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It would have been so beautiful. The short-term plans that Bruce and Clark had made would have just been the beginning. Bruce’d had it all mapped out in his head and he replayed it over and over and over again as he paced in the hospital lobby, teasing Alfred and waiting for Clark to arrive.
When Clark arrived, however, it wasn’t in the dark sedan that belonged to whatever car service Alfred had called but in a screaming ambulance with the paramedics shouting to the doctors as soon as their feet hit pavement. Bruce hadn’t realized that it was Clark they had brought in until two police officers came into the hospital to find Alfred to get details of his dealings with the car service. When it finally came out that a driver had been killed and a passenger left barely alive, Bruce’s vision swam before he was able to grab a strangle hold on his consciousness so he could race to the emergency room, frantically seeking his best friend.
They hadn’t let him in, of course, hospital procedures and whatnot, but he managed to evade the head nurse and slip in behind a curtain to continue his search. He really should have let it go.
He really, really, should have let it go.
The memory of Clark’s broken body would follow him to his grave. The sight of a once smiling and happy face mangled and bleeding, never to grin or speak again. One beautiful blue eye already turned milky and the other, Bruce wished he could unsee the damage to the other eye. The sheer amount of blood that had soaked into Clark’s clothes was in itself was horrifying, how could a body have so much blood in it?
Bruce only managed to pull out one IV needle from Clark’s still warm arm before security found him and he fought hard to get back to try and clean his lover up. He needed to help him, to fix him somehow, put him back together so that their plans could go on like they should have. The security team didn’t understand that, no matter how many times Bruce told them, they just repeated their own idiotic ‘you need to calm down, sir’ which infuriated the distraught man even more and it took a Code Grey with a shot of Midazolam and Haloperidol to get him back to his private room.
Needless to say, the trip to Switzerland had to be delayed and Bruce was “readmitted” for acute psychological distress. Involuntary confinement would have been a more apt description of what had happened but Bruce was savvy enough the next day to talk his way out of the involuntary bit and into a voluntary committal that he could leave from when he chose. Threats of lawsuits and funding cuts were quite effective to get what he wanted. It was also handy to make sure that all visitors were barred with no questions asked, Alfred included.
Over the following days - weeks? it was hard to tell - Bruce made sure he was on his best behaviour, going through the motions of being fine as he had so many times in the past when he was anything but. The doctors weren’t as hesitant to sign the release forms when he politely requested leave to carry on his plans for rehab in Switzerland, even going to the trouble of having the The Alpine Kristallwasserzentrum call to discuss treatment plans with them to soothe any fears they might have had with letting him leave.
"He would have wanted me to get better," Bruce told his doctor, his face a mask of concern and determination. He didn't tell her that what Clark wanted only mattered when it was what Bruce wanted as well. She bought it, maybe not hook, line, and sinker, but the hook anyway, and that was enough to approve his release with no conditions and that’s all he needed.
Bruce never made it to the airport. He didn’t even try.
He’d gotten the address of the cemetery where Clark had been buried off of a foolish nurse who spent way too much time focusing on his cock to think much further past his next orgasm. He was easily swayed to give Bruce any and all information that he wanted all for the easy payment of a blow job or two. It made him sick, when he spared a thought to it, but the exploitation of already vulnerable people seemed to be just a matter of course for all that he’d seen in the world. Hell, he’d done the same damn thing so who was he to judge? The entire world seemed a corrupt, oozing cesspool of greed and power grabs and nothing more. It made it easier for him to stick with his new plan. So much easier.
It was easy enough to find Clark’s grave, the dirt still freshly dug, even the brass frame they used to lower his coffin into the ground was still there. Bruce felt oddly numb but it too was only a passing thought before he sat down next to the temporary headstone and placed one hand on the dirt in front of him as he bowed his head.
“I’m…” all of the words got blocked up in his throat, choking Bruce as his breath hitched silently, it was all but impossible for any of them to get out. His hands trembled as he pulled out the package from his pocket and he stared at it for a long time before unwrapping it carefully and laying it on the grass next to his knee. The dirt under his fingernails was a little jarring but it made Bruce laugh, just once, as he remembered the first day at Clark’s farm and the endless goodnatured teasing he got for complaining about his dirty hands.
With a final sigh, Bruce picked up the vial, his hands steady and his heart at ease. He would tell Clark everything when he saw him in a few minutes. In a few minutes they would be together again and he would be able to touch Clark’s face, kiss his lips and hold him tight. They would never be apart again.