Part II:
Bruce
(If you want to know what Bruce Wayne is doing in Smallville, check out a previous fic of mine, Night and Day. It's long, but worth the read)
"Get me down from here, you nutcase," the young man shrieked as he kicked helplessly in the wind. He was hanging upside down from a rope line tied to one of his ankles. Below him, there was nothing but three stories of empty air right down to the pavement. "God, please, just let me down," he pleaded.
"Whatever you say," a steely voice chuckled. The line went slack and the young man started to plummet downward. His shriek carried up into the night and then was cut off as the line went taunt again. He started to blubber as he hung there, swinging about in the wind. "Ready to talk yet?" that voice asked lightly. The young man burbled nonsense, nodding furiously.
"Good, I was-" the voice started and then stopped suddenly. "Hmph. Wait just a minute." The line shook for a moment and then jerked upwards. He shrieked once, quickly, thinking he was going to fall again. Instead, he was slowly pulled upwards back to the rooftop. When he was near the top, a pair of black gloved hands grabbed him and lifted him upwards.
"Please, please, I'll tell you anything, I mean it, I will!" he started to babble.
"I know that, you've been making a lot of noise for a while now." He couldn't make out the other man's face at all in the darkness, not that he wanted to. He'd been grilled by police before and hadn't batted an eye. He'd stared down the barrels of a few guns in his life and hadn't begged for anything. He'd thought that he'd always be as cool under fire. All those illusions had come to an end about an hour ago, when a pair steel- trap hands had grabbed him from the mouth of an alley and had dragged him into the darkness."
"What are you going to do to me?" he asked fearfully.
There was a dark chuckle out of the blackness. "I'm going to listen to you, in a while. But I'm busy now, so I'm going to let you think about what to tell me." There was a ripping sound and then a patch of thick tape was slapped across his mouth. "Think hard." Then those hands let go of him and he plummeted ten feet down to hang in midair.
Clark watched it all from the side of the rooftop. He could hear the man's muffled screams even from here and he frowned, a little disturbed. He's seen Bruce in action before, but he was still startled by the extent to which he was willing to go to get what he wanted.
"I'm busy. What do you want?" Bruce asked him brusquely, not even bothering to turn around.
"Just to talk, I suppose," Clark shrugged. "I haven't seen you around for a while, so I guess I was wondering what you were up to." Bruce grunted, still looking over the ledge. "Is all that really necessary?" he asked quietly.
"Yes, as a matter of fact, it is," Bruce said, turning to him. He was as tall as Clark, but a little broader and well built. Dressed entirely in black, he seemed almost another piece of the shadows as he stood there.
"What happens if you make a mistake?" Clark asked him. "Or the rope breaks? What then?" Bruce stared at him oddly for a moment until Clark snorted, looking upwards and shaking his head. "Of course, silly me. You don't make mistakes do you?"
"I can't afford them," he shrugged and looked over the side briefly. His mouth twitched into a brief grin and he looked back.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Clark demanded.
"Do you know what he did?" Bruce asked him quietly, ignoring the question. Clark grunted irritably and shook his head. "My little piñata down there used to run with a gang called the Sharks, based out of Metropolis. Twelve days ago, a police officer was murdered on their turf. Kinda funny wouldn't you say, a cop gets shot in Metropolis and suddenly we've got Sharks popping up in Smallville? Sounds like somebody's running, wouldn't you agree?"
"Maybe," Clark said. "Could you have gotten him to admit that without scaring him half to death?"
"Of course," he shrugged, looking over the ledge.
"Then why do it?"
"Because this way he'll remember and he'll stay scared." He stared down at the swinging figure, his face impassive.
"Fear's a strong tool, Clark," he said slowly. "As old as love and just as powerful. People obey it, give in to it. It's amazing too, no matter how strong or smart we think we are, we all fear what lies in the shadows. Just out of sight, waiting for us. That sort of black suspense that surrounds you at night when you're all alone," he murmured to himself.
"Now you're sounding like a old horror movie," Clark smiled.
"Why not, they got it right," he argued. "Hitchcock, Carpenter, they understood that it was fear that gripped people, not shock. They used suspense, let you wonder what was going to happen, rather than throw a lot of gore and blood at you. Flashing a knife in someone's face is startling, but not knowing if the knife's really there, now that's frightening."
"Okay. Didn't figure you for the horror fan." Clark laughed a little wryly and said, "But then I guess it makes sense. If you were going to like movies, I wouldn't figure you for the romantic comedy types." Bruce smiled at him and Clark stopped laughing. He had that effect on people sometimes.
"Just giving you an example," he shrugged. He knelt down and nodded over the ledge. "Look at him. He's terrified right now, even though I wouldn't let him fall, no matter what I tell him. And you know what, it hardly matters. No matter what I do to him, it couldn't possibly compare with what he's feeling right now. The raw terror of not knowing, of waiting." He smiled that chilly half-smile of his. "Like I said, the old movies got it right."
"I still don't think you need to do this. Isn't it a bit much? I mean, stopping crime is one thing, but do you really need to have him fear you?"
"Simple, if he stays scared, he'll stay clean." Bruce looked at him frankly. "We can never prevent every crime, Clark. It's just not possible. You can't be everywhere at once, no one's that fast. The most we can ever hope for is to contain the damage. But if we can get them to fear us, to think twice before acting, then that's a step in the right direction."
"To what; ruling with an iron fist? Do you really want everyone afraid of you just because it may make some people think twice?"
"If necessary."
"What about people who are innocent? You want them afraid of you too." Bruce didn't answer. "Bruce, that's." he hesitated to say it, but couldn't think of a different word, "kind of. crazy."
He laughed mirthlessly, glancing at Clark. "Yeah, I guess it is. But it'll work though. If they fear you, they'll listen and they'll know," he told him seriously. "They'll know. So," he said, smiling again, "if the solution is an insane one, are you being sane to choose it, or insane not to?"
"I don't want people to fear me," Clark stated firmly. Bruce just looked at him and smiled. Then he turned back and crouched down on the ledge.
"Do me a favor," he laughed. "When I let him go, follow him. If he doesn't do exactly what I tell you, I'll apologize."
"To him or me?"
"Either, it hardly matters."
"That would be something. I'd don't think I've ever seen you do that before. Are you sure you know how?"
"Funny," he said dryly. "When I let him go, he's going to run straight to the police. He'll tell them everything, about the murder, about anything he's ever done or heard about. He'll spill every dirty secret he's got without a moment's hesitation."
"And you know this because?"
Bruce laughed again. "I've watched it before."
"And enjoyed it, I bet," Clark remarked.
Bruce looked at him irritably. "Do you know what I hate about you, Clark?" he asked testily. "You're so goddamn arrogant." Clark could only stare at him.
"I'm what."
"Arrogant," he snapped. "Not in the usual way, it's just implied in your character. I've seen you in action, I've watched you fight, or what you call fighting. You're absolutely convinced that there's no one out there that could hurt you. You take chances, leave yourself open. For a while I thought it was just because you were an amateur, but now I'm not so sure."
"Do you really want to throw the word arrogance around with me, Bruce?" Clark asked him coldly. "Hmm? Not when every other word you say is meant in some way to patronize me. Do you know how sick I am of hearing you put me down?"
"Fine then," Bruce told him. "Hit me."
"What?" Clark stopped dead.
"Hit me," Bruce said, waiting. He stood there patiently with his arms at his side.
He's goading me, Clark thought suddenly as he blood started to boil. "Fine then," he said suddenly and swung at Bruce. Without even seeming to move, suddenly Bruce's hands were up and wrapped around Clark's arm, carrying his fist away from his chest. Clark glared at him sullenly. "Well?" he asked.
"Case in point, Clark," Bruce snapped at him. "You could lift with a car with each hand. I shouldn't be able to stop you if were really going to hit me. Do you see what I mean?"
"Well what do you expect me to do?" Clark asked him. "Punch through your chest? I'm a lot stronger than you-"
"-and I can't risk hurting me," Bruce finished for him. "I know, I've heard the speech. Here's another one that one of my teachers gave me: 'There's always someone stronger.' You keep fighting with kid gloves on, and sooner or later, you're going to run into someone who's just as strong as you, or stronger. And if you don't take it seriously, you're going to wind up dead. Now, I don't expect you to go around crippling people in fights, but a little bruising might not hurt them."
"Speaking of crippling people, how many people have you put in the hospital this week?" Clark asked him acidly.
"Two; Smallville's not a very big town." Neither one said anything for a long while. The only sound was the muffled shouts from below them.
"Well, I'm going to get on with this," Bruce shrugged. He started to haul up the line slowly, grunting as he pulled upwards. Clark didn't make any move to help him and Bruce didn't ask for any. "You're going to follow him, right?" he asked.
Clark nodded. He owed him that much anyways. "How do you know he won't run as soon as you turn him loose?"
Bruce smiled at him and held out his open hand. "Five words, that all. Five words." He bent down and lifted him partially over the ledge, so that his waist was bent backwards over the brick side. The man's head hung over the edge, his eyes wild and teary. Unconcerned, Bruce unwrapped some of the strands of rope around the man's ankle, spooling out more of the line. Then he looked up at him and smiled. He bent down until the man's head was inches from his own.
"I'll be watching you," he said in that steely voice. Then he lifted the man up and dropped him over the side. Clark started from where he'd been standing as the coiled rope vanished over the side. Bruce stood there watching impassively as the line played out. Then man fell silently, his screams still muffled by the tape. When he was ten feet from the ground, the rope went taunt again and he jerked to a stop. Clark watched as he swung wildly on the line and then he looked at Bruce questionably.
"That was four words," he pointed out.
"No," he remarked, "it was five. "I'll be watching you," he said counting them out on his hand. "Five."
"'I'll' doesn't count for two," Clark said.
"Sure it does. I'll: I will. Two words."
"I think it's more like one and a half maybe, or just one. I don't think two."
"What are you-," Bruce started, and then shook his head angrily. "No, we are not having this conversation," he stated. Clark chuckled and after a moment, Bruce smiled as well.
Still smiling, he bent down and swiftly cut the rope with a knife from his belt. They could hear a dull thud from far below as the man hit the pavement. Expertly pulling the rope back up and winding it around his arm, Bruce glanced at him.
"You'd better get going," he said softly. "He'll want to get away quick."
Clark nodded and started back to the ladder on the other side of the roof. "I'll see ya," he said over his shoulder. Bruce nodded at him and looked back over the ledge. Beneath him, the darkened shapes of the buildings spread out in all directions. He stared out into the night and then shivered as the cold air touched him briefly.
"See ya, Clark," he called out softly, still looking out over the town.
(If you want to know what Bruce Wayne is doing in Smallville, check out a previous fic of mine, Night and Day. It's long, but worth the read)
"Get me down from here, you nutcase," the young man shrieked as he kicked helplessly in the wind. He was hanging upside down from a rope line tied to one of his ankles. Below him, there was nothing but three stories of empty air right down to the pavement. "God, please, just let me down," he pleaded.
"Whatever you say," a steely voice chuckled. The line went slack and the young man started to plummet downward. His shriek carried up into the night and then was cut off as the line went taunt again. He started to blubber as he hung there, swinging about in the wind. "Ready to talk yet?" that voice asked lightly. The young man burbled nonsense, nodding furiously.
"Good, I was-" the voice started and then stopped suddenly. "Hmph. Wait just a minute." The line shook for a moment and then jerked upwards. He shrieked once, quickly, thinking he was going to fall again. Instead, he was slowly pulled upwards back to the rooftop. When he was near the top, a pair of black gloved hands grabbed him and lifted him upwards.
"Please, please, I'll tell you anything, I mean it, I will!" he started to babble.
"I know that, you've been making a lot of noise for a while now." He couldn't make out the other man's face at all in the darkness, not that he wanted to. He'd been grilled by police before and hadn't batted an eye. He'd stared down the barrels of a few guns in his life and hadn't begged for anything. He'd thought that he'd always be as cool under fire. All those illusions had come to an end about an hour ago, when a pair steel- trap hands had grabbed him from the mouth of an alley and had dragged him into the darkness."
"What are you going to do to me?" he asked fearfully.
There was a dark chuckle out of the blackness. "I'm going to listen to you, in a while. But I'm busy now, so I'm going to let you think about what to tell me." There was a ripping sound and then a patch of thick tape was slapped across his mouth. "Think hard." Then those hands let go of him and he plummeted ten feet down to hang in midair.
Clark watched it all from the side of the rooftop. He could hear the man's muffled screams even from here and he frowned, a little disturbed. He's seen Bruce in action before, but he was still startled by the extent to which he was willing to go to get what he wanted.
"I'm busy. What do you want?" Bruce asked him brusquely, not even bothering to turn around.
"Just to talk, I suppose," Clark shrugged. "I haven't seen you around for a while, so I guess I was wondering what you were up to." Bruce grunted, still looking over the ledge. "Is all that really necessary?" he asked quietly.
"Yes, as a matter of fact, it is," Bruce said, turning to him. He was as tall as Clark, but a little broader and well built. Dressed entirely in black, he seemed almost another piece of the shadows as he stood there.
"What happens if you make a mistake?" Clark asked him. "Or the rope breaks? What then?" Bruce stared at him oddly for a moment until Clark snorted, looking upwards and shaking his head. "Of course, silly me. You don't make mistakes do you?"
"I can't afford them," he shrugged and looked over the side briefly. His mouth twitched into a brief grin and he looked back.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Clark demanded.
"Do you know what he did?" Bruce asked him quietly, ignoring the question. Clark grunted irritably and shook his head. "My little piñata down there used to run with a gang called the Sharks, based out of Metropolis. Twelve days ago, a police officer was murdered on their turf. Kinda funny wouldn't you say, a cop gets shot in Metropolis and suddenly we've got Sharks popping up in Smallville? Sounds like somebody's running, wouldn't you agree?"
"Maybe," Clark said. "Could you have gotten him to admit that without scaring him half to death?"
"Of course," he shrugged, looking over the ledge.
"Then why do it?"
"Because this way he'll remember and he'll stay scared." He stared down at the swinging figure, his face impassive.
"Fear's a strong tool, Clark," he said slowly. "As old as love and just as powerful. People obey it, give in to it. It's amazing too, no matter how strong or smart we think we are, we all fear what lies in the shadows. Just out of sight, waiting for us. That sort of black suspense that surrounds you at night when you're all alone," he murmured to himself.
"Now you're sounding like a old horror movie," Clark smiled.
"Why not, they got it right," he argued. "Hitchcock, Carpenter, they understood that it was fear that gripped people, not shock. They used suspense, let you wonder what was going to happen, rather than throw a lot of gore and blood at you. Flashing a knife in someone's face is startling, but not knowing if the knife's really there, now that's frightening."
"Okay. Didn't figure you for the horror fan." Clark laughed a little wryly and said, "But then I guess it makes sense. If you were going to like movies, I wouldn't figure you for the romantic comedy types." Bruce smiled at him and Clark stopped laughing. He had that effect on people sometimes.
"Just giving you an example," he shrugged. He knelt down and nodded over the ledge. "Look at him. He's terrified right now, even though I wouldn't let him fall, no matter what I tell him. And you know what, it hardly matters. No matter what I do to him, it couldn't possibly compare with what he's feeling right now. The raw terror of not knowing, of waiting." He smiled that chilly half-smile of his. "Like I said, the old movies got it right."
"I still don't think you need to do this. Isn't it a bit much? I mean, stopping crime is one thing, but do you really need to have him fear you?"
"Simple, if he stays scared, he'll stay clean." Bruce looked at him frankly. "We can never prevent every crime, Clark. It's just not possible. You can't be everywhere at once, no one's that fast. The most we can ever hope for is to contain the damage. But if we can get them to fear us, to think twice before acting, then that's a step in the right direction."
"To what; ruling with an iron fist? Do you really want everyone afraid of you just because it may make some people think twice?"
"If necessary."
"What about people who are innocent? You want them afraid of you too." Bruce didn't answer. "Bruce, that's." he hesitated to say it, but couldn't think of a different word, "kind of. crazy."
He laughed mirthlessly, glancing at Clark. "Yeah, I guess it is. But it'll work though. If they fear you, they'll listen and they'll know," he told him seriously. "They'll know. So," he said, smiling again, "if the solution is an insane one, are you being sane to choose it, or insane not to?"
"I don't want people to fear me," Clark stated firmly. Bruce just looked at him and smiled. Then he turned back and crouched down on the ledge.
"Do me a favor," he laughed. "When I let him go, follow him. If he doesn't do exactly what I tell you, I'll apologize."
"To him or me?"
"Either, it hardly matters."
"That would be something. I'd don't think I've ever seen you do that before. Are you sure you know how?"
"Funny," he said dryly. "When I let him go, he's going to run straight to the police. He'll tell them everything, about the murder, about anything he's ever done or heard about. He'll spill every dirty secret he's got without a moment's hesitation."
"And you know this because?"
Bruce laughed again. "I've watched it before."
"And enjoyed it, I bet," Clark remarked.
Bruce looked at him irritably. "Do you know what I hate about you, Clark?" he asked testily. "You're so goddamn arrogant." Clark could only stare at him.
"I'm what."
"Arrogant," he snapped. "Not in the usual way, it's just implied in your character. I've seen you in action, I've watched you fight, or what you call fighting. You're absolutely convinced that there's no one out there that could hurt you. You take chances, leave yourself open. For a while I thought it was just because you were an amateur, but now I'm not so sure."
"Do you really want to throw the word arrogance around with me, Bruce?" Clark asked him coldly. "Hmm? Not when every other word you say is meant in some way to patronize me. Do you know how sick I am of hearing you put me down?"
"Fine then," Bruce told him. "Hit me."
"What?" Clark stopped dead.
"Hit me," Bruce said, waiting. He stood there patiently with his arms at his side.
He's goading me, Clark thought suddenly as he blood started to boil. "Fine then," he said suddenly and swung at Bruce. Without even seeming to move, suddenly Bruce's hands were up and wrapped around Clark's arm, carrying his fist away from his chest. Clark glared at him sullenly. "Well?" he asked.
"Case in point, Clark," Bruce snapped at him. "You could lift with a car with each hand. I shouldn't be able to stop you if were really going to hit me. Do you see what I mean?"
"Well what do you expect me to do?" Clark asked him. "Punch through your chest? I'm a lot stronger than you-"
"-and I can't risk hurting me," Bruce finished for him. "I know, I've heard the speech. Here's another one that one of my teachers gave me: 'There's always someone stronger.' You keep fighting with kid gloves on, and sooner or later, you're going to run into someone who's just as strong as you, or stronger. And if you don't take it seriously, you're going to wind up dead. Now, I don't expect you to go around crippling people in fights, but a little bruising might not hurt them."
"Speaking of crippling people, how many people have you put in the hospital this week?" Clark asked him acidly.
"Two; Smallville's not a very big town." Neither one said anything for a long while. The only sound was the muffled shouts from below them.
"Well, I'm going to get on with this," Bruce shrugged. He started to haul up the line slowly, grunting as he pulled upwards. Clark didn't make any move to help him and Bruce didn't ask for any. "You're going to follow him, right?" he asked.
Clark nodded. He owed him that much anyways. "How do you know he won't run as soon as you turn him loose?"
Bruce smiled at him and held out his open hand. "Five words, that all. Five words." He bent down and lifted him partially over the ledge, so that his waist was bent backwards over the brick side. The man's head hung over the edge, his eyes wild and teary. Unconcerned, Bruce unwrapped some of the strands of rope around the man's ankle, spooling out more of the line. Then he looked up at him and smiled. He bent down until the man's head was inches from his own.
"I'll be watching you," he said in that steely voice. Then he lifted the man up and dropped him over the side. Clark started from where he'd been standing as the coiled rope vanished over the side. Bruce stood there watching impassively as the line played out. Then man fell silently, his screams still muffled by the tape. When he was ten feet from the ground, the rope went taunt again and he jerked to a stop. Clark watched as he swung wildly on the line and then he looked at Bruce questionably.
"That was four words," he pointed out.
"No," he remarked, "it was five. "I'll be watching you," he said counting them out on his hand. "Five."
"'I'll' doesn't count for two," Clark said.
"Sure it does. I'll: I will. Two words."
"I think it's more like one and a half maybe, or just one. I don't think two."
"What are you-," Bruce started, and then shook his head angrily. "No, we are not having this conversation," he stated. Clark chuckled and after a moment, Bruce smiled as well.
Still smiling, he bent down and swiftly cut the rope with a knife from his belt. They could hear a dull thud from far below as the man hit the pavement. Expertly pulling the rope back up and winding it around his arm, Bruce glanced at him.
"You'd better get going," he said softly. "He'll want to get away quick."
Clark nodded and started back to the ladder on the other side of the roof. "I'll see ya," he said over his shoulder. Bruce nodded at him and looked back over the ledge. Beneath him, the darkened shapes of the buildings spread out in all directions. He stared out into the night and then shivered as the cold air touched him briefly.
"See ya, Clark," he called out softly, still looking out over the town.