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If Clark didn’t know any better, he’d be in there trying to do something resembling damage control. They sounded like they were minutes away from murdering each other; neither would ever do such a thing of course, but still, it sounded atrocious. It seemed the Watchtower would have been the last place such an argument would occur, especially considering the involved parties.
Clark had wanted to tune them out, their yelling far too loud in his ears, but out of concern he never did. Instead, he sat at the table, other Leaguers in their respective seats around him. They all shared the same concerned looks at each other but none dared to speak up.
“They sound like they’re going to kill each other.” Barry was the first to say anything. Even with the cowl, he could see the concern on his face.
They all nodded in agreement. Clark wasn’t sure if any of them could make out the words, or if they could just hear the vague sounds of yelling.
“They’ve certainly gotten-- creative with their insults.” Diana remarked, staring at the corridor where the two had disappeared.
So he wasn’t the only one who could hear them. He supposed it wouldn’t be hard, two powerful voices in such a small space only meant it would echo. He didn’t think that they could hear the low hisses, those were the real insults, ones that could only come after knowing each other so well for so long.
“YOU’VE ALWAYS BEEN SELFISH!’
They all flinched, the voice was booming and angry. It was definitely Dick’s voice, a tenor ringing out loud and clear above Bruce’s baritone.
Clark is positive that he’s the only one who hears the next part. A voice that was previously angry and loud, now soft and broken. “I just hoped that maybe you had room in your life for someone else. Guess I was wrong.” A pause. “Goodbye, Bruce.”
Moments after that, the Watchtower goes silent. You can hear a door open and slam shut, footsteps echoing in the corridor. Dick looks solemnly at them, a soft, “I’m sorry.” Before he steps onto the transporter.
And just like that, he’s gone.