Disclaimer: I do not own Smallville, Superman, or any of the characters.
Summary:
Friends become foes. Foes become friends. A boy becomes a man. A man that has always been a hero. (Featuring: Bruce Wayne)
SMALLVILLE: END
Lex Luthor
"When I heard you were in Smallville, I couldn't believe it." I turned to him as I downed my whiskey. "Now tell me, what's a man like you doing in Smallville?"
Bruce flashed a smile. "Same reason why a powerful man like you is here, Lex."
I looked him in the eye for a second. His icy blue eyes revealed nothing. I walked over to the table where the whiskey was and poured two glasses. I offered him the second one, taking the first as my own, but he refused.
"My reasons have changed, Bruce." I said finally. "With LuthorCorp out of my grasp, I'm grounded in Smallville." I tried to read his expression, but he just continued to look at me showing nothing but a modest smile.
"Lex, I'm sorry." He responded. "I never wanted this to happen. I just wanted to make things right."
"My father spear heading the company again isn't right." I reasoned. "He may have lay low for a while, but make no mistake… as we speak, he is further securing his control over the company. He won't let anyone stop him again… especially me."
"From what I understand, Lex…" Bruce started, "you're not that much better than your father anyway."
"Did Lucius tell you that?" I laughed. "Bruce, that was entirely business. Sometimes… the gloves have to come off."
His piercing eyes bore into my dark ones. "I see…" He turned around. "I'll see you around, Lex." He started to walk towards the door.
"Wait!" I called. "You're staying in Smallville?"
He turned around to face me again. "Yes."
"For how long?" I asked genuinely curious.
"As long as it takes." Bruce responded. I looked at him curiously. Looking at me and smiling once more, he added, "We each have our own agendas, Lex. Maybe Smallville is the little vacation I was looking for from the car exhaust and the muggings and the general urban disasters." He turned away again and headed for the door.
"If you're looking for a vacation, Bruce," I warned him before he could walk out the door. He stopped. "Smallville isn't the place for it." He didn't say anything, but merely opened the door. "There's a place called The Talon…" I started.
He looked at me one last time. "What?"
"Lodgings." I told him. "I would've offered my house to you… but I doubt you would've accepted. There's a place called The Talon. Talk to Martha Kent… she has a place for rent."
He continued to look at me for a few seconds, and then nodded. He walked through the door and closed it, leaving me with the whiskey.
Putting the glasses down, I crossed to the computer and sat down. I clicked, turning off the screen saver, logged on, and typed in 'Bruce Wayne'.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Martha Kent
The Talon was packed. I know I shouldn't be complaining, considering that the more customers, the better. But everything was just too hectic. A person could've just come in here and robbed the place and I would've been too busy to notice.
"Cup of black coffee please." The man next in line said. He placed the money on the counter.
"Coming up." I smiled and turned to my new assistant Kelly. "One Coffee Black." I told Kelly before hurrying off, trying to hand the previous order, a vanilla latte, but I was stopped.
"Mrs. Kent!" One of my workers called out. I turned. "Never mind." I looked at her for a moment, noticing her take the money that I had forgotten about from the counter and put it in the register. Dear God. I was getting too old for this.
"Hey!' A voice called out. "Where's my Vanilla Latte?" This snapped me out of my train of thought.
"Coming right up!" I called out. I was about to leave the counter when…
"Wait! Mrs. Kent!" Kelly jogged to catch up to me. "Here's the Black Coffee." She smiled and walked off to get the next order.
I walked away scanning the dozens of faces in The Talon until I spotted Allison, who had ordered the Vanilla Latte. She waited impatiently and it showed. Sighing, I approached her. "Here it is. Enjoy!" I smiled forcefully and walked off. "Hey, Kelly! Who ordered the Black Coffee?" I asked before tripping on someone's shoe and falling.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Bruce Wayne
I saw it coming. The haggard looking woman looked beat. I guess my search for Martha Kent would have to wait. So did my Black Coffee.
I walked straight through the line of people.
"Hey!" A girl called at me.
"Watch it, jerk!" Another said.
I didn't have time to acknowledge them. The woman tripped. Gracefully, I wrapped an arm around her waist and caught her, then pivoted to catch the tray she'd tossed aside. The aroma of black coffee entered through my nose.
"Um." I said a little awkwardly. The room had gone silent, noticing the scene that had unfolded. "I think this one's mine." I smiled widely and people started to turn back to their conversations.
The woman regained her composure and thanked me. "No problem." I'd responded. "Say," I started before she could get back to work. She turned back to me. "You wouldn't happen to know where I could find a Ms. Martha Kent, would you?" I turned the smile on again. "Someone said she'd be here."
The woman gave her full attention to me. "I think you found her." She put the tray on the counter. "I'm Martha Kent."
"Can I--?" I started, but I was interrupted.
"Fifteen minutes, Kelly!" She called to a girl working diligently on the counter. The girl nodded and got back to work.
"So you catch people often?" Martha joked.
I smiled at her. "Only when they're falling." She smiled back and picked up the item on the tray then handed it to me. "Thank you," I said, taking the coffee from her hand.
"So you needed to talk to me?" She brought up.
"Yeah." I responded, taking a sip from my coffee. The smile faded from my lips. "I was looking for a place to stay. One of my…" I paused. "… associates… he told me where to find you."
"Oh!" Martha Kent piped. "Yeah. There's a place upstairs actually." Her eyes darted to the stairs that went along the walls. "Not exactly a suite, but it's tidy and you get free coffee in the morning."
I laughed lightly. "You know what, it'd be great." My gaze ran up the steps. "Do you mind if I," I looked at her as I finished, "take a look… Ms…."
"Kent." She smiled. "Mrs. Kent. Call me Martha. And no, of course you can look around."
"… Martha." I finished. The same name my mother had. She gave me a key that was chained to her apron and I took it. "Thank you."
I walked up the stairs and down a hallway to meet a door. I knocked. Of course no one was there. Martha had given me the key. Why would she give me the key if someone were in here. I took the key and used it to unlock the door. The smell of flowers rushed out as the door opened. What kind of flowers, I had no idea.
The room wasn't bright, but it wasn't dim either. There was no source of light except an open window. Sunshine rolled through and seemed to fill the entire room with its light. I couldn't decide whether it was orange or yellow, or maybe both… but more yellow than orange.
I spotted a rose on a table that had a white cloth thrown over it. I walked on over to it and picked it up with two fingers. Delicate, I thought. Looking at the rose suddenly brought back a memory that sent my mind in a whirlpool of mixed emotions. My vision blurred as the memory got clearer. My feet buckled and I hastily grabbed a wall for balance.
A gunshot. There was no need for me to see if the bullet had hit its mark. I knew it had. The barrel was still smoking and the look of surprise on the killer's face. Surprise at his own daring. A surprise I had longed to wipe from him face to this day. I looked to my mother. My beautiful mother, Martha Wayne. I had never seen her angry, truly angry. I don't think she ever was. I always saw her as a compassionate woman that always offered a hand to any individual that needed it. But that day I saw a new look, a look of pain and fear. It was the kind of look I had wanted the killer to have. Did he know? That my mother and father, although not personally, had done their best to help him? And what had he done? What had he gained? My father would've given him and all the poverty stricken people the world. Instead, he had gotten a few hundred dollars. I picked the pearls up. The pearls that the killer had tried to grab before shooting my mother, which caused my father to protest.
Another gunshot. And the pearls were caked in blood. So were my hands. I looked behind me knowing what I would find but wishing altogether that it wasn't real. My father clutched at his wound. He knew it was fatal. The other hand clutched a solitary rose. A rose that he had planned on giving to my mother. It was just like him. I looked at the killer once more surprising even me at my own courage. His look of daring had been replaced by fear. I knew that it had dawned on him. The death of the Waynes could not be overlooked. He had buried his own grave. And as I looked at him, thinking of my lovely mother, and my chivalrous father, I did the only thing I could do. An eight-year-old boy fighting back in the only way he could: I cried. I cried at the sky. The midnight sky that seemed to listen to my problem and my problem alone. I cried and cried waiting the gunshot that never came. Was he still there? I didn't know. I didn't care. But as I heard the sirens getting closer, I knew then that he was gone.
"Are you okay?" A woman said behind me, snapping me out of the memory.
I noticed my eyes had teared up and I hastily blinked them away. My two fingers that had delicately gripped the rose before were now joined with the rest of my hand and had become a death grip. Slowly, I loosened my grip and opened my hand. I was surprised when blood oozed down and noticed the thorns for the first time.
"I'm fine—" I started, but Martha had noticed the blood.
"Oh God!" She took out a handkerchief from seemingly out of nowhere, took the rose out of my hand, and hastily wrapped my palm. "I'm so sorry."
"Don't worry about it." I answered. "It was my fault. Should've known it had thorns."
Martha smiled sympathetically. "I never got your name."
I smiled charismatically. A smile I had practiced and done so many times. Yet surprisingly, it still worked. Amazing how far you could get with a pretty smile. I almost answered with my true name but stopped myself just in time. It was time to use an identity I had used so many times. In many ways, it was more real than Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne would draw too much attention, especially in a town like Smallville. "Malone." I answered confidently. "Mitch Malone."
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
A/N: Little late, but I got stuck. I was hoping to have a little of Clark in it, but I thought I'd have all that in the next chapter. Give me one to two weeks for the next one. An additional note: Batman in the future uses an identity called 'Matches' Malone, which Mitch Malone comes from. Just so you guys know it's not random J.