author: Candylyn
rating/genre: teen to adult for now - angst, drama, romance
warnings: slash, het, angst, sexualcontent (eventually), language
summary: Batman realizes Flash is having trouble dealing with the changes within the League. (Slash) Don't like don't read.
comments/disclaimers: I don't own, just going to torture them a bit.
Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed this story. Originally I was just going to let this go with only one chapter but after rethinking how the League members interact and realizing that if these people were real they would all be candidates for the loony bin I decided to keep going.
I have plotted this thing out pretty far. I am not sure when I will be able to post again, but I will. Please forgive me taking my time to get to the action/sex. This is a romantic drama not porn with a plot, not that there is anything wrong with porn with a plot! Thanks to Jon for all you input and too Dimitri :- . To the rest of you XOXOXOXO.
FYI: Asociopath is more violent then a psychopath. A futon is a bench like sofa with a mattress like cusion that folds down to a full sized bed.
Chapter Three: Motives
He'd been here three times before. Twice on League business and once to play poker. Exactly how Clark managed to talk him into coming was a mystery... well not really, but some things were better left to history.
Wally's apartment had looked like ground zero for a teenage flavored h-bomb during his first two visits. The floor was a minefield of denim, tees and pizza boxes. The kitchen looked more like the dank basement laboratory of some mad scientist in an old 1930's serial. Nothing was in it's place but then Batman was certain that nothing had a place to begin with.
The third time, the poker game, the place had looked better. John, no doubt, put foot-to-ass and got Wally to clean the place. Still, it was clear that Wally had haphazardly hidden what he could, chucked the rest then drowned the place in bleach and Mr. Clean.
Now the whole space was eerily spotless; cleaned with military precision. Had to be John's doing. The man was evil when it came to cleaning. Not even Alfred was as methodical as John was. Wally once joked that it was impossible to mess up John's quarters because everything had been trained to return to its appointed location after being used.
The futon was upright; clean bedding had been neatly folded and rested in the middle. The hardwood floors were gleaming. The blue area rug under the coffee table looked brand new. The electronics had been wiped down. The pine end tables, TV cabinet and the butcher's block counter top of the breakfast bar, which separated the kitchen from the living space, had been polished to a shine. And all of Wally's accent pieces had been neatly placed in the most logical spots.
Order out of chaos, John's specialty.
God only knows what he did to the bathroom. Wally had never let that room go to hell like the rest of the studio, but it wouldn't be surprising if John had ripped everything out and remodeled the whole space.
John did that, whenever things got out of his control he cleaned or moved something, like furniture… or asteroids. It was a control issue. Overwhelmed by feelings of helplessness and lack of control, people like John turn their frustration into a creative, or destructive, force.
Batman's hypothesis was that John felt he had no control over Wally's condition. Since he couldn't help Wally one way he found another, clean his apartment until it shined.
He understood the man. They were more alike than Batman cared to admit. Their only difference was motive.
Batman noticed a shoebox sized container on the end table near the front door. A series of photo envelopes were filed in one behind the other like good little soldiers.
Recovering the box, Batman seated himself on the futon and began going through it. Each envelope was labeled, by John. His handwriting, though readable, was the only thing about him that wasn't neat.
The first envelope was a hodge podge of baby pictures, school photos and candid pictures of Wally at his grandparents' farm in Snowden, Kansas. In each photo Wally looked desperate and hungry. Those beautiful green eyes looked dead and tired.
There were no pictures of his biological parents.
The next few packages held photos of his Aunt Iris and Uncle Barry, the original Flash. Wally was in a great many of them, too. A boy of nine or ten, all bright green eyes and sun-kissed freckles, smiling with all the joy a child his age should have. Most of the pictures were of birthday parties, fishing trips, even a few at the police lab were Barry worked.
The familial resemblance between Iris and Wally was striking. Iris and Wally were the cross gender equivalent of each other. Both having those same emerald eyes, strawberry blond hair and rusty freckles; the only differences between them were gender related.
The best picturesof the trio were taken at Barry and Iris' wedding. Wally was about 13; he was all legs, arms and big feet stuffed into a black suit with a silver-white tie and white dress shirt. Handsome Barry had on a well tailored tuxedo. And Iris was the picture-perfect bride, dressed in a tasteful yet slinky pure white evening gown.
They were in Vegas. The wedding took place atop a high rise hotel, but there weren't enough clues in the photos to figure out which. It was just the three of them, the justice of the peace and whoever was taking the pictures.
The photos told the story of the wedding, perfectly. Wally not only gave away the bride but served as the best man, too. He looked so damned happy, like a kid at Christmas getting exactly what he asked for.
A happy little family. Something inside Bruce broke.
The last four envelops were filled with pictures of them, out of costume or course. Wally burned through a whole roll of film during the poker game. He got each of them at quiet moments or while they ate dinner; an assortment of Chinese from Ming Fong's three blocks away.
Two envelops were assorted pictures of them at different times. Half a roll taken on a tour of the Daily Planet. He got three with Clark, who smiled as openly and 'honestly' as ever. A few more showed Diana and John close to a striking blond haired man with a forced smile, J'onn, at a Detroit Lions game.
The last two packs of pictures were taken just a few months ago over the Christmas and New Year holidays. After the mess with Shayera and the reformation of the League with new members, Wally had been worried John would try to work himself into emotional coma over the holiday. So Wally put his foot to John's ass for a change and made him go to NYC for the holiday, sans spandex.
Sight seeing, silliness in the hotel and, of course, Christmas morning gift opening had been captured. Wally got a laptop, John got a new leather coat and matching driving gloves. There were several pictures of the pair in Times Square watching the apple drop surrounded by a sea of people. Both smiling, always.
A father and son on holiday in the Big Apple; the pictures told the story.
"You know," a quiet said, "breaking and entering is illegal?"
"Nothing is broken," Batman replied without looking up. He didn't need to, he'd know that damned boy scout's voice anywhere.
Superman soundlessly glided in through the open window. Though they were alone, Batman was certain he heard cheers and fanfare.
"That's not the point," Superman stated.
"You're here, coming in through the window," Batman pointed out while putting away the photos, " No key, no real reason…"
Superman snorted, "One day you will realize when I am joking."
Batman looked up at him.He always felt naked without his skin and utility belt on. More so when the brick-from-the-sticks was around. Knowing that little green rock was within reaching distance was… satisfying.
Emotional crutch much?
"I heard you are moving Wally to the Manor," Superman's voice dropped the pomp becoming that of Clark Kent, "why?"
Batman looked up at him, his expression corkscrewed becoming a mix of disgust and pity. He could careless that his emotions were exposed without the mask to cover him. "With no medical staff to speak of and considering Wally's track record of leaving medical facilities before he is ready, I thought it best to move him where someone could keep a constant eye on him."
Batman didn't like the Kryptonian's sudden change in body language.
"Alfred?" While Clark had guessed who would be babysitting Flash it didn't seem to sit well with him. Superman was still in Clark-mode but he knew at any second...
"Yes, Alfred will see to it that he gets rest."
Clark stiffened, and suddenly, Superman was back. "Again, you're making decisions…"
Batman remained calm but he knew where this was going. "Who was I supposed to discuss this with, Clark, you? Wallace is a grown man, he agreed..."
"I am sure he had choice?" Superman's voice oozed with enough sarcasm to choke on. Only Batman knew he'd never be so lucky.
"Not really. I think we all would agree that taking him to a hospital or even hiring a private nurse would be a bad idea. Still, he needs proper medical attention. "
"And whose fault is it that we don't have a proper medical staff?"
There are very few things in this world that got under Batman's skin like having someone talk down to him. "Is it really so damned important for you to have everything your way?" Batman's voice was still calm but a bitterness was starting to creep in. "Flash almost died three nights ago. They left him alone because of a scheduling conflict they didn't bother to tell any of us about. You are a bigger fool than I imagined if you consider that a tolerable situation."
Superman backed down... a bit. "You're right, that was an intolerable situation, but what is equally intolerable is how you make snap decisions that affect everyone without consulting anyone."
This was an ancient battle between iron will and inflated ego. Nothing but massive amounts of property damage could come of it.
"This discussion ends now," Batman ground out between clenched teeth. "I came here to get some of his things. If you aren't here to help, leave."
"Case and point," Superman shot back.
Batman said no more. Getting off the futon, he made a beeline for the closet next to the bathroom. That's when Superman saw the photos. One pack lay on the end table while the others were neatly resting in a wooden box. He had noticed Bruce had been looking at them when he arrived.
Clarkhad seen most of them before. Wally wasn't the type of person to push family photos in your face but he neverhad a problem withpeople looking through his things when they visited. And Clark visited a lot. Not as much as John though, but definitely more than Bruce.
The wheels in Clark's mind started turning. Something was really wrong. Batman was brilliant, passionate, capable but above all else he was obsessive. His obsession with his parent's deathwas the driving force behind Bruce's ascension to Batman, now Clark worried that Bruce may be developing a new obsession… a strawberry blond, green eyed freckle faced obsession that could lead to more trouble than imaginable.
"Why?" Clark asked. "You never gave a damn about Wally before…"
Superman had only been on the receiving end of The Look once before. The Look that lets you know youjust pushed Batman across the line from being a psychopathic genius to nefarious sociopath.
And there was a difference.
Clark backed away, not out of fear, though. Batman, sans gear and gadgets, was only human after all, but when he was like this he seemed to forget that. The man needed room to breath; to get his head together and regroup.
Still, Clark knew that Batman's memory was long and he liked to hold grudges. Doing so gave himthe edge, oddly enough. He knew how to use his anger and bitterness to his advantage. Clark could only imagine what would come of this little encounter, but that wasn't what worried him. What worried him was the root of Bruce's anger towards him. He only prayed he was wrong.
The hardness in Batman's eyes slowly fell away. Soon the Dark Knight just sneered at the Man of Steel before resuming his task of gathering Wally's things.
Clark knew they were done… for now.