough to locate and...borrow some useful technology." She flexed her fingers and five diamond-sharp claws glittered; another motion and they were gone again. "Lex can consider it alimony if he ever misses it."

Bruce was frowning. "I won't let you prey on my people."

Selina pouted theatrically, swishing her whip. "Oh, don't be silly. I promise I'll only steal from people who really deserve it." She looked at the moonlit tents with a small moue of disappointment. "I'm sure eventually there'll be someone in Gotham wealthy enough to steal from." An impish smile. "Until then, I do believe I'll just enjoy being free." With a sudden backflip, she was on a higher girder. A quick series of cartwheels and she was gone into the night, her laughter trailing back to him.

"Just what I needed," he grumbled to himself, but his heart wasn't quite in it. He looked to the east, where the horizon was just starting to gray. Soon he would head back to his tent. Alfred would have coffee ready. And he would start to plan his trip to Metropolis.

Clark, he thought, his heart lifting with the dawn for a moment.

There was a cry from the shadows, an unknown woman's voice raised in fear, a man's growling threat.

Batman swooped down into Gotham like an avenging angel.

: : :

"And to your right you can see the groundbreaking for what will soon become the finest hospital on Earth." Mercy Graves waved a bored hand toward the construction site. She wasn't the most enthusiastic tour conductor, but Bruce Wayne's mind was elsewhere anyway. As they approached a low, concrete-block building, he saw the neatly hand-lettered sign on the door: Daily Planet.

"Would you like to see Metropolis's newspaper?" Mercy asked. Her eyes were sharp, and he kept his face expressionless.

"If you'd like," he said. "I'm hoping there'll be a newspaper in Gotham soon, and it might be nice to get some tips."

"Right this way, then." She waved him inside.

To say the newspaper's offices were sparse would be an understatement; a few chairs and desks scattered around the room, stacks of paper everywhere. Bruce glanced around the room, keeping his glance impersonal, it wouldn't do to look avid, to look like he was eager to see--

There were a few people in the room, but none of them were the one he wanted to see. Bruce shook Perry White's hand, was introduced to a red-headed kid and a striking blonde woman--"We've got a few more staff than this, but they're out in the field right now"--and let Mercy steer him away and to some of the other sights of Metropolis.

He wasn't disappointed, he reminded himself. There would be time.

He wasn't disappointed.

They were passing by another construction site--for the Luthor Library--when it happened: a piece of scaffolding gave way and a worker was left hanging from a bent bit of metal, five stories above the ground. His terrified yell was still echoing across the square as both Mercy and Bruce broke into a run, heading toward him. The man scrabbled wildly, then let go--

There was a gust of wind and icy dust that made both of them stagger back, and when it cleared, the man was sitting, bewildered, on a piece of scaffold some distance from where he had let go. "What happened?" barked Mercy as the man climbed down to them.

"I don't know," the man said, still shaking all over. "I let go and then there was this freak wind and...I guess I got tossed over to this scaffold?"

Mercy glared at him, then up at the sky. "We should have left the sun red," she muttered under breath. Then she turned on her heel and stalked off, leaving Bruce to help dust the man off.

"Does this kind of thing happen often?"

"Accidents?" The man shrugged, although that hadn't been exactly what Bruce meant. "Luthor scrimps on the equipment," the man said, "--he doesn't have any choice, of course, there just isn't enough to go around. But there've been a lot of falls, stuff failing, you know. It's a miracle no one's gotten killed, I guess."

"Sounds dangerous."

The man grinned. "Any danger's better than being under the boot of the Kryps. Nah, I'm happy to do my part to help Metropolis and Lord Luthor."

Bruce went to rejoin Mercy, who was tapping her foot.

He knew it was hopeless, but he couldn't help looking up at the sky.

An hour later he had finally seen all the sights and found himself shaking Luthor's hand. As usual, Luthor pressed as hard as he could. Bruce smiled at him. "Your city is truly a shining example to us all," he said.

"Skip the flattery, Wayne," retorted Luthor. "You have things I need, I have things you need. Let's get down to business. Oh," he added as Bruce started to pull up a seat at the large mahogany table, "One more thing." He snapped his fingers in the air, and the door opened.

Clark Kent came into the room.

"Kent works for the Planet," Luthor said as Bruce kept his face infinitely casual. "He'll be doing a story on our negotiations. Have you two met?" His eyes were watching Bruce's face keenly.

Clark was hunched over in a suit a couple of sizes too large. He was blinking rapidly behind the thick glasses, a nervous motion that made him look timid and cowed.

Bruce put out his hand. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure. I'm Bruce Wayne. Nice to meet you."

Clark looked faintly surprised. "But we've met, Mr. Wayne." When Bruce continued to look blank, he prompted, "In Smallville? You were there a week? I showed you around? My name's Clark Kent."

Bruce shook his head thoughtfully. "I met a lot of people. Busy time. You don't ring a bell."

Now Clark looked annoyed, a bit petulant. "You stayed at my parents' house!"

Bruce snapped his fingers in revelation. "That's right! The Kents! Nice folks." He squinted at Clark. "Didn't you have a goatee or something back then?" he asked, gesturing at his chin. Clark shook his head. "Huh. I'm sorry, I just can't place you. Give me some time and I'm sure it'll come back to me."

He held out his hand again and Clark shook it, the vexed expression lingering on his face. "Nice to meet you too," Clark mumbled. His hand was warm and his grip strong, but he didn't hold onto Bruce's hand for an instant longer than appropriate.

"You should be careful of Mr. Wayne, Kent," said Luthor. "He's a dangerous man. Why, I do believe he's stolen my beloved Selina away from me." His eyes were sad, the tragic jilted lover. The people of Metropolis would eat that up, Bruce thought.

"Actually," he said cheerfully, "I believe it was Gotham that stole her heart, not me." Luthor's lips thinned slightly, but he didn't continue the argument.

Bruce sat down at the table, focusing all his attention on Lex Luthor. Not once did he look at the other man in the room. They were virtual strangers, meeting for the first time, unimportant to each other. Yet Bruce could feel him, like a lodestone magnetizing all his blood, drawing his soul toward him.

They didn't even say goodbye to each other after the meeting. Luthor looked a bit disappointed as Kent left the room without so much as a glance at Bruce, scribbling on his notebook. Bruce did not follow the other man with his eyes.

When he got back to Gotham late that night, he went to Alfred's tent. "I need your help," he said as Alfred blinked at him in the dim lantern light. "I need to know how people did it in the old times."

"Did what, sir?" asked a baffled Alfred.

"Courtship. Wooing. Dating. I need to know how to do it," Bruce said impatiently. "How to do it absolutely correctly."

: : :

Perry White looked up as Bruce entered the Planet offices two weeks later. "Ah, Mr. Wayne," he said.

"Mr. White," Bruce responded, nodding. "Thanks for letting me come down and take a look at how things are run here."

Perry led him over to a table where Lois Lane and Clark Kent were arguing over the wording of a headline. "I still think it should be 'Lanterns' Triumphant Return,'" Lois said, tapping the paper on the desk in front of them.

"Lois," sighed Clark, "You know it has to be something more like 'Luthor Welcomes Lanterns Home.'" He hadn't looked up when Bruce entered. "In the story we can--"

"No one will read the story with a propagandistic headline like that!" Lois stormed. "Clark, are you a man or a mouse?"

"Uh..."

"Lois, Clark. Stop bickering and say hello to Bruce Wayne, here from Gotham to pick up some tips on how to run a ship-shape newspaper full of hard-working, respectful employees. For some unknown reason, he decided to stop by here."

Lois laughed and held out her hand to Bruce. "Lois Lane. You probably don't remember me, but I saw you here and there...before."

"Of course I remember you," Bruce said, raising her hand briefly to his lips. She rolled her eyes and reclaimed it as he turned to Clark. "And you are..."

"Clark Kent," Clark said, holding out his hand. "We met briefly a couple of weeks ago. I covered your meeting with Luthor."

"Ah yes," Bruce said. "I remember now."

"Kent," snapped Perry, "Show Wayne around. I've got work to do."

Clark gave Bruce a tour of the offices, pointing out different types of work being done. The red-haired kid from Bruce's last visit bounded up and asked if Clark wanted to grab some sandwiches over lunch break. "Sure, Jimmy. Would you like to come along?" he said politely, turning to Bruce.

"I'd love to," Bruce said offhandedly, as if he had nothing better to do.

They ate sandwiches on a park bench and threw bread to the pigeons while Jimmy chattered almost non-stop about the new camera he'd found in a demolished building that would probably even work with some fixing. They sat side by side and said almost nothing to each other.

It was freezing cold and Bruce hardly even noticed.

: : :

Two more weeks went by.

Bruce Wayne was in Metropolis again on some small business trip when he ran into Clark Kent once more--an amazing coincidence, he just happened to be picking up a coffee from the convenience store that, as it turned out, Clark stopped by every day on the way home from work.

"Dent, isn't it? Clark Dent?"

Clark smiled, curling his hands around the styrofoam cup of cheap coffee. "Kent, actually. But I'm sure you'll get it right eventually if we keep running into each other like this."

Bruce took a sip of the coffee, grimaced. "This stuff is terrible. Toss it and I'll buy you a better one down the street."

They sat and talked over coffee for a couple of hours, discussing work and the reconstruction of their cities. They didn't talk about their pasts much--but then, very few people talked about their lives before. They looked forward, not back.

Bruce looked forward.

"I need to head back to Gotham," he said as evening settled over the city. "But I'd..." He paused and looked away from Clark's eyes for a moment. "I'd like to see you again. Take you to dinner, maybe?"

"I'd like that," said Clark simply. "I would."

: : :

Three days later, they were at dinner, sitting in a cheap burger joint and sharing a packet of fries. Clark was laughing as Bruce told him about his tent blowing over in a windstorm, gesturing to indicate his belongings flying everywhere. "You could live in better lodgings," Clark said. "You can afford it."

"Not until the last of Gotham's people have housing," Bruce said. "Besides, I like roughing it."

"It sounds fun."

Bruce was going to say something, but forgot it entirely at the affectionate laughter in Clark's eyes. They just looked at each other across the table for a moment, the food untouched, the rest of the room ignored. "I wish I had some chocolate," Bruce said.

"What?"

"Today is Valentine's Day. It's an Old Earth holiday for--for lovers." A little while went by before he realized he'd stopped talking again and was just enjoying the reaction on Clark's face instead. He'd have to get used to that. "Chocolate was the traditional gift. But I couldn't scrounge any up. I don't have that much to give you," he said. He reached across the table and took Clark's hand, brushing a finger across the knuckles, feeling each fine hair against his skin. It was the first time, he thought. The first time Bruce had ever touched Clark like this.

"This," Clark said, tightening his fingers slightly. "This is all I need."

They held hands through the meal, Bruce playfully feeding Clark French fries. Not letting go.

And that was Bruce and Clark's first date.

: : :

Their second date was two weeks later, fitted into two hectic schedules like a gem into a setting. The only time that worked was early morning, so they were walking in the park at six, sun just starting to touch the frost on the ground and blaze it silver. Clark's gloves were practically nothing but holes and Bruce's weren't much better; as they walked, Bruce took his hand and matched up the holes so that he could feel Clark's skin against his, warm as hope.

"Luthor keeps you pretty close," Bruce observed.

"I remind him of...someone he used to know."

"Someone he didn't like?"

A wry twist to the gentle mouth; Bruce tore his eyes away eventually. "Apparently."

"You remind me of someone I used to know, too."

"Someone you didn't like?"

Bruce tightened his grip. "Quite the opposite."

"Is that why you're--" Clark lifted their interlocked hands. "--here?"

Bruce stopped and faced him, putting his free hand on Clark's shoulder. "I'm here because I like you. The past is the past, Clark. You're the reason I'm here."

He thought he knew Clark well, and yet he was still surprised when Clark suddenly leaned in to kiss him, eager and clumsy and smiling. Clark's nose collided with his mouth and they both recoiled, Clark clapping a hand over his nose. "I'm sorry!" he said, his voice muffled. "I just--I just wanted to--"

Bruce pulled his hand away and leaned in for a kiss, soft and sweet, a promise of more. "I did too," he said.

: : :

For a month after that kiss, Bruce Wayne didn't visit Metropolis. He dated a procession of the most attractive men and women in Gotham--not that Gotham had much of a social circle yet--and seemed to forget about Clark entirely.

At night he roamed the city as Batman in order to avoid seeing his own empty bed, to bury the desire to see Clark down deep inside. A seed, waiting for spring.

Clark made no attempt to contact him. To all public eyes, it was a brief flirtation for both of them. Luthor's communications with Bruce contained a puzzled edge.

Good.

: : :

In late March, Bruce Wayne bumped into Clark Kent at a public function in Metropolis. "Oh," he said softly as Cat Grant introduced them. "I know Mr. Kent."

The two spent all night talking, their old flirtation clearly rekindled. "Why haven't we been in contact?" Bruce asked as if amazed, while Luthor watched in baffled annoyance.

"We've both been busy, I guess," said Clark, smiling.

Bruce took his hand and raised it to his lips. "From now on, let's make more time for each other."

"I believe I can fit you into my busy schedule."

Bruce didn't let go of Clark's hand. "How about tomorrow?"

"I can be free tomorrow."

: : :

Their third date. This time they ended up making out on a park bench in the damp twilight, the air still caught between winter and spring. People walking by averted their eyes politely, but no one confronted them.

It was a free world, after all.

"I missed you. I missed you so much," Bruce whispered into the kiss, and Clark's fingers tangled in the hair curling at the back of his neck almost shyly. Bruce slipped his muffler aside a couple of inches and kissed his neck, and Clark's breath steamed around them as he exhaled sharply. Bruce's palm was resting on Clark's hipbone, he could feel the muscles even through the thick pants, and Clark shifted sideways a fraction almost involuntarily. Bruce ached to strip off all those silly layers of wool and denim--it wasn't like Clark would feel the cold--but instead he moved his hand slightly away from the tempting warmth. "We're not going to rush this," he whispered as Clark blinked at him. "We're going to take it slow." He dropped kisses on each of Clark's eyebrows. "Impeccably conventional in every way." He was going to say more but Clark licked his lips and of course Bruce had to kiss him again.

"Oh--oh God," stammered Clark when the kiss broke again. "This is how I've wanted you, like this, so beautiful and free." He lifted Bruce's chin and kissed his throat, the spot where the silver collar had rested for so long. "Free." His tongue flicked against Bruce's Adam's apple and the March cold seemed to vanish entirely. He was half-straddling Clark by the time the other man pulled away, his smile mischievous.

"What happened to impeccably conventional?" asked Clark, and Bruce made a growling sound in his throat but settled back beside him, resting one hand on his knee.

They could have sat like that for a while, but Clark suddenly tilted his head to one side as if hearing something. Standing up, he dragged Bruce toward some evergreen bushes. "Cover for me," he whispered in Bruce's ear, and then there was a burst of wind and Bruce found himself on his hands and knees on slushy ground under a yew hedge, alone.

Shrugging, he rustled the hedge dramatically. "Oh, Clark, mmmmm!" he added for good effect and any passers-by. "Oh, I just can't keep my hands off you, you gorgeous man...oh yes, right here, kiss me again, my love..."

The hedge rustled again and Clark was sitting beside him on the muddy ground, looking rather scandalized and buttoning his top shirt-button over a glimpse of blue. "You didn't have to act so loudly," he hissed.

"Who said I was acting?" Bruce rejoined.

Five minutes later they scrambled out of the bushes with their clothes muddy and Clark blushing madly.

"Who knew dating could be so much fun?" Bruce observed to the air.

: : :

Their fourth date they made it all the way back to Clark's apartment. Bruce caught glimpses of it from the corners of his vision--it looked sparse and almost barren--but most of his concentration was taken up with getting Clark undressed. His hands seemed to be shaking, he noted with a portion of his brain, and it was hindering him from undoing buttons. Under Clark's white work shirt was shining blue and red cloth, but he pushed that up almost roughly, that wasn't what he wanted, he wanted the man inside it all, his friend and his comrade. His hands quested over bright skin, memorizing. "I want to know every inch of you," he whispered, half to himself. "I want to spend the rest of my life learning you."

He had Clark's belt buckle undone by the time it hit him something was wrong. He looked up to see Clark's eyes tightly closed behind his glasses, his hands gripping the bedsheets as if he were afraid to let go. Afraid to touch him. "Clark," Bruce murmured. He ran a finger along the zipper of Clark's fly and Clark shifted his hips upward toward the touch, but didn't let go of the sheets.

Bruce slid up to kiss his jaw, the corner of his mouth. Clark kissed him back eagerly. And didn't touch him.

"Clark," Bruce said again, and reached out to take off his glasses. At that, Clark twisted his head away with a stifled sound. "Kal," Bruce said, and the bright blue eyes snapped open at the name, unspoken for so many months. "Kal. Clark." Bruce laid a hand alongside his face. "I want all of you. I love all of you. The past is gone, but Kal is part of you as well. You don't need to..." He gestured a bit helplessly at the fists bunched in the blankets.

Clark turned his face away. "All the words for it," he said, his voice low. "Possess you, take you, make you mine. The wrong words. And so I can't...I can't..." He looked at Bruce, his eyes bleak. "It's all...wrong. I'm--"

"No." Bruce put all the finality and assurance he could manage into the one syllable. "No." He kissed Clark's cheek, laid down beside him. "We can do this. Just..." He smiled into Clark's hair. "Just maybe not tonight."

Some of the tension went out of Clark's body; he wrapped his arms around Bruce with a long, shaky sigh. "So what do we do?"

"We keep dating. We take it slow. And for tonight... Well, tonight we hold each other and are damn glad we're alive and together, no matter what."

"No matter what," Clark echoed him. Only the slightest question lifted the end of his words, but Bruce answered it as he settled against him, his voice firm:

"No matter what."

: : :

Three more dates, as spring began to soften the world. In mid-April, Bruce came by the Planet again. No one looked up as he came in; they were all engrossed in staring at something Jimmy Olsen was holding in his shaking hands.

"See, I was--I was--" his voice cracked and he swallowed and started again, "I was trying to get a shot of Luthor's yacht from the cliff, and I...maybe I was leaning out too far, and the cliff gave way. And then there was this--" He waved his arms wildly, "--WHOOSH, and I was at the bottom, safe. I didn't see anything, but when I checked my camera--"

Lois shot Perry White a look. "Our elusive no-one-can-prove-it phantom."

Perry nodded. "But now we've got the proof."

The face in Jimmy's photograph was blurred--a glimpse of dark hair, a hint of blue eyes--but the golden crest on his chest was distinct.

"Luthor will be furious," Lois muttered.

"Maybe we shouldn't run it," Jimmy said nervously.

"And maybe we should," Perry said. "This is news. Big news. And maybe..." his eyes glinted, "...maybe the people of Metropolis should know that some of their good fortune is coming from a man who was brave enough to stay behind and be hunted as an outlaw to help them."

"It doesn't seem very brave to go...go sneaking around like that," Clark pointed out, entering the conversation for the first time. "How can you be sure he's got good motivations?"

Lois rounded on him, glaring up. "All signs point to this being Kal-El, a Kryptonian who fought on our side, who turned against his own people to serve us. Have you met him, Clark? Well, I have," she went on as Clark stammered something, "And he's a good man." She jabbed an angry finger at his chest and he blinked down at it, alarmed. "He deserves our support. And he'll never get it if people don't know about him." She looked at Perry. "I say we run it."

Bruce stepped forward, clearing his throat, and everyone looked at him in surprise. "I haven't seen Kal-El since the war ended. But if that really is him, he's asking for trouble, staying behind."

Lois's eyes traveled down to Bruce's hands. "What in heaven's name is that?" Bruce glanced down at the bouquet in his hands: a chaotic handful of dandelions, Queen Anne's Lace, black-eyed Susans, lavender milkweed and clover. "Have you brought Clark a bunch of weeds?"

"Not weeds." Clark's eyes were on the flowers. He lifted his gaze to Bruce's eyes, smiling. "They're the first spring wildflowers from the fields of Gotham."

"Yes," Bruce said, meeting his gaze. "Come to Gotham and see them with me."

"Go on," Perry White growled, waving an annoyed hand, his eyes still on the picture. "You're useless for hours after he stops by anyway." He pointed at Clark without looking at him. "But I want a story on Gotham's rebuilding on my desk by the end of the weekend."

Clark reached out and took the bright riot of flowers from Bruce. "I'd love to come to Gotham."

The conversation around the photograph started up again as they reached the elevator. "The last Kryptonian," Lois mused. "He must be so lonely."

Clark's eyes were still locked on Bruce's. He smiled.

"What are we going to call him?" they heard Jimmy say as the doors opened. "I'd hate to hear what Luthor would want us to use. And we can't just call him 'The Last Kryptonian.'" The doors slid shut on his words: "I mean, he's not like...he's more than that.

"He's super..."

: : :

The ruins of Wayne Manor were a faint shadow in the dark. The grass was shining with dew under the moonlight, violets and clover crushed sweetly under their bodies. Bruce drew a hand down the expanse of Clark's skin, stopping at his hip bone, cool and bare. Clark's eyes were bright in moonlight, the glasses discarded, both of them stripped down to nothing but skin and light and need. "I have no idea what I'm doing," Bruce confessed, hearing laughter trembling under his voice. "Alfred was no help on this topic. And I didn't--I didn't want to learn with anyone but you."

Clark drew a long, shaking breath, then reached out and gathered Bruce close to his side, his hands exploring--hesitantly at first, then more boldly. Silver light all around them, the scent of grass and flowers and earth, warming with the spring, blooming. "It's impossible," Bruce whispered, and Clark blinked at him, puzzled. "You can't possess me, you can't own me; but we can share this, all of this. This--it could never make me anything but more free. More my own."

He rolled over with a sudden shifting motion, until Clark was on his back, his dark hair tangled among the clover. Clark made a hoarse sound as Bruce touched him, his own hands coaxing and caressing in turn. "Free," he whispered as if it were the most erotic word in any language, breathing the word into Bruce's hair, his skin, his mouth.

Clark's back was against the earth, Bruce's back to the stars, their hands clumsy and awkward and gentle, giving and sharing joy.

Free.