Week 17

Day 115 (01/29)

Clark closed his eyes for a moment. He was having trouble concentrating on what he was doing. He had a headache, the light was attacking him even though he was almost in the dark, and it was hard for him to concentrate long enough to observe the different shots. In this state, he was useless.

He sighed and got up to take pills for his headache. When he left the hospital, the doctor had warned him about a whole lot of things, the effects he would still feel, the symptoms to report if they appeared, and many more precautions to take. Clark would not be declared fit until a week from now, if the camp doctor authorized him after an examination. In the meantime, in order to free up hospital beds, he had returned to his base in a convoy. He had mistakenly believed that when he arrived he would be able to work.

He touched his bandage on his left temple. A few millimeters on the side and the bar could have pierced his head and popped his eye. He only owed his survival to his luck. His damned luck. Stephen had a family. So did Johnson. Why did he have to be the one to live, and not the ones who were husbands and fathers? Why was life so unfair?

These thoughts had been spinning and spinning in his head ever since he came out of surgery. His injuries were minor. And them, their condition... how could it be so different? How could it be possible when Stephen had been only three or four feet away from him?

Clark felt the effects of the medication and lay down on his bed, just long enough to lie down and let the pain pass. Even his hearing had been preserved. He had no neurological sequelae. The neurosurgeon who operated on him said it was a miracle. Clark may have been a believer, but these kinds of miracles...

He lay down for a few minutes before returning to the office. He retrieved the pictures he had of the rubble and the remains of the explosive device they had recovered. Clark knew that counter-terrorism was now taking over the investigation, but obviously they were waiting for his report and wanted it to be accurate.

While at first his report was limited to a description and analysis of the bomb he had disarmed, Clark remembered Stephen's observations and suggestions. If the bomber was the one known as "The Dentist," then there was a good chance that the second bomb was also made by him.

Clark closed his eyes again. He needed to remember as much detail as possible about the device, the location of each component, the connections, the products. He needed to use his visual memory and once he had what he wanted in mind, he began to make a technical diagram.

He heard the door open as Bruce walked into their barracks. It was the first time they had seen each other from the hospital and his superior was probably on his way home from the mission. He was not to let his thoughts wander. What he was doing was more important and he was already having trouble staying focused.

"I thought you had to get out tomorrow. "

Clark didn't look up from his drawing. But he could feel Bruce's gaze on him and sighed before answering, unconsciously sensing his terrible mood.

"The convoy was today or Friday. They needed beds so I left early. Barry won't be back until Friday, he has a test tomorrow. Unless after that you pick him up."

Bruce grunted behind him.

"You should get some rest. "

Clark had his eyes fixed on the pictures in front of him:

"We're waiting for my report, it's urgent. You want to say something else? " he replied in a dry tone.

Bruce didn't answer. The bomb-disposal expert heard his roommate get rid of his weapons and clothes and run to the bathroom. A few minutes later, the shower started running. Clark sighed again. He had to try to be more cordial, he knew it. But when the words came out of his mouth, it was with all his bitterness or anger. He couldn't keep it to himself. He was in no condition.

He resumed his work. Immersed in it, he didn't pay much attention when Bruce came out of the bathroom, nor when he got dressed, nor when he came out and lit a cigarette. His report was important. It was what might allow the appropriate teams to find the bomber and make sure he never planted a bomb again. To do justice to Stephen, Johnson and all the other victims he had made. And if this guy was the Dentist, if the Dentist was just one person, then it was even more important to do everything possible to catch him.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

Clark didn't raise his head when there was a knock on the door of his quarters. Too focused on what he was doing, he didn't pay attention the first time or the second time. It was when he heard Hal shouting his name through the door that he raised his head and went to open the Lantern. The Lantern had an irritated look on his face.

"You could answer anyway! I don't like it when you don't answer the door. "

Clark made a sad pout, visualizing perfectly what Hal was referring to.

"Sorry. I was concentrating. "

Hal nodded his head.

"Yeah, I can imagine. But hey, you just got home, you scared us a little bit, so it would be nice if we all ate together tonight. "

In front of Hal's face, Clark couldn't resist. Because he understood what they might have been feeling. He sighed and nodded.

"I'm with you, Lantern. "

In front of him, the soldier smiled a big smile.

So that's how he found himself sitting at the table, surrounded by Diana, Ollie, Arthur, Hal, and also Pete Ross, the other deminer who had joined them when they had moved in. It was a chance for the others to get to know him, and if Clark didn't talk much, it took his mind off learning more about Pete.

"So how long did you sign up for?" Arthur asked the youngest bomb-disposer.

"I've got two years to go. "

They nodded.

"Your first mission, then," Diana concluded.

If Ross could blush, he would.

"Yeah, is it that obvious? "

"It's just that you're still very... glowing," Ollie replied.

Diana and Clark nodded as Hal added:

"And also because only new people leave for so long. "

"You do shorter OpExes ?" Ross asked.

Clark nodded and replied:

"Usually you take a couple of months, just to take a break and decide whether you're going to go back or ask for a transfer. "

Ross turned his head to them:

"So in fact, since you've all done your obligatory years, you can reapply after any assignment?"

"That's about right, but in very broad terms," Diana replied.

Pete nodded, pensively.

"And how much time do you have left? "

There was a moment of silence, when everyone was thinking.

"I still have four more months," Hal answered.

"And for me, seven," said Ollie.

Diana agreed with Ollie.

"Same for me. "

Arthur shrugged.

"Too long for my taste," answered Arthur to himself.

Clark nodded.

"I agree with him. That's something you'll find out for yourself. "

Pete frowned.

"Why leave if you don't like field missions? "

Diana gave him a compassionate smile in the face of Pete's candor.

"Because we feel we can still endure it and do our duty. Everyone has their own limits. Some will spend their lives doing this. Others will leave the army after a few years of service or just at the end of their first service. Others will be deserters. "

Suddenly the mood became heavier and sadder. Pete was becoming aware of what it was like. Clark felt compelled to comfort him a little. He smiled, tapping on his shoulder as he sat next to him.

"Come on. By then, maybe we'll be done with this war and we'll all go home! Our politicians have to be useful for something! "

He accompanied his sentence with a big smile, while Ollie and Hal laughed slightly, relaxing the atmosphere a little. But deep down, they were all thinking the same thing: even if this war ended, Human will always find a way to make another one. And with the embassy incident, they were far from being able to make peace.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

He had returned early to his barracks, completely washed out. He had not followed his comrades, who had offered to end the evening on a poker game, because tomorrow they were off. He could have, if his headache didn't call him to order. So, tired, he went home and hid in the dark to go to bed.

He didn't stay alone for long. If Bruce could be extremely quiet when he moved around, the door was far from it. The Major walked around in the dark, seemingly finding his way around. It was something Clark had discovered about him, his ability to move with ease in the dark.

"How's your head?" Bruce asked quietly as he went to the bathroom.

Clark shrugged for himself as he lay on his back.

"I've been taking migraine pills. I'm waiting for them to take effect. "

He heard Bruce turn on the tap water and was no longer sure if the Bat heard him. Never mind. At worst, he would repeat it.

Bruce came back a few minutes later, slipping into the bed next door. They stayed on their sides, untouched, yet so close that Clark could feel the warmth of Bruce's body. On the one hand, he wanted to stay away, to contain himself, to stay strong, because at home, shutting himself up was also his protection. But on the other hand, he needed to know that he could count on someone, that he had support. He needed Bruce.

He turned to him and, with a hesitant hand, he touched his chest, covered by his shirt to sleep. Immediately, Bruce's arm came around his neck and gently brought him back against him, paying attention to his head. Clark understood that Bruce had been waiting for him to make the first move.

"Don't put me at a distance. "

Bruce's voice was very authoritative. Clark, with his head against him, felt his heart beating. He was sharing an intimate moment with him. He felt like he hadn't had that kind of moment with someone in years... with Bruce. He took a deep breath to get rid of his negative emotions.

"It's not against you... it's just... I think I'm getting saturated. "

He felt Bruce hold him tighter.

"I know. "

There was something in Bruce's voice. Like some kind of resentment. Clark then felt his fingers go up into the back of his neck and start stroking him, like he used to. Bruce was so cold outside and yet so warm to him.

"You can't protect me from that. "

Clark started stroking his chest with his fingertips.

"I know. "

Clark closed his eyes. Bruce had the gift of creating a bubble around them where there was no war. Where he felt completely safe. But that didn't make him forget the deep hatred he had for the bomber who almost got his skin three times, or the horrors of war. He clenched his fist.

"I want that bastard to bite the dust. "

"I know. "

It wasn't the reaction he would have hoped for, but it calmed him down.

"I thought you had a richer vocabulary than that. "

Bruce pulled the blankets up over them, right up to Clark's shoulders.

"You're the literary one of us. "

Clark smiled slightly. He raised his head to kiss Bruce. Just a quick meeting between their lips. Then he positioned himself to fall asleep, now that the medication had taken effect. He didn't even feel like he was falling into the world of limbo as Bruce held him close.

Day 116 (01/30)

Will Magnus had been surprised to see him enter his office. Clark himself had been surprised to have considered seeing him. But this morning, he had talked a little about it over breakfast with Bruce. They had eaten in their quarters to be quiet, and when Clark had finished writing his report, Bruce brought up the subject of counselling. And Clark told him that he had thought about it.

He couldn't hide from himself anymore. His night terrors were still there, and even though he had no memory of it and therefore no awareness of the problem, Bruce was experiencing them. And it couldn't go on like that. Especially for himself. Maybe Magnus would help him to endure the time he would have left on the front line, but he was certain of one thing, it would be his last OpEx. He couldn't stand what he was going through anymore. He was reaching his limits.

And that, according to Magnus, was already a remarkable achievement for him. Clark couldn't really see what would excite the psychotherapist's enthusiasm, but as long as it worked, he didn't care. He didn't want the war to ruin him. Any more than he already did.

Now that Magnus and Clark had planned to see each other two hours a week, Clark felt a little lighter. Because he felt like he was doing a good deed for himself and that he would get better afterwards. So all he had to do to take good care of himself was to go to the infirmary to remove the staples that were in his skull. The doctor at the hospital had told him that it would be done very quickly.

After that, he could take advantage of the days off with his brothers in arms to relax. Somehow he had regained a good mood. He could then join the basketball game with Diana, Hal, Arthur and Ollie, who were playing with their superiors, Ray and Bruce. Pete Ross was just waiting for them to go 4-on-4, and in the meantime, they were rolling players.

It was going to be a lot of fun. So with a dumb smile he entered the infirmary ready to have the staples removed. He hadn't expected it to be so painful or nauseating.

Throughout the process, Clark's head was spinning. He had been forced to hang onto the armrest of his chair because he felt like he was rocking. The pain he was feeling was worse than the migraines he had been having lately and he was concentrating to avoid vomiting. He didn't concentrate hard enough.

Even before the doctor removed the 18th chirurgical staple, he had the reflex to drop himself into the garbage can to empty his lunch. He thought he could endure the process. Now he understood why patients were asked to rest afterwards.

After his small lull, the doctor resumed to remove the last three. After that, Clark was in no condition to do anything. He lay in a bed and stayed there for a long time.

Day 118 (02/01)

He had spent the first night in the infirmary after he had his staples removed. The day after he was discharged, he spent the whole day sleeping. He had never felt worse in his life. It was like accumulating every hangover he had ever had in his life, adding a jackhammer to his skull and food poisoning.

He looked good. So much so that Hal and Ollie had come to check on him and left laughing at him. The ungrateful. They were going to pay off. And the thought of revenge alone made him smile. He didn't know how these two, with Barry, managed to keep such a joyful life. It was invigorating for the others.

He smiled again as he remembered that today the Flash was back on their team. And that was really a cheering news item for him. Diana might not be with them anymore, but the Dream Team was back.

Day 120 (02/03)

He wiped the sweat from his forehead and repositioned his sunglasses. He was on the lookout. Ready to jump as soon as Flash was ready. The next moment, he jumped to catch the ball and made two dribbles before coming face to face with Bruce. The determined look in his eyes reinforced Clark's desire to beat him.

He feigned, stepped back and threw the ball to Pete. Pete caught it with a smile and scored.

"And now we're up by 12 points," Pete said proudly.

He, Clark and Barry slammed their hands together. Ray went to get a drink of water while Bruce took the ball back for the pledge. He gave Clark a defiant look before passing to Arthur.

"We'll get past you soon enough," he said.

They resumed play. Clark was letting loose. He was playing seriously, motivated by the desire to win and even more by the idea of defeating Bruce. The two of them would often clash, blocking each other, stealing each other's balls. The small basketball court they built became their court of confrontation.

Pete mingled with the group with ease and very quickly they all became familiar with him. As Clark tended to think, sport really helped build relationships between team members. To create group cohesion, it was perfect! Plus, sport helped them release all the tension they felt. And between Bruce and Clark, there was no doubt that there was. But it wasn't the kind of tension that the others imagined.

It had become very violent between them. They would push each other when they stopped shooting, grab each other's shirts, give each other a few blows with defiant looks. They were almost anti-gambling.

"You're not going to get it, Bat," said Clark, clenching his teeth as Bruce stopped him from firing.

"I always get what I want," Bruce replied, equally serious.

Clark passed the ball to Pete behind him, and Bruce leapt up so quickly that the African-American could do nothing: Bruce grabbed the ball and scored.

They then heard Ollie whistle so loudly that it caught everyone's attention:

"Your time is up, boys! You have to clear the place! "

Disappointment showed on the faces of all six players.

"We would have had you," Barry told Arthur with a determined look.

"We went up the score to more than 16 points than you, no chance! " said Ray.

They left the field, joining Ollie and Hal who had landed to watch them play. Eventually Diana joined them.

"You were on fire!" she commented with a big smile.

Hal nodded his head in approval.

"I'm so glad I didn't play with you! "

And while the three of them laughed at the group of players, they all ignored them.

"We'll get our revenge," said Clark.

"Noted, " Bruce replied.

The tension between them was still palpable. Their seriousness was still there.

"Let's get together for dinner ?" asked Ollie.

A general nod gave him his answer as each player went back to his corner. Bruce returned to their barracks and Clark tried not to follow him with his eyes. He retrieved a flask of water that Diana handed him.

"You're in a fight with Wayne ?" Hal asked.

Clark glanced in the direction of their barracks. Bruce had disappeared from his sight, thank God.

"Wayne can be a real jerk sometimes. "

The irritation and frustration in his voice was real. Bruce had wanted to play with his nerves in the morning. All for the sole purpose of Clark admitting that he was attracted to another man and that he loved it. There was no way to satisfy Bruce's ego out of sheer pride.

"Wow, that's direct. Please, try to make up because it's shit when you don't get along! "

Clark clenched his teeth: this match had excited him. While moving, no risk of erection, but now... it was getting hard for him. If Bruce hadn't played with him in the morning, he could have contained himself. Now his hormones were acting instead of his brain.

"Yeah. I'm going to try to do that. "

He ran back to his barracks, clenching his teeth so he wouldn't get hard again.

He slammed the door behind him just as Bruce had just passed water on his face. Clark didn't wait for him to wipe his face. He walked up to him, kissing him on the lips as he was already pulling on his shirt to remove it. His eagerness made him clumsy, but to his face, Bruce was just as clumsy. The sexual tension between them had been too strong. Clark no longer had to worry about getting an erection.

"You're a bastard, Bruce. "

Bruce smiled against his lips and pushed him back into the room. He took off his shirt, tearing the seam in the process. Their skin was sticky with sweat, but none of them stopped at that detail. They were so excited, in such a hurry that nothing else mattered. They were devouring each other with their mouths, their hands were desperately trying to cover their whole bodies, and their burning skin wanted to feel each other's.

Clark was thrown on the bed and very quickly he was stripped of every last bit of clothing, just like Bruce. And their bodies were able to touch each other completely. Clark was totally overwhelmed by the excitement and the almost visceral need to feel Bruce against him. They kissed each other, more passionately than rationally, losing their breath every time their lips joined.

With his hands grasping Bruce's buttocks, he rubbed his pelvis against his own, their erections harder than ever. Clark wanted Bruce, he wanted him so badly that it almost shocked him to feel such a need. To desire someone so intensely. He'd never experienced that before.

Bruce suddenly detached himself and turned him over on his stomach, at the end of his patience. Clark then felt his erection on his buttocks and his natural reaction was to move against it. He wanted to. He wanted Bruce to take it so badly that it was still upsetting him, without stopping him. Bruce, on the other hand, hurried to get a tube of Vaseline from under the bed.

Clark felt his heart beating fast as Bruce ran his finger over his ring of flesh and then penetrated it with one finger. The feeling was still unpleasant, but with lube it was much easier and much less painful. He then felt a second finger go inside him and after a quick back and forth, Bruce straightened up behind him.

Grabbing Clark by the thighs, he positioned himself and penetrated him with a quick kidney stroke. Clark held back a scream while clenching his teeth and still feeling a little pain. Bruce, for his part, choked a moan of pleasure. Then he moved, Clark feeling the pleasure hit him violently with a single blow. After that, they didn't stop.

In the room, there was more than the tinkling of Clark's nameplates on his chest, the sounds of their indecent kidney strokes, and their restrained moans. It was pure fucking. But Clark never thought he'd feel such pleasure getting fucked like that. He never would have imagined it one day.

Bruce leaned over him and grabbed his sex. Clark closed his eyes, feeling himself leaving because of the pleasure. He could feel Bruce's erratic breath in his back, his teeth sliding down his skin, up to his ear.

"I want to mark you so badly," he said in a deep voice.

The thrill of excitement that ran through Clark made Bruce smile against his ear as he pulled away from him. Of course, they couldn't afford to leave any marks. Clark understood the extent of Bruce's possessiveness. It was only then that he realized it: the fingers on his neck, this willingness to hear him say he wanted it, this desire to mark his skin... He was a damn possessive and it turned him on. Bruce had another way of showing it.

He picked up the pace, his hand clasped on Clark's erection. Clark felt all his muscles tighten as he came, biting his lip so he wouldn't let go of the sound. Bruce came two kidney strokes later, pushing his fingers into Clark's legs. After a few seconds, they separated, out of breath.

They remained silent for a while, each one trying to recover from their emotions, Clark in particular. He was broke with pleasure. He felt like every muscle in his body was numb and this bliss he felt... it felt so good. He had a big revelation: it was so much better than with all the other partners he'd had. He then turned his head to Bruce's side, who was plugging up the Vaseline tube. He frowned.

"Where did you get that? " he asked, his voice still hoarse.

Bruce drank some water before answering to Clark, who in turn grabbed the bottle.

"At the hospital, visiting you. "

Clark smiled as he put the bottle down. That was good thinking. It was much more pleasant for him. He thought to himself that if Bruce had done such a thing, he was sure they would both have done it again. That he had been sure that Clark would have slept with him again when he hadn't even shared his decision with him. So he had seen something in his behavior? That he enjoyed it too much? Bruce must have seen the doubt on his face as he put a hand on Clark's cheek.

"A problem? "

Bruce looked down into his eyes with a mercury look. For a second, Clark hesitated to answer him. Then he confided in him:

"I guess... if I want you like that... does that really make me bi... or rather gay? "

Clark was a little ashamed of himself for thinking that after a sex like that, he would never experience such intense pleasure with a woman again. Bruce raised an eyebrow of surprise and then answered, displaying a slight tender smile.

"Only if you want to label yourself and put yourself in boxes. "

Clark was surprised by his answer, but it made a lasting impression on him. After all, what did it matter? Bruce added nonchalantly:

"Now we have to go take a shower. "

His hand slipped from his cheek and the Bat got up to go to the bathroom, reality catching up with them far too quickly for Clark's taste. But it was their life.