Title: Before a Live Studio Audience (Transcripts from an Unaired Episode of "U.S. Cops"), Chapter 12

Author: Mostly Harmless III

Pairings/Characters: Clark/Bruce, Clark/Matches, Clark/Hemingford. Gordon, Bullock, Kara, Lois, Jimmy, Dick.

Warnings: Adult themes, adult content, strong language. Not beta-read.

Chapter Summary: Bruce Wayne has a job for Clark. Provided Clark can pass a little test, of course…


The Story So Far:

Clark Kent has been sent to Gotham to follow Matches Malone for a reality television show. But he's getting wrapped up in a murder case that seems connected to Gotham's popular new mayor and a deadly drug called Live. Solving this case means Clark has to deal with three mysterious men who are all maybe in cahoots. Throw in the fact that Clark is developing strange abilities—coinciding with the unexplained disappearance of Superman—and things get really complicated.

In the last chapter, Clark had a visit from Bruce Wayne, asking him for his help. Bruce needs Clark to break back into the Beautify Gotham Campaign Headquarters. But does Clark have what it takes to do the job?

Our story continues…


He'd been called dangerously handsome his entire life. It was very true in so many ways. He'd ridden those looks and his well-cultivated charm to the top. He intended to stay there. But there was a thorn in his side that was making that a challenge. It needed to be removed as soon as possible. Hence this meeting.

"It's…maddening," he said to his companion and smiled his winning smile. "It wasn't supposed to be like this. Not at all."

The hulking man across from him was wearing a business suit. It was incongruous with what he knew of him. This man killed for a living. He was on the FBI's most wanted list for crimes he'd been paid to do. Moreover, he was a sociopath, which meant that you couldn't really insult him. He didn't see the words you hurled at him as bad things. They were facts, like a resume.

David Cain kept a cigar clenched in his teeth and squinted at his well-dressed—better dressed—companion. Cain looked alert and weary all at once. Prematurely gray, distrustful, and silent. David Cain had nothing but enemies in the world, and yet again, no reason to act against them without payment. Given enough money, Cain might have lived on Earth alone, no one left to kill.

Ultimately, he was a man who had seen how terrible the world was. That most of that terror was his own fault wasn't relevant; the end result was the same.

"Best laid plans," Cain said after a time. His voice was as weary as he was.

"How can you be certain he'll try again?"

Cain removed his cigar and studied it, then smiled a tired smile. "I know him."

"So you've said," remarked the other. He dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. "But you have yet to explain what you mean. After all, I know him, too."

"Not like I do. I trained him. We have…unfinished business." Cain did smile then—a real smile—and his face came alive with it. The result was horrifying.

The words, combined with the feral smile, gave his companion pause. "Trained him? He's a cop."

"He could have been so much more. He didn't take the path I carved out for him. Turned away from me. I guess I can hold a grudge for a long, long time. Maybe I'm still expecting him to change his mind. See the light. Heh."

The other man watched Cain for a moment. "If you can't make him, ahem, see the light, as you say, then he'll need to be taken care of in a more permanent fashion."

Cain didn't answer immediately. When he did speak, it was slowly and clearly, as if trying to make the other man understand each word as sincerely as he himself understood them. "He's a hard man to kill."

The other man's face split into a sharp grin. "Try your best."


Clark had an excruciating, nervous time waiting for Bruce to return from wherever it was he had parked. Ten minutes was plenty of time for Clark's healthy imagination to conjure all manner of scenarios. Was Bruce Wayne going to take him somewhere and do away with him once and for all? Was he going to take Clark somewhere secret and…do other things to him? Clark swallowed nervously, remembering the heat of Bruce Wayne's body, the heat in his eyes when he had been standing so close to Clark.

Yes, waiting for Bruce to return was a long, nervous time for Clark. When he did return, it wasn't in one of the cars Clark had seen Matches drive early on in their acquaintance. It was a beautiful, powerful car, to be sure, but not one he had ever seen before. It wasn't even a make or model he could identify. It was low to the ground and its metal flesh curved and rippled like muscles. It looked incredibly fast.

"Custom," Bruce said as he stepped out of the car and looked with what might have been amusement at Clark's awe-struck expression.

"It's beautiful," Clark admitted. Honesty didn't cost him anything and perhaps Bruce's cold demeanor would melt a little with compliments. It wasn't to be as Bruce just threw a curt, "Get in," at Clark and then slid behind the wheel and revved the engine.

Clark buckled in, remembering all too well how terribly Matches Malone drove. He prepared himself for the excessive speed and lack of control and found himself blinking in surprise.

Bruce Wayne was a skillful, careful driver. He didn't drive slowly, by any stretch of the imagination. A car like this wasn't meant to go slowly, after all. But Bruce controlled it with ease and grace. It seemed to purr under his masterful handling. Clark eased back in his seat and watched alternately between Bruce Wayne's handsome profile and the shifting landscape of Gotham City at night.

It was lovely. All the lights on the tall, Gothic buildings blazed and blinked like stars. The impenetrable shadows softened the harsh lines of the cruel city, and the sky that stretched above all of it painted every shape in midnight blue.

Clark wanted to ask Bruce Wayne where they were going, but was almost certain that he wouldn't get a reply. How often had both Bruce Wayne and his partner gone out of their way to keep things from him, after all?

Clark considered this truth with some sadness. Bruce's profile was stern, his gaze focused firmly ahead. It was almost as if he had decided to deal with the problem of Clark by pretending he didn't exist for the moment. How he could caress Clark's face reverently one minute and then treat him like a stranger the next, Clark didn't understand. He could only hope that whatever it was between them either resolved itself or went away.

Outside the window, the view was shifting. The buildings became squat and short and then changed into quaint, low houses. The houses became further and further apart and the spaces between each went from empty lots to tall trees. Soon, the houses, too, disappeared, leaving only dense forest. Clark hadn't imagined that Gotham had anything green left, but here was proof of his ignorance. All around them crowded tall and mysterious looking trees—tall pines and twisting oaks, and branches thick with young leaves twisting up to the nighttime sky.

The road was uneven and narrow now, but Bruce's control of the car proved absolute. Clark didn't notice a hitch or a shudder. Bruce was very familiar with this road, with driving it at night. Since Clark had never seen the man in daylight, he wasn't surprised. This time was Bruce's time, where he belonged. It was almost impossible to imagine him standing in the sunlight, Clark admitted. He was part of this time, part of this midnight world.

Quite suddenly, Bruce cranked the wheel and the car was off road. The ride did turn bumpy then, but Bruce's expression was as blank as before. Clark gripped the dash and flinched as trees seemed to loom up out of the dark, dangerously close. Bruce steered the car through them as easily as a dancer might twirl across the stage. There were no impacts, no close calls; and then, just as suddenly, they were underground, a dark mystery of rock high above them. Clark imagined that he could see bats in a frenzy of movement above him. It was probably just his imagination. Probably.

The dark inside the cave trumped anything from the forest and Clark was surprised by how ineffective the headlights of the car seemed against such blackness. When the car came to a stop inside a wide, brightly lit cavern, Clark blinked rapidly as his eyes were stinging in the glare. The cavern was tall and wide, the edges and top of it hidden from him by deep shadows.

Now he could hear the bats. He wondered if the earlier flock of them had been his imagination after all.

He was staring up through the window at the impossible space when he felt calculating eyes on him. He turned his head to see Bruce Wayne regarding him. Clark didn't understand the expression, couldn't even begin to decipher it.

"We're here," Bruce said at last and then unbuckled and exited the car. "No duh," Clark mouthed at his back. Then he fumbled out of his own seatbelt and then stepped out of the car and into Bruce Wayne's world for the first time. He was speaking before he could stop himself. Closing the door, he asked, "What is this place?"

Bruce made a small gesture, indicating the huge cavern. "Home," he said at last.

"You live here?" Clark asked with a healthy dose of shock. Nothing human needed to live down here. This was a place for monsters.

Bruce opened his mouth, then let it snap shut. He made a small shrug as if the answer was too difficult or unimportant to give. When he started walking, Clark hurried to follow him. Within seconds, more of the cave was revealed to him than he could see from the raised tarmac where the car was parked. They took a natural rock stairway down and down. It wound around itself in a graceful curve and ended in a roughly hewn room made of rock and stone. At the center of the grand cavern was a high cluster of screens and monitors, all connected to a massive control board like something from a science fiction movie. Captain Kirk would have been well and truly comfortable here, Clark mused.

Clark wanted to linger and study the giant screens that were flashing with information from all over the world in dozens of languages, but Bruce didn't stop or even seem to consider the machines. Clark hurried to follow his ceaseless stride and was surprised to see a series of doors that led to other places. Bruce took the one on the right and Clark followed him. He kept craning back around over his shoulder, trying to see what might lie in the other rooms. He felt like Alice in Wonderland, everything down the rabbit hole was strange and curious and dangerous and exciting.

The new space where Clark found himself made his jaw drop. "It's…a gym," he said, eyes roaming over the punching bags, free weights, boxing ring, and more. Half of the room was in shadow, but Clark could just make out the light fixtures hanging above that would illuminate it. There were light switches on the wall near where Bruce was standing and Clark wanted very much to ask him to flip everything on, to let him see all that this underground gymnasium had to offer.

Bruce Wayne seemed to look around as if imagining what Clark saw. "Yes," he said at last.

"You built this?" Clark asked. "All of this?"

"I did."

Clark shook his head. "But…how did you get all of this down here? The tarmac and the computers and…are those uneven parallel bars?"

"Yes," Bruce said and Clark was sure he was smiling, just a little.

"How?" Clark asked and smiled back at him.

"Time," Bruce said, then added, "patience." And that much was obvious, but Clark guessed what he really wanted to know was "Why?" and "When?" and "What am I doing here?" He knew he'd only get the answer to one of these things.

Bruce reached out a hand and flipped the row of switches one at a time. There were corresponding hums and clicks and then the side of the room that had been in darkness was set ablaze with light.

What it revealed left Clark…

Well…

Clark was very underwhelmed. The room was completely empty. There were soft exercise pads on the ground and nothing else of note. A kind of barrier had been erected between the side of the room with equipment and the empty side of the room. The barrier was strangely made with orange traffic cones, lined up neatly with almost OCD precision. Clark could easily imagine Bruce arranging the cones meticulously, using a measuring tape to place them exactly four feet apart. Each cone read "Gotham City DWP."

Clark blinked at them. "Did you steal those?"

"I didn't steal them," Bruce answered.

"Did Matches steal them and sell them to you?" Clark pressed.

Bruce made a small sound in his throat that Clark would have called a laugh had it come from any other man. But, unsurprisingly, Bruce's face was as unfriendly and smooth as ever.

"No, Detective Malone did not steal them, either."

"You don't have to cover for him if he did," Clark said generously.

"I'm not covering for him."

"Because stealing traffic cones is something that Matches would do. Uh, Detective Malone, I mean. He would absolutely steal traffic cones. Like a fraternity prank. He was in a fraternity, wasn't he? He's the kind of guy you think of being in a fraternity. Playing beer pong."

"Clark," Bruce said in a tone so forceful that it made Clark square his shoulders. "You're stalling because you're nervous."

And Clark wanted to say, "Am not!" but also didn't want to sound twelve, so he just took a deep breath and decided to stop babbling. And, okay, he had been stalling and damn the man for knowing that. He did notice that Bruce was starting to call him 'Clark' more, which was a win in Clark's book and enough to cheer him up some so that he forgot that he was nervous. A little, at least.

"Good?" Bruce asked.

"Yes. Fine," Clark answered. Bruce made a small motion with his hand, indicating for Clark to follow him. Bruce led him past the exercise equipment and down to the far side of the empty space. Embedded in the back wall Clark hadn't seen before was the glass front of a booth. Inside it, he could see towers and towers of equipment riddled with flashing lights of every color. There were serious looking buttons and wires winding around the racks and bolted to the ceiling.

"That's the control room," said Bruce. "I'll be in there."

Clark nodded. "And where will I be?"

"Out here, of course," answered Bruce. "Completing the test."

Clark's heart did a flip-flop as his nervousness flared again. "Test. Right, okay. So, what do I have to do?" Clark asked and pushed up his sleeves.

"Make it to the other side," Was Bruce's simple answer.


Clark stood before the booth, looking at the long stretch of space leading to the end of the room. Behind him, Bruce Wayne was sitting in the control room, a headset over his ears, and a small microphone extending from the left ear to his mouth. He looked serious and professional surrounded by all the equipment. Clark had no idea what to expect.

This was just an ordinary room with exercise equipment over there and nothing over here. Bruce had pointed out a couple cameras on the ceiling he hadn't seen before, but that was all there was to see. He had already walked down it with Bruce. How could walking down it by himself be any different? There was nothing dangerous about the room that he could tell. Then again, there had been nothing dangerous about the Beautify Gotham Campaign headquarters, and look at what a disaster that had turned out to be!

He half wondered if an Indiana Jones style obstacle course might materialize out of thin air once the test started. In his imaginings, blow darts erupted from the wall, all aimed at his neck; giant axes swung from the ceiling with deadly grace; big holes opened at his feet. Laser beams were everywhere! His imagination made the coming test very dangerous and exciting. What adventure was in store for him? Was he brave enough to face it head on?

There was a loud beep, a louder hiss of static, and then Bruce's voice was booming over a loudspeaker.

"There will be a countdown and then the exercise will begin."

Almost immediately, a pleasant voice started the countdown. "Ten, nine, eight…"

"Okay, Smallville," Clark whispered to himself. "You can do this. Cowboy up." He thought about Lois, how she would have been fearless.

"Five, four, three…"

When it hit one, Clark started walking. He frowned in confusion.

Because nothing was happening.

The reality of the test was pretty dull in comparison to his wild imaginings. And absolutely nothing continued to happened. He walked and the room stayed boring. He walked and the room seemed to get even MORE boring, which he wouldn't have thought possible a minute before. The only thing of note was when he felt a soft swish of something moving past his ear. But when he looked to follow what had caused it, he didn't see a thing. And nothing jumped out at him or attacked him. No axes. No lasers. Not a single blow dart.

And all too soon, he was standing at the end of the (questionably pilfered) orange traffic cones and that pleasant voice was saying, "Test complete." Clark guessed it must have taken him about five minutes or so to walk very slowly down the room. Like taking a stroll to the mailbox on the corner or something.

Clark let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. He felt silly now for having been nervous at all. Bruce Wayne was apparently playing a practical joke on him. He'd probably give him the real test now that the joke was over. The man in question exited the booth. Clark noticed that his face was bloodless and that he looked a little shell-shocked. It gave Clark a start. He didn't seem as cocky as a guy would who had just gotten away with a stupid prank.

"Um, are you okay?" he asked when Bruce was beside him. Well, not exactly beside him. Bruce, for whatever reason, was standing a good eight feet away. Despite the distance, Clark could actually see Bruce's wild pulse in his throat. It was…kind of distracting. And there was sweat on his brow. Clark didn't know why, but Bruce was freaking out a little and having a hard time getting himself back together.

"Fine," Bruce said very softly. "I'm fine."

Clark felt unnerved by Bruce's behavior; though it hardly made a dent into how relieved he felt that the test had been nothing more than a strange initiation. He put his hands in his pocket and rocked back on his heels a few times.

"So the test is over? Do you need me to walk back the other way?"

Bruce's eyes went wide. "No," he said quickly. "Once was enough."

"Well, okay! Wish high school had been that easy," Clark chuckled. "Just walk down the hallway and BOOM," he said and slapped his hands together. Bruce jumped at the sound, but Clark just kept on talking. "Done in minutes! Man," he said with a laugh, "I was worried for nothing."

Bruce was…gawking at him. Yes, gawking was the word. "Easy?" he said in that same soft whisper. "Worried for nothing?"

"Well, yeah. That was a walk in the park. Well, not the park, but, you know, a walk. Literally!"

Bruce looked worse, somehow. Clark squinted at him. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, then took a chance and took a few steps to Bruce, who visibly stiffened and seemed to lean away. Clark got the hint and stopped.

"So…" Clark began, grasping at any straw to lessen the awkward moment, "what does all this mean? Did I, uh, pass?"

Bruce nodded slowly. "If you still want to help, I have a job for you."

"Just like that, huh?" Clark asked with real surprise.

"Just like that," Bruce agreed and then waited.

Clark felt like Bruce was dissecting him with his eyes. He now knew what a frog in a high school science class felt like, pinned down and morbidly waiting to be sliced up. "Um…so now what?" he asked.

"I take you home," Bruce said. He had regained some of his composure and was second by second becoming calmer, less obviously shaken, by what Clark didn't know.

Clark swallowed at the idea of Bruce taking him home. "And then?" he said a little hoarsely.

Bruce Wayne, of course, wasn't going to let a little thing like sexual attraction or tension keep him from being a cold, indifferent machine. "I'll send instructions by midday," he said. Coldly. Indifferently. Mechanically.

And Clark had the sudden, uncomfortable realization that he had a thing for cold, indifferent machines. That explained Lois pretty handily, now that he thought about it.

"Oh," said Clark and decided not to dwell on this anymore. It was unhealthy. "Home. Great." But home wasn't great because his 'home' now was a terrible hotel and not nearly as thrilling as spending time with Bruce who hung out in amazing subterranean hideouts with custom cars and advanced technology. Bruce who Clark wanted to talk to more, to ask a million questions. Bruce who, for whatever reason, clearly wanted to get rid of Clark as soon as possible; all but shoved him back to the tarmac without actually touching him. That kind of took the wind out of his sails, actually.

And before Clark could say, "Wanna come in and have lots of sex?" Bruce Wayne had dropped him back off at his crap hotel room and sped off into the night again in his amazing car.

Clark stood beneath the flickering fluorescent light above his door, staring after him. "Well…that was bizarre," he said to no one. He yawned hugely, unlocked the door, slipped inside, and promptly climbed into his uncomfortable bed. His last thought as sleep tugged him under forcefully was that he didn't know why he was so tired. After all, Bruce Wayne's test had just been walking down a perfectly mundane room. It's not like he'd run a gauntlet or anything.


Unbeknownst to Clark, he had, in fact, run a gauntlet. Bruce Wayne was desperately trying to figure out how it was that Clark didn't seem to notice that he'd walked through laser fields without disturbing a single beam. How he'd dodged projectiles with superhuman speed. He'd even looked at one of them as it whizzed past his ear with an expression on his (handsome, handsome, handsome) face as serene as a Zen Master's. Bruce shook himself out of his distractions. He couldn't let Clark's—Kent's he scolded himself—good looks distract him from the issue at hand. Kent had casually stepped over about two dozen booby traps, and—as smoothly as stopping to tie his shoe—avoided a couple of swinging axes Bruce had put in the ceiling just because why not.

Bruce didn't turn around when Alfred entered the booth. "How did it go?" Alfred asked. "Did you have to stop the test immediately to keep our intrepid TV employee out of danger?"

Bruce took a moment to answer. "In a word: no." He gestured at a monitor where very clear surveillance footage was playing. It was slowed down extremely and even then Kent's imposing body was a blur.

Alfred's gasped. "But, but…this is high speed footage!" he said.

"Over 3000 frames per second," Bruce agreed.

"But for him to be blurred like that! How…fast was he moving?"

"Kent completed the whole thing in less than 15 seconds."

"How can that be?"

"Simply put, that man isn't human," Bruce said with a slight tremor to his voice.

Alfred watched the footage with wide eyes and his jaw on the floor. Kent had just evaded several darts aimed at his head with an effortless, balletic slide. "Good lord," Alfred said. "What…is he?"

"I don't know," said Bruce. "But I intend to find out."

To be continued…

Up next, Clark and Matches have a mission to complete!


So, this file has been rotting on my hard drive since June 15, 2011. That makes it...old. Sorry if you've been interested in what happened next and forced to wait so long. If you've come back to read it despite the long wait, thanks so much! For anybody new reading this, welcome! And a premature apology for the pain you're about to join in on that all the other readers have been enduring for a few years. Comments and critiques always welcome. Love to hear from people!

Anyway, hi, everybody! Thanks for reading!