A/N: Pardon for the poor quality of the chapter, but this was made at twelve in the morning and it's not in the best. I hope you guys like it, and to those who have liked it and followed and reviewed, thank you, thank you, thank you. My heart and my love go out to you all, ever-so-much, for deciding to read this silly little series that I've made. Thank you, so much, and enjoy this little encounter between Guy Gardner, the Rambo With A Ring, and Bruce Wayne, otherwise known as the Dark Knight.
His vision, bright blue eyes glazed over, like the fine glass of china, crossed, displayed one of the first signs, and his shorn orange-red hair, bobbed lazily, a cork on uneven waters, a swaying motion as his hand reached for the edge of the table he sat at with a lackadaisical, careless grip, and missed, by the slightest of inches, proving the second sign and third sign with swaying, careless movements and poor depth perception.
Bruce's eyes narrowed as he surveyed the sorry sight before him, as Guy Gardner's head bobbed up and down, in a mute nod to no one and slurred, "Perfec'…jes' perfec'."
Slurring. The fourth sign of the many numerous ones of intoxication.
It was official. Guy Gardner was drunk.
"Guy." Bruce said, his voice a sharp, visceral knife through the deadened, incoherent consciousness of the green lantern, hunched over a counter, and he set about a glance, at the wary, hushed faces that stared about at him from the far, far corners of the poorly lit bar, dark shadows creeping and curving about the contours of grim, oafish faces, faces that darted their gazes away anxiously and shuddered, muttering to each other as they fought the sudden, uncontrollable fear of things that hid in the dark.
Gardner grunted, a slow, dull noise as he straightened yet relaxed, the slope of his mouth curving downward, as if he had relieved all control over his jaw and allowed it to fall slack, allowing all mumblings and incoherence to fall out freely.
"Bats…is tha' you?" Guy mumbled, turning with a neck that had been oiled to well and turned, stopping short and then snapping back, gaze drifting lazily about, from the dusty floorboards to the scratched, etched counter with scrawling of those who had once been patrons, and the to the rim of his shot glass, which was curved with the neon sign behind the shelves of various bottles and liquors.
"You're needed. We need to go." Bruce said, retaining composure and withholding his disgust. He did not feel the need to retain any physical contact with Guy whatsoever.
"'N what do…the assholes up there…need a lil' green l't'rn like meee, for, huh, batssss?" Guy groaned, and his head tilted back, tiled up into the light and squinted, pupils dilating, as he stared to Bruce, who made a note of the way his pupils dilated and took this into careful consideration.
There were several reasons of pupil dilation. But Bruce could only riddle them down to three out of the first eight that had appeared to the front of his mind, the first, being that pupils will dilate greatly, but recede, when one's interest is being held; but, unfortunately, only for the beginnings of conversation. Pupil dilation will recede when the conversation of subject of interest no longer becomes interesting.
The second is when a brain is overloaded, whether with school, university calculus, social life, stress or simple, pure unadulterated, fear, and quite possibly when one was under the influence of such vices as alcohol, and could thus retain the dilation of pupils.
The third reason for the pupil dilation, was arousal, as such, when one was under the influence of alcohol, one's judgment and sexuality were usually warped or impaired, combined with the stench of booze and sin and delicately crafted coincidences all guided by the hand of fate; ideas and once-firm beliefs could be easily as uprooted as they had been placed.
Bruce quickly chalked it all up to a more or less equal combination of the three and hoped to get on with it and have Gardner out of his hair and out of his hands as soon as possible; he was learning far, far too much about the most irresponsible guardian of the Green Lantern Corps than he had ever hoped to know.
With willpower he did not think he possessed, Bruce extended a gloved hand and reached out for the scruff of Gardner's collar, heaving him out of his stool with the most minute of exertions; Guy, surprisingly, complied with unexpected compliancy as he allowed himself to be moved and stumbled, nearly falling upon his knees.
"Watch it," a man from the corner replied with a sneer, assuming Guy to be soft and docile in his drunken state and forgetting just who his warden was at the moment. Before Bruce could respond though, Guy snapped back with unexpected sharpness to the slur, "Fuck off, asswipe."
"Temper, Guy," Bruce reprimanded him, although there was no vehemence to it, and, although taking the crown for racist, misogynistic shallow excuse for a man, deserved at least a moment of peace for his indulgences.
"Up…up yours…" Guy muttered, but there was no volume, no weight to it either, as Bruce strode out of the door with a click of a door handle and a furl of a cape and a warning glance back to the rest of the crowd as they returned to the fresher, crisper air of the outside, if not as dingy nor reminiscent of beer.
"Don't talk. You'll make yourself into a bigger fool." Bruce warned him, not allowing his grip on the back of the bright green collar to slip, should Guy fall as well but eventually found no choice in the matter after a moment as Guy doubled over and found the contents of his stomach released onto the pavement.
Bruce diplomatically found the best idea to look out into the darkness of the street and search out for any problems that would provide a distraction from the rather disgusting noise of vomit upon concrete and waited, if but impatiently.
"Gee, Bats," Gardner groaned as he wiped away the bits of fleck from the corners of his mouth, "I didn't know…you cared."
"I will be clear, and I will only be clear once," Bruce said as he narrowed his gaze down upon Gardner as he crouched by the drainpipe and stared into the recesses below, "I only came because the man who asked you to join the league asked me to get you, and only because I have the utmost respect for him."
"C'mon…can't you let me have m' fun? It's not every day a…" at this moment his words become so incomprehensible that Bruce could not understand it (and he was not entirely sure he wanted to understand what Guy had said at that moment) as he began to increase the volume of his words once more, almost as if he were self-conscious or aware of himself, "…guy like you picks up a lush like me."
"You're drunk." Bruce repeated, coldly. "If you'd like me to hold this against you, I'd be welcome to, but I'd advise you to shut up."
"Shut up, Bats. Just 'cause you're…" Guy paused, retching once more and then gasping for breath above the grating, "Just 'cause you're…"
"Because I'm what, Guy?" Bruce asked, feeling what pity he had for the bastard beginning to wear thin.
Guy scoffed, his addled brain beginning to frizz. "Wouldn't—wouldn't you like to know. Wouldn't you."
"I highly doubt it." He replied, unmoving as Guy continued to retch, throat becoming dry.
"Nah, I…I guess not. Sure you don't want…want to guess?"
"Maybe when the clues aren't coming out of your stomach." Bruce replied, although the clues had already lined up; due to the dilation of pupils affected by three variables, the sudden acquiescence, the need to play a game that he wanted to be played. It was painfully obvious to him, as greatly as it contrasted to such a tough, tumble-down personality façade that Gardner had so set up, only to have it be deduced ever-so-easily by Bruce.
Of course, even though he had already solved the game, he thought with a well-concealed smile, there was no reason for him to play along, was there?
"Good point," Guy sighed, and emptied the rest of his stomach into the drain, and felt the drowsiness that so often came with alcohol and unconsciousness, consume him, as Bruce ducked down to catch him from lodging his head into the drainpipe.
The next morning, it was bright, painful, and there was a dull throbbing in his temple and a mild inconvenience as he recalled nothing from the previous night and made up for it with a foul mouth and even fouler actions.
For Bruce, however, who remembered everything from the previous night, he had a dull throbbing in his temple for another reason.