Chapter Text
In our last episode, Harley Quinn kidnapped Batman and used him as bait to lure Superman into her trap, high atop a Metropolis sky scraper. When Superman landed to rescue the bound Batman, she'd stunned the caped crusader with a synthetic kryptonite spray. Now Harley's giving Batman and Superman to her new boyfriend Lex Luthor as birthday presents! They're to be displayed like prizes at his extravagant birthday party tonight.
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Batman crouches above the unconscious Superman on the skyscraper's rooftop.
The green mist from Harley's canister had no effect on Bruce's biology. Synthetic kryptonite? The filter in his suit takes an air sample to analyze later.
A helicopter in the distance. Flying straight towards them. Batman looks up.
When the sound grows too loud for any surveillance equipment to pick up their voices, Harley crouches down beside him and presses something small and hard into Batman's hand. He tucks it into his glove without looking at it. He wants to ask her what the fuck is going on, they haven't had issue with each other in years, not since Joker got locked up for the last time.
Harley says, voice low, blue eyes huge, "Sorry, Batsy. He's got Ivy. Did what I had to do."
"Quinn, I'll take you with us, if you let us go, right now," Batman bargains, groggy mind looking for an angle to exploit.
"No can do, silly. But don't you worry about me," Harley chirps. Another strange laugh. Then, tears in her voice, despite her bright smile, she says, "Bats, if you can, get Ivy out...please?"
"Of course, I will."
Then, the helicopter is landing and Harley's all giggles and girly poses once more. Blowing kisses at the new arrival. The air pressure throb is hell on Bruce's sedative hangover.
Bruce is still woozy from the sedative Harley's clowns used to keep him knocked out for two days. His head feels filled with cotton candy and he can't think clearly yet. He stands up beside Harley. Swaying slightly, still weak. The swirling wind whips her pigtails around.
"Hi, baby!" she waves and twinkles, bouncing up and down as Lex Luthor steps down from the sleek chopper. "Happy birthday! Look what I got you!"
As Luthor's helicopter powers down on the rooftop heli pad, Batman assesses Superman. He tries to look lucid and unruffled, as though waking up on a roof in Harley's capture was exactly what he had planned for today. Clark appears to be asleep, sprawled across the asphalt rooftop, a pile of gorgeous blue and red muscle. Looking him over, Superman's breathing seems normal, unlabored. In his years of studying the Super man, Batman's never seen him incapacitated by anything manmade. He has confidence that the super being will not be incapacitated long.
He'd better not be. Clark will be okay, or there will be hell to pay.
Inside the cowl, Bruce forcibly snuffs out his worry about the man he's dangerously in love with. Does not kneel and run his hands over him and reassure himself with touch. Keeps his spine straight, jaw square and his eyes on Lex Luthor and Harley Quinn instead. Records it all with a contact lense camera and streams it via private Wayne Tech satellite to Alfred and his computer network in the Bat Cave.
Lex Luthor struts forward, shark toothed grin breaking across his shiny, botoxed face. He actually claps his hands like a spoiled child.
Singing the happy birthday song, her voice chased away by the wind, Harley Quinn rushes to her boyfriend's side, throws her arms around his scrawny, gold chained neck.
Gloating and delighted, Lex Luthor inspects his 'presents' from a distance. His security goons don't let him come too close, still treating Batman like a threat. From ten feet away, Luthor's cold grey eyes take in the unconscious Superman laying at Batman's feet, and he squeezes Harley affectionately in thanks.
Batman can't hear what they're saying over the chopper blades. He dares not enhance the audio, for fear of hurting his ears under the helicopter's sound onslaught.
Luthor is wearing designer sunglasses and an immaculate suit. Italian shoes sharp enough to cut glass. Ridiculously expensive platinum watch on his wrist. Batman might be impressed, if Bruce Wayne didn't have a lifetime's practice, seeing straight through grifters like him.
Lifts in the fancy shoes, Bruce notices, betraying an insecurity about his height. Interesting. Bruce also suspects they have the same London tailor, by the fit of Luthor's lovely dinner jacket. It's cut to make his shoulders broader and disguise a weak chest. More vanity. Hmmm. Maybe Batman can make use of it. Or maybe Bruce Wayne can, in the Wayne Enterprises boardroom. He's been moving defensively against the megalomaniac Luthor, on several fronts for years.
While Harley and Luthor greet each other, and their various staff and goons pile on and off the helicopter with boxes and garment bags, Bruce quickly scans Clark's body, finds his vitals 'normal' for him. His brain waves do not indicate sleep. Too active. Bruce suspects Superman is not unconscious any longer, simply pretending to still feel the effects of the synthetic kryptonite spray. 'Playing opossum,' the farmboy would probably say. A wise strategy, as it won't let the enemy know exactly how long the spray works. They'll overestimate it's effectiveness next time. Clark is as smart as he is handsome. Bruce tries not to swoon about it. Does not let his eyes linger on Clark's long dark eyelashes and dashing dimpled chin.
Mind reluctantly back on the job, Batman wonders exactly what Quinn's gotten them into. She'd said something about Poison Ivy. The botanist and climate activist, Pamela Isley. She must be here somewhere below. Quinn seems to want them to escape and take Ivy with them? Quinn is using Batman and Superman as a Trojan Horse of sorts. Maybe? Bruce is confused. Still woozy. He needs to run tests on his blood and counter the effects of this sedative. Dizzily, he wonders if he and Superman are captives or rescuers.
Batman cautiously observes Harley and Luthor. She looks too thin and bruised. He can't ask her for clarification about this mission, because Luthor is as paranoid as Bruce himself, and surely has LexCorp surveillance everywhere he goes. This is probably one of his buildings. Harley only risked speaking to Batman at all, because the blades of the landing helicopter had covered her brief, cryptic words. She likely won't speak directly to him again. Double agent code.
The power couple's crowd of clowns and security henchmen start herding Batman towards the roof's door. He looks back once at Quinn.
She waves at him and mouths the words "Toodle-oo, Batsy!"
He'll see her at the party.
It takes six of the men to lift and carry Superman's limp but dense body. Two more have guns trained on Batman's back.
As they walk downstairs from the rooftop, deeper into the luxurious modern highrise, Batman thinks hard. He sorts through his mental inventory. Asks himself what Gotham intell is relevant to this situation? Bruce's normally computer-like brain runs slowly over scenarios and data.
Exactly when Quinn started dating Lex Luthor, he doesn't know. Bruce was held prisoner on the other side of the globe for two months and he's not sure what's going on with Harley right now. He isn't caught up, had only been back in Gotham five days. Alfred had insisted upon fussing over him and making him rest.
The reality is that Bruce has been way too distracted by a certain Daily Planet reporter, head only half in the game for months. Damn it, Bruce, you're slipping. He hates feeling under prepared for a conflict.
This is what he knows- Joker has been in Arkham Asylum for a little over two years. Out of The Joker's twisted shadow, Quinn's a legit business woman now. Harley Quinn's Burlesque Cabaret has the best girly show in town. Bruce hasn't had trouble with her for ages. Sometimes she even sends a word his way when their interests intersect. If she hears a rumor in her club that Batman needs to know, she makes sure he does.
Harley Quinn started dating Poison Ivy a year ago. Bruce's surveillance network had been tracking their budding romance for a while. They're pretty cute together. Bruce didn't pay them enough mind, clearly.
Bruce thinks something must have happened between Harley and Ivy. Not long ago, Ivy disappeared from Bruce's camera network. Harley was photographed, crying alone in a coffee shop. Bruce thought they'd broken up. He'd figured Ivy was hiding out in her greenhouse lab on the outskirts of town, healing her broken, chlorophyll pumping heart.
Poison Ivy hasn't been seen around Gotham since before Bruce's latest overseas mission. Did they really break up? Or was she kidnapped by Lex Luthor?
They pass down a long unfinished corridor. Parts of this building are not complete. Bruce wonders if Lex Corp doesn't have the money or investors to finish building it. Another hollow facade on the Metropolis skyline that no one has a need for. These stupid towers of power that will never feed or house anyone. He owns too many himself.
Bruce watches the minions struggle to carry his slumbering boyfriend and is slightly jealous of the henchman in charge of hefting those super thighs. Clark's so cute in the suit. The material of it is fascinating and he wonders if he could get a sample of the fabric to analyze later. He's never been this close to Clark as Superman in person before, has only seen him on camera. He does not fanboy out internally. Much.
He must admit, Bruce lost track of Quinn and Ivy, because he was too busy falling hard for Clark Cornfed Kansas Kent. After four years of distant pining after the beefy, blue eyed reporter with morals and abs of steel, Bruce Wayne finally got the man's attention. Clark Kent was not an easy catch and Bruce wasn't used to not getting what he wants. But finally, as of ten days ago, after a lot of wooing, a kidnapping and a few broken bones, the playboy and the mild mannered reporter are together at last. It's official. Bruce met Clark's mom and everything.
Bruce and Clark haven't fully had sex yet, but they're going to, as soon as Bruce is healed from his last escapade.
Bruce needs to stop thinking about sex immediately. Rips his eyes away from Superman's form with effort.
As for their other identities...well, those have yet to be addressed. They have yet to confess to their alter egos. Batman is certain Superman can quite literally see straight through his disguise. Superman hadn't looked surprised to see him, at all, come to think of it. Clark almost certainly already knew Bruce was the Bat. Clever investigative journalists are not to be underestimated. Even when they love to play dumb.
Well, there is no time for discussion now. They'd exchanged a bit of heavy eye contact before Clark was knocked out, but that was practically it. Improv it is.
Batman lets himself be marched to a service elevator, and they ride down a couple floors. The henchmen struggle to manage the weight of the sleeping Superman. Bruce knows Clark could make himself lighter than air if he wishes, and he wonders if the man is making himself even heavier just to fuck with these goons. Contrary thing that he is. Bruce fights a proud smirk.
Bruce tries to make his foggy thoughts connect. He can only just walk without a limp and his collarbone and elbow are still healing. His armour helps him appear more battle ready than he actually is.
Harley Quinn and Lex Luthor don't make sense. Batman suspects Quinn is using Luthor for her own purposes and the man is simply too vain to notice. But what is Luthor getting out of the deal? Ordinarily, Lex Luthor likes classy, model types. He dates young B list actresses and heiresses. Harley, though very beautiful, is not known for her glamorous refinement. She's a genius, yes, but her vibe is more tattoos and fishnets, brass knuckles and arson, than it is silk, caviar, and insider trading. She's just not his type.
Harley and Luthor's minions take them to the party room. At several points, Batman could easily have fought free of them and run, but he chooses not to, wants to stay close to the 'unconscious' Superman who is probably watching everything going on through those closed eyelids right now. First, he'll see if he can locate Poison Ivy below. Then, he'll find out what Quinn has gotten herself caught in. The detective in Bruce is too curious. Finally, a resuce mission. Get the women back to Gotham. Afterwards, Alfred will insist he eat something, and then, he'll hopefully get to sleep for a full eight hours, at home, in bed, with his head pillowed on Clark's chest. That last part of the plan is his favorite part.
They're taken through tall doors into a grand ballroom. At least, he thinks it's a ballroom, the vast space is so filled with a jungle of lush plants that it's hard to tell the true purpose of the room. Beyond the jungle, they're surrounded by glass, an amazing view of the Metropolis sunset ablaze beyond the sky scraper's vast windows. It feels like they're in a garden in the sky.
Throughout the fragrant foliage, bartenders and catering staff are in a flurry of motion, setting up for what looks like a hell of a party. They dare not cut their eyes at the superheros who've just been marched in. They're paid to see nothing, say nothing.
Nestled among the plants, are linen cloth covered tables, each decked with a spectacular floral arrangement. There's a bar with enough top shelf liquor to get half of Metropolis sauced. At one end of the lovely green space, a small six piece orchestra is tuning up on a stage. Batman's inner Brucie raises an eyebrow, knowing a swanky set up when he sees one.
At the other end of the room is a dais, set with seats of honor. Batman is marched over to it and directed to take a seat at one of the raised golden tables.
Then, the security guards try to shake Superman awake. Clark pretends to become conscious with a theatrical startle. Batman groans inwardly at him. They are gonna have to work on Clark's small town Kansas community theatre acting skills. Terrible.
Superman blinks his intense blue eyes open and stretches dramatically, then takes the seat beside Batman.
"Well, that was somethin'," Superman says and smiles. "I wonder what all this is about."
Batman absolutely does not smile back at him. But under the table, he does bump his leg with his own, once.
And then, doors open and they're joined by one of the most ravishing redheads Batman has ever had the pleasure of seeing. Poison Ivy is here.
The elegant woman slinks towards their table, touching each plant she passes gently, as though greeting an old friend. She ignores the swarm of Luthor's men who escort her, close behind.
Naturally, ever the gentleman, Superman stands up and pulls out a chair for her as she approaches.
Batman stands, too, stiffly formal.
"Good evening, ma'am," Superman says, adorably polite.
"A good evening? Like hell, it is. And about to get much worse, I imagine. Aren't you precious, though?" she purrs at him. Up close Ivy smells like an exotic orchid. Some flower, lovely and endangered yet deadly. Her green eyes flick to him, and she says, "Hello there, Batman."
He nods hello silently. They've already met several times. No introductions are made.
"Okay if I sit with you cool kids?" she asks with a smirk like they have a choice. Dr. Pamela "Poison Ivy" Isley pours herself into the gilded chair Superman holds out for her.
Ivy's wearing a long, glittering green evening gown, cherry red lipstick, and a living necklace of vines and blossoms twining around her creamy neck. Freckles dance across her nose and white shoulders. Long emerald fingernails on graceful hands. Her jade green eyes are intelligent...and glittering with unconcealed hatred.
Poison Ivy looks like she wants to compost the whole damn world, starting with Lex Luthor. She's radiating a barely contained fury.
"The plants are beautiful, Dr. Ivy," Superman gestures to the jungle surrounding them, guessing it must be her work.
"Oh, you really are sweet. They are lovely plant babies, aren't they? Some of my best work, even if I say so myself, "she leans towards him and fingers one of the scarlet and orange blossoms hanging around her neck like jewels. "Do you know which plants are the most colorful in nature, Superman?"
"The poisonous ones," Batman answers for Superman, and she drops him a wink.
A small army of security personnel loom behind the raised dais, not so discreetly guarding the three of them. Not that any of the henchmen could stop him, should Superman wish to leave.
A nervous cater waiter brings them each a flute of champagne. Only Ivy drinks hers.
There's nothing to do but wait for the party to start. This isn't the first time he's been forced to attend some rich asshole's birthday soiree. For Bruce, this is like water to a fish.
The other party guests begin to arrive. Bruce recognizes many of the faces. Politicians, mobsters, businessmen, minor celebrities. Several members of the press. They all glance at the reluctant guests on the dais but are either too refined or jaded to openly stare. However, Batman can hear their names among the murmurs. Harley has certainly pulled a power move on her boyfriend's behalf by forcing them to attend. It makes them look under Luthor's control. He feels like meat on a hook for display.
When the indoor jungle is full of Gotham and Metropolis's most bribeable glitterati, the orchestra fades to quiet, the grand doors swing open, and a tuxedoed Lex Luthor strides into the room, a resplendent Harley Quinn on his arm. She's wearing a stunning ruby evening gown, hair swirled into an updo.
The birthday boy has arrived.
At the sight of them, Ivy sucks in a sharp breath and stiffens. Her intense floral fragrance intensifies.
People clap and the orchestra begins to play again and the power couple weaves through the garden, greeting their guests. Ivy's jade eyes track Harley without blinking.
Harley doesn't glance her way once.