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Chapter Text

It's the old nightmare again.  He knows it is, but can't make it stop.

He's twelve years old and has stowed away on a steamer bound across the Atlantic, making his way to France.  It's perfectly calm and beautiful the night the crewman finds him and drags him onto the deck.  There are coarse sniggering words for the pretty boy with the soft black hair, the sound of a belt buckle being undone, a hand hard across his face.  He fights--there's no way in his soul to surrender.  Again he feels the rail against his back for a moment, a blow, and then nothing but air, falling through pitiless air and into the arms of the sea.

The ship sails on. 

He treads water for a long, long time, the ocean placid and lovely around him.

Eventually, he sinks.

: : :

He woke up with his hands still struggling uselessly against the water all around him, unable to breathe for an agonizing moment.  He stopped thrashing and curled into a ball, willing his breaths to become steady, feeling the tiny machines implanted on either side of his throat processing the oxygen out of the water, reminding himself that he was not going to drown.

He uncurled slowly, stretching out to take a lightglobe in his hand.  It glimmered to life at his touch, casting pale phosphorescent shadows around his quarters. 

The hall lights were out;  everyone was still asleep.  He couldn't sleep now--even without the nightmare, remembering what tomorrow would bring made it impossible.  He swam slowly to the great council room by the wan light of his globe.

He was poring over maps of the Pacific coast by the flickering radiance when the ceiling lights came on, bathing the room in pale green light.  He looked over to see his king in the doorway.  "My liege," he said formally, shaping the words carefully in his mind like sculptures.  He bowed slightly as the other man drew near.  His king smiled at that, one of his rare smiles, there and gone.  A game between them.

"Can't you sleep?"

He shrugged, staring down at the maps and charts, and his king raised his golden eyebrows.  "This will be your first time back on land in fifteen years.  How are you feeling?"

He had shields against the murmur of emotions and half-thoughts, a shield like cool seawater. "It's a job, one that you have honored me with, my liege.  I shall execute it to the best of my abilities."

The other man merely looked at him gravely, and after a moment he opened his mind enough to let the king see what lay underneath:  fear and excitement, worry at not being up to the task, a strange hope that he couldn't possibly have expressed in words.  That he had no need to express in words.

King Orin reached out and rested a hand on his shoulder.  "You'll do well.  It's the job you were always meant to do, and I trust you with it, my brother."

He smiled then.  "Thank you, Arthur."

: : :

Superman stood on the makeshift pier in San Diego, waiting.  The sky was dull and leaden, wind whipping spume off vicious waves:  the aftereffects of a large chunk of the city dropping abruptly into the ocean.

Beside him, Diana shifted slightly in a liquid clash of armor.  She was in full Amazonian regalia;  when Superman had asked why, she had noted that she was here not only as a member of the League, but as the representative of Themyscira to another ancient civilization.  The Atlanteans had been reclusive and isolationist even since they revealed themselves to the world five years ago, and only this recent crisis had prompted them to send an ambassador to the land, to offer their aid for the drowned city that people were already calling "Sub Diego."

Among the white-capped waves, a round ship emerged.  It had an odd organic look to it, despite its sleek lines--like some deep-sea protozoan, glimmering under the sullen sky.  It docked with the pier, a hatch in the side opening.

Kal felt spray on his face, tasted salt on his lips.

Six men and women emerged from the craft.  All had dark hair, black or brown.  Five of them were wearing clothes in bright colors--scarlets and corals, neon blues and purples.  The last one--

Kal knew he was staring, couldn't seem to stop himself.  "Who in the world is that?" he heard himself ask, surprised to hear himself say it out loud.

The sixth member of the party was dressed all in black, an ebony suit glinting with silver embroidery in strange patterns, cut in a strange style.  There was a cape, also black, streaming against the wind.  Kal could see the cape was held in place with two large circular crests on the shoulders:  a silver wave against a golden sky, caught in the moment of breaking, a perfect curve bisecting the circle into nearly a yin-yang symbol. 

The man's dark hair fell to his shoulders, blowing in the high wind.  Even from this distance, Kal could see that his eyes were a dark and stormy blue.  Inset in his neck, dark against the pale skin, were two matte black commas of metal.

Diana's voice beside him was vaguely amused.  "Didn't you even read the briefing materials?" she asked in response to the question he hardly remembered asking, had long since moved beyond.  "That's the newly-appointed Ambassador to the Land, Atlantis's first ever.  He's supposedly a land-dweller like ourselves, rescued long ago by the Atlanteans and raised as a foster-brother to the king.  No one seems to know what his birth name was;  they gave him an Atlantean name that came close to his in sound, one they apparently felt captured his spirit."

Salt on his mouth, a kiss of spray, blowing.  Diana continued explaining above the wind and the waves as if everything hadn't changed entirely.

"They call him Buruzh, which means in the Old Tongue, 'The Breaking Wave.'"

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Twelve years ago

Orin felt it before he heard it--a burst of apprehension and anger from Buruzh's mind that had him pushing away from his desk and swimming as fast as possible toward the source.  As he drew near, he could hear voices coming from the direction of the Academy courtyard.

"Nice job, landie.  Another test passed with flying colors."  Orin recognized the voice as Khelin, the Atlantean who had been top of his class at the Academy--until Buruzh had entered it.

"Perfect marks, in fact."  That was Damar, one of Khelin's flunkies.  Orin could hear a muttering of various other voices:  maybe six in all.

"Thank you for your congratulations."  Buruzh's voice was so even and controlled that Orin could hardly believe it was connected to the white-hot fury underneath it that only he could sense.

Khelin spat a curse.  "Don't act high and mighty with us.  We know the half-prince is feeding you the right answers." 

"Atlantean telepathy doesn't work that way."  Cold as ice water, incandescent heat underneath it. 

"Oh, we all know you and our yellow-haired ruler share a special bond, don't you?"  Sniggering from the group, and Orin pulled up just outside the courtyard, grimacing, unwilling to confirm their statement by appearing out of nowhere.  "Him and his curse--he's going to bugger all of Atlantis, he's just getting practice with you--" Khelin's voice broke off abruptly into a yelp of pain as all of the anger went out of Buruzh's mind, replaced by an ice-cold sense of...precision that shocked Orin more than the anger had.  The rest of the group soon added their shouts of pain to their leader's as the precision took on a cast of abstracted satisfaction.

Orin came around the corner and into the fray just as Buruzh finished kicking the last bully on the chin, his body floating in the water like it was flying, movements lazily graceful, almost languid.  "Buruzh!"  Orin swam up to him and his friend swung around;  Orin dodged and Buruzh's open hand sliced by his head like a shark.  "It's over, Buruzh," Orin said a bit shakily, watching the dark blue eyes slowly become familiar again.

Buruzh closed his eyes and floated silently for just a moment, and Orin could feel his shields solidifying again, blocking out everything but the almost subliminal trickle of emotions that he could never wholly keep from his prince.  When his eyes opened once more, they were wry and slightly mocking--of himself, of the bullies, of the world in general, it was impossible to say.

"I don't like them calling you cursed," Buruzh said steadily.

Orin rested his hands on his brother's shoulders.  "We'll find a way to win them over," he said.

Buruzh looked weary.  "People like Khelin aren't won over by anything but brute force and intimidation and fear."

Orin allowed his smile to sharpen just a bit.  "As I said, we'll find a way to win them over."

After a moment, Buruzh smiled back at him.

: : :

Kal was waiting on the pier when Buruzh's ship--a tiny little one-man pod--pulled up.  The Atlantean ambassador pulled himself out of the ship and onto the pier, and Kal tried not to stare too obviously.  Buruzh was wearing something midnight-blue that was silky, but definitely not silk, rippling like water over his lean frame.  It was open at the neck and Kal could glimpse a cord around his neck:  a polished shark's tooth hung from it.

Buruzh held out a hand and Kal took it briefly as the ambassador's eyebrows lifted, looking at him.  "Is this what you usually look like out of costume, Superman?"

Kal laughed slightly.  He wasn't Clark today--no glasses, no ill-fitting suit--instead, he was wearing a burgundy sweater cut in a vaguely Kryptonian style, his hair distinctively Superman's, his posture confident and unslouching.  "You can call me Kal when I'm not in uniform," he said.  He didn't often go around dressed like this, but he found that having people sometimes catch Superman "in civilian clothes" took suspicion away from Clark Kent.  "That's what my parents called me," he explained, but Buruzh did not follow up on the implied invitation to say what his parents had named him.

They walked through Metropolis and Kal watched Buruzh taking everything in, those keen eyes scanning every detail of the architecture and technology, noting everything that had changed in his absence.  He was especially interested in the cars, wanting to know the gas mileage and turning radius of nearly every new make that passed them.  "When I was younger I...had plans to own the coolest car in the world," he said wryly.

"I'm sure you own the best ship in Atlantis."

Enthusiasm sparked in the other man's eyes.  "Actually, I do!  I've won the racing title three years running."

Kal had no doubt of it.

"So," he said casually, "Any land foods you've particularly missed?"

Buruzh looked thoughtful.  "Pizza.  Atlantis has something kind of like pizza, but it's mostly seaweed and..." He shuddered elaborately, startling a laugh out of Kal.  "Let's just say it's not the same."

"Pizza it is, then," Kal said, heading toward a pizza joint that he knew was good;  not one Clark visited regularly.

They got a fair amount of stares as they walked in and sat down.  Some of the stares might have been because they recognized Superman out of costume, but as more people were staring at Buruzh than Kal it seemed more likely that it was shock at seeing this exotic beauty entering Gino's Pizzeria.

Kal knew just how they felt.

They talked over the pizza.  Freed from the constraints of discussing the crisis of Sub Diego, the topics ranged across politics and scientific advances to discussions of popular culture.  At first Buruzh was reticent, his questions almost brusque as he listened to Kal recount the last fifteen years' worth of politics, but when he found out that George Lucas had produced three more Star Wars movies in his absence he almost dropped his slice of pizza.

"You're kidding!  I'll have to get a hold of those.  Not that they have VCRs in Atlantis."

"They don't here much anymore either," Kal said wryly.  "And I hate to be the one to break it to you, but they were...kind of a disappointment."

Buruzh shrugged.  "I'm not sure that even matters.  I just want to see them."

"We'll stop by an Internet cafe after this, pull up some pictures for you."

Buruzh's eyebrows arched.  "Pictures?  On the Internet?  Sounds like computer technology has come a long way too."

Kal couldn't help smiling.  "I think you'll be impressed."

: : :

Buruzh was indeed mightily impressed by the computer he found at the cafe.  "Damn, damn, if only I could find a waterproof one to take back with me!  Gigabytes of memory?"  He made a strangled sound as he figured out how to work the browser and started poking around on the Internet.  The Star Wars pictures were avidly consumed and Jar Jar Binks declared "totally bogus," but after that Kal noticed the searches quickly became more serious:  crime rates in various cities, figures on murder and robbery.

Buruzh lingered a long time on the statistics for Gotham, his eyes tracing the jagged red peaks on the graphs.  His mood shifted toward pensive, and Kal turned away and did some research on algae production for the Sub Diegans, giving him his privacy.  About ten minutes into his research, a child timidly asked if he might be interested in signing an autograph, and after that it was about an hour of signing and smiling.  Eventually he heard Buruzh sigh heavily and push his chair back.  "How about you take me somewhere relaxing next?" the Atlantean said rather wryly.

Centennial Park was quiet and uncrowded that day and the two of them wandered the paths aimlessly.  Kal watched the other man out of the corner of his eye;  Buruzh was lost in thought, his eyes unseeing.  A bird trilled somewhere and Buruzh looked sharply in that direction.  "Birdsong," he said softly.  "I thought I'd never hear it again.  Surrounded by telepaths--I wondered sometimes if I'd ever hear a human voice again."

He looked so wistful that Kal decided to take a chance.  "I'm surprised you're so loyal to a people who basically held you prisoner all those years."

Buruzh frowned, a sharp furrow appearing between his eyebrows.  "They had valid reasons for what they did.  Atlantis is a great civilization, and I'm proud to be part of the generation that brings it fully into the world."  He hesitated for just a moment.  "Sometimes we need to...sacrifice our personal plans in order to make the world a better place."

Superman nodded.  "I can understand that.  But I'm not sure your place is below the ocean your whole life."

Buruzh said nothing, walking the path slowly, his eyes fixed on the endless sky.  "The breaking wave," he finally said slowly.  "Caught between the sea and the air."  He didn't seem to be talking to Kal.  He sighed and brought himself back down to earth, back to Kal's waiting eyes.  "King Orin has told me to choose a few people to bring to Atlantis.  I was wondering if you'd like to come and see my home.  Maybe you'll understand me better then."

"I'd like that," said Kal simply. 

: : :

Later, when the ambassador had left, Kal went back to the Internet cafe and called up the history of the browser Buruzh had been using.  Stock reports for a particular company for the last fifteen years, a newspaper article about a famous unsolved disappearance, the name of a person holding an estate in trust.

Kal closed the browser thoughtfully, then went to change into costume.  In moments he was in the air and on the way to Gotham.

Maybe he'd understand the ambassador from Atlantis better if he visited his home.

His real home.

Chapter Text

Poseidonis, the capital of Atlantis, gleamed and glimmered deep beneath the ocean.  Superman paused a fair distance from it, watching its lights waver dimly through the water.  Then he began to swim slowly toward it.

He came up short at the distance Buruzh had indicated, feeling the force field that encased the city like a dome prickling in front of him.  Through the dim ocean he saw Buruzh and a contingent of trident-wielding guards approaching.  The guards looked extremely suspicious.  But when Buruzh caught sight of Superman, his face lit up in a smile that made Kal feel just a bit dizzy.

As beautiful as the sea and as deep.

One of the guards pressed a button on his trident and the tingling sensation of the force field lessened;  Superman swam through it to join Buruzh on the other side.  "Thank you for allowing me to visit," he signed.

"It is our honor," Buruzh signed back, as the guards glowered.   Buruzh frowned and responded to something Superman couldn't hear, in a "voice" that buzzed faintly in the bones of Kal's head.  "Don't be completely foolish, Khelin," said the ambassador.  "Please remember he could boil the water around you in an instant."

Superman kept his face impassive;  no one but he and Diana knew that he could overhear Buruzh's telepathic comments to the Atlanteans around him, and they had agreed it was best if he kept silent about that for a time.  Buruzh turned back to him and smiled slightly, his hands moving as gracefully as waves dancing.  "I shall take you to meet King Orin, if you will follow me."

The towers of Atlantis were slender and arching, the brightness of the coral and shell clear even in the dimness.  They entered a massive audience chamber, a throne carved from what appeared to be a single enormous pearl at one end.  Ranks of guards flanked a scarlet-paved path to the throne;  Superman floated between them and up to the throne.  As they drew closer, Buruzh moved away from him and took his place to the right of the man on the throne, who was currently leaning forward to get a closer look at the Kryptonian.

King Orin's long golden hair floated about his shoulders and his keen aquamarine eyes looked at Kal with curiosity and intelligence.  He was wearing some kind of light scaled armor which glittered gold in the pale lights of the hall.  There was a slight movement behind the throne and Kal realized a large octopus was curled up there, peeking out from behind, the horizontal slit of its eye appraising.

The king made an imperious gesture and the guards turned and filed out, leaving the three of them alone.  Superman bowed deeply before the king.  "Thank you for your invitation, King Orin.  It is an honor indeed to be invited here to mighty Atlantis of legend," he signed.

Buruzh translated Kal's sign language into telepathic speech:  "He thanks you for your hospitality, my liege, and says it is an honor to be invited to Atlantis."

Orin's face was grave, but the corner of his mouth quirked very slightly as his eyebrows raised;  he was clearly saying something but Superman couldn't hear it.  "The King of Atlantis says the honor is his, that the land dwellers would send their greatest champion for this visit.  Word of the land-dwellers' Man of Steel has reached us even here in far Atlantis," Buruzh explained in hand-speech.

Superman started to give his formal greetings on behalf of the various rulers of the land.  Partway through, to his surprise, Buruzh suddenly said in mental speech, "No, my liege, I really hadn't noticed."  Kal's gestures almost faltered until he remembered that he wasn't supposed to be able to overhear the ambassador's speech;  clearly the king had said something and Buruzh was responding, unaware that Kal could hear him.  He forged ahead with his speech and Buruzh "spoke" again, his mental voice overlaid with something like a laugh:  "I was there to discuss the Sub Diego crisis, Arthur;  it never crossed my mind." 

A moment passed and the undercurrent became an open mental laugh, rich and affectionate, even as Buruzh's face remained entirely officious and serious.  "All right, my liege, I will grant you there is a certain...appeal.  Maybe just a little."

Kal struggled to focus on his hand gestures, grateful that the sea water was keeping his cheeks cool, as it was beginning to dawn on him that this was most certainly not a conversation he was supposed to be privy to.  King Orin's head tilted almost imperceptibly and Buruzh's mental voice went very soft.  "A tie, Arthur.  Allow me to claim it's a tie for most beautiful man I've ever seen."

Fortunately Kal was at the end of his speech by then and could hand over the translation to Buruzh and stand there, fighting to keep his composure, torn between sudden lust and deep embarrassment.  He made his way through the rest of the interview in a confused daze, stumbling over his answers;  more than once he realized Buruzh was fixing his statements in translation so they made a little more sense.

Eventually King Orin rose from his throne and nodded regally;  the interview was clearly at an end.  "King Orin thanks you again and requests that I give you a full tour of Atlantis," Buruzh explained.

Kal signed his thanks.  As the king made his way to the door, Buruzh spoke to him one last time in mental speech.  "Arthur, I am not going to show him that.  Stop teasing, you're making this completely impossible for me."  For the first time his telepathic voice sounded just a touch annoyed, but none of that showed on his face as he turned to his guest.  "Shall I show you the wonders of Atlantis?" he signed.

"I would be honored," Kal signed back.  As Buruzh turned to escort him from the room, he couldn't resist adding in a flicker of motion, "But I suspect I've already seen the greatest wonder."

Buruzh didn't falter as they swam from the room, and Kal was left to wonder if he'd seen the words at all.

: : :

Nine years ago

Prince Orin pored over the report, sensing Buruzh's presence behind him, reading over his shoulder.  The news was grim indeed:  a great white shark gone rogue.  Usually the great whites avoided Atlantis, but this one--the Atlantean symbols for its name meant "Death's Shadow"--had developed a taste for blood and was preying off the kelp farmers who worked outside the protective dome.  He was wily and elusive, striking when guards weren't around, hiding in the deep rifts nearby.  Atlantean lives were being lost and people were starting to discuss the ill omen of these attacks.

The report was filed by Khelin, now a member of the King's Guard.  Beneath the official language the implied message was clear:  Death's Shadow was a manifestation of the prince's curse and a sign of what they would all suffer under his rule as king.  Arthur could feel the undercurrent of icy anger from the man behind him;  he supposed he should have found it something other than reassuring and comforting.

Arthur rubbed his forehead and let the report float to the desk.  "I'll have to do something about that."

"About the shark or about Khelin's mutinous behavior?"

"Both, preferably."

Buruzh's hands rested on his shoulders lightly.  "Your telepathy with the creatures of the sea is more advanced than anyone's.  Go out there, talk to Death's Shadow, see if you can convince it to leave Atlantis."

Arthur tapped the report wearily.  "Predators.  They sense weakness and they attack, over and over again.  Kindness and mercy are alien concepts to them."

The hands on his shoulders tightened.  "Try reason first.  If reason doesn't work...then you merely will have to prove beyond any doubt that you're stronger than they are, that you can defeat them." 

His thoughts were warm and reassuring, with a steely thread to them.  "Predators, Arthur.  Don't let them scent your blood in the currents."

: : :

At the edge of the dome, Orin turned to dismiss the guard. 

"My prince," said Khelin, clearly confused, "You can't go alone to fight Death's Shadow."

Orin tilted his head to glare down at Khelin coldly.  "This is my nemesis and my shadow, Khelin.  I must fight it alone.  If it defeats me...so much the better for Atlantis, is it not?"

Khelin hesitated a moment more, discomfited at this turn of events, then pivoted sharply and marched the guard back.

Orin hefted his trident and slipped alone through the force field, heading for the deep rifts where Death's Shadow waited.

He had traveled for about twenty minutes when he finally sensed it.  Without turning, he said, "You've gotten much better at shielding yourself.  I couldn't even tell you were there."

Buruzh emerged from an outcropping of rock, his expression torn between amusement and grimness, holding a trident of his own.  "Did you really think I was going to let you face this alone?"

Arthur reached out and clasped Buruzh's arms.  "No, my brother.  I didn't."  After a moment he broke away and the two of them swam further into the depths.

"The Guard hasn't been able to find him yet," Buruzh pointed out as they descended into the blackness of the chasms on the edge of the mesa kelp farms.

"I have a few advantages the Guard doesn't.  Even besides having you at my right hand."  Arthur concentrated, one hand to his forehead.  For a moment, there was no response, but then a softly undulating movement caught their eyes.

An large octopus the color of coral with a bright yellow eye peeked out from a hole in the rocks, its boneless body shifting in the current.  Orin concentrated again, and the octopus shrank back into the hole entirely, as if startled.  Then it peered out again cautiously and lifted two tentacles to point.

Arthur bowed politely to the octopus, which quailed further back into its hole, trembling.

They went the direction the creature had pointed, Arthur sometimes stopping to take his bearings and continue on.  "His directions were actually very detailed," he explained as they wove through a maze of rocks.  "Octopi are surprisingly good at spatial relations."

They moved deeper and deeper into the darkness, unaware of the drifting form shadowing their movements from a safe distance.

: : :

They had been expecting an attack, but when it came it was still a shock:  out of nowhere, the compact, bulky body of a great white shark plunged down at them, jaws clashing hungrily.  Buruzh caught the edge of a massive tail and was knocked against a rock, his vision blurring.  The shark veered away for another pass and Arthur was there at Buruzh's side.  "So much for negotiation," Buruzh noted, trying to keep his alarm and fear under control so they wouldn't swamp his friend.

The prince's face was grim as he braced his trident.  "We always knew it would come to this," he gritted.

Death's Shadow came at them again, teeth slashing, the water around them churning in a frenzy.  Buruzh's trident caught it a glancing blow on the dorsal fin and it convulsed, snapping at its tormentor's arm.

Ribbons of blood in the water, curling lazily.  The shark went mad at the scent, lunging at Buruzh again.  He struggled to keep out of the way, hearing Arthur calling his name in a panic, the water shifting to red around them.  He couldn't tell how badly he was hurt, how much of it was his blood and how much was Arthur's. 

The scene cleared briefly and resolved into Arthur standing between Buruzh and Death's Shadow, brandishing the trident.  Red mist drifted from small cuts along his side and a deep gash in his shoulder.  The shark wheeled and came at them again, building up speed.  The wound on its fin hampered its movement, but the advantage was all its right now.  Buruzh knew a sudden moment of deep despair:  he was going to die here and never see the sky again, never see Gotham again, he was going to die with his oath forsaken, his heart and soul betrayed. 

In that instant, his prince and brother turned to look at him, compassion overcoming everything else.

Death's Shadow lunged.

And from the rocks nearby the coral-colored octopus squirted to wrap its tentacles around the great white's jaws and hold them closed.  The shark lashed and struggled, slamming its body against the rocks, but the octopus remained focused on keeping that terrible maw closed and useless.  Arthur sprang forward, Buruzh at his side, dodging the flailing tail to drive two tridents home. 

The shark's death spasms slammed the prince into a rocky outcropping;  he floated, dazed, blood floating around him in streamers from the deep tear in his shoulder.  Buruzh knelt near him, calling.  "Arthur.  It's over, Arthur.  You did it."

"We did it," muttered the prince.  He reached out to grasp Buruzh by the arm, eyes sharp with concern.  "Buruzh--Buruzh--"

"Yes, my Lord?"  He had to get Arthur back to the healers.

"--The octopus, is it all right?"

Buruzh felt torn between laughter and affection at the worry in those aquamarine eyes.  "The octopus is fine, Arthur.  Maybe bruised a little.  It's right here."

"Don't...don't leave it behind..."  Arthur's voice was weak, his eyes drifting closed.  Buruzh lifted him gently into his arms.  Behind him, the octopus swam up, towing the body of the shark behind it.  It looked at Buruzh, its beak gaping in an unmistakable cephalopod grin.

"Come along, then," Buruzh said wryly, and began to swim back toward Poseidonis cradling his friend, the octopus following in his wake with their trophy.

As the lights of the city came into view, the dome drawing near, Arthur suddenly stirred.  "Buruzh, wait."  When Buruzh paused and looked at him inquiringly, Arthur said, "I swear to you...I swear it on my mother's grave, Buruzh...that someday you'll return to the world above.  When I'm king...when things are different...I'll find a way." 

"Arthur, I can't--"

Arthur shook his head and winced;  gold hair floated in the water.  "Buruzh.  If it were a person to come between us, I'd fight that to my last breath.  But to fight your destiny would be like fighting the tide."  He reached up and touched Buruzh's face.  "I swear that I won't let you...die forsworn."

Words wouldn't come;  Buruzh kissed his brother gently on the forehead and let his shields down so Arthur could share his emotions fully.

The octopus waited politely until they began the journey again.

: : :

The day Prince Orin and his friend returned with Death's Shadow defeated, both of them bleeding profusely and covered with bruises, was the day things started to change in Atlantis.  Not immediately, and never completely, but from that day people were less likely to refer to the prince as cursed, less likely to doubt his judgment, less likely to murmur rebelliously.

It was a beginning.

: : :

Buruzh nearly had to pull Superman from the laboratories.  "Sorry," said Kal unrepentantly, hands waving with enthusiasm as they headed down a winding corridor, "I'd never seen magic and science being used together quite like that.  It was amazing!"  A thick curtain of beads arranged in the form of Buruzh's seal hung before a door, the curving wave forever suspended in the air.  "Are these your private quarters?" Kal asked without thinking.

"That's not part of the official tour," Buruzh signed with a faint smile that made Kal's pulse leap.

"Official?  How do I get the unofficial tour?"

"Don't push it, Kal," Buruzh said as he moved through the curtain and entered the room.  Superman followed, smiling helplessly.

The room was spare and utilitarian, with a neatly organized desk in the middle, colored sheets of the weighted plastic-like substance the Atlanteans used in place of paper organized into piles.  Buruzh picked up a few and shuffled through them as Superman looked around.  The room gave away little of its owner's personality until Kal caught sight of a plaque made of mother-of-pearl, nacreous and iridescent.  There seemed to be bas relief carvings on it, but Kal couldn't make them out.  The dark grayish purple shimmered in the low lights as Kal drew closer, until he realized that engraved into the plaque was the skyline of a city, painstakingly recreated from memory.

Superman recognized the skyline, and he felt his heart turn over.  He reached out and touched the shining surface.  Then he let his fingers gently spell out the name he had been holding close all day:  "Bruce."

Behind him the silence went tense.  Superman turned to see the ambassador staring at him, at the Gotham skyline with his hand resting on it, signing his old name.  Kal reached into a pocket in his cape.  "I brought this for you," he said as he handed it over.

Buruzh held the thin, folded sheet of plastic in his hands for a long time, staring at the meticulous looping handwriting on the front:  "Master Bruce Wayne."  He opened it slowly and started to read.  Almost immediately, he bit his lip, his face rigid with a struggle against great emotion.  Superman knew he should give the man his privacy, and yet he couldn't look away from the face, as beautiful as a stormy sea.

Buruzh reached the end of the letter and paused for a moment, reaching up reflexively to wipe his eyes.  He smiled weakly at Superman.  "No tears in Atlantis," he said.

A motion in the door;  Superman turned to see King Orin enter the room, his eyes fixed on Buruzh.  The king glared, his mouth a tight line, and Clark heard Buruzh's mental reply to whatever Orin said:  "My Lord--!" 

The King of Atlantis cut off anything else Buruzh might have said with an imperious slice of his hand, his head tilting, eyes narrowing. 

"Arthur--!"  Buruzh's mental voice was anguished.  Orin looked at him for a long time, his face implacable.  He didn't seem to be speaking any more.  He moved forward and rested his hands lightly on Buruzh's shoulders for a moment.  Then he pulled away and turned to go.  The look he shot Superman as he left the room was unguardedly hostile.

Kal discovered to his surprise that he liked King Orin more for that.

Buruzh covered his face for a moment as the curtain swung shut behind Orin.  "Thank you, my brother," Clark heard him whisper.  Then he focused on Superman once more.  "I have...apparently been dismissed from my service here in Atlantis," he said a bit shakily.

"I'm sorry--" Superman started;  Buruzh shook his head but Superman continued, "I've caused him to be angry at you."

Buruzh's smile was wry.  "He's not angry at me.  Not at all.  You he's not so fond of at the moment, but it's nothing personal.  You're just...the bearer of inevitable tidings."  Buruzh waved the letter with his free hand.  "So.  You've met Alfred?"

Superman bit his lip and refrained from apologizing again.  "Yes."

"Then you know that when he summons me, I must go."

Superman couldn't help smiling a little.  "He is a...formidable man."  He paused, remembering the empty house, the man in it.  "He misses you very much.  When I told him you were alive, he--he seemed very pleased."  Sign language didn't seem able to get across exactly how Alfred Pennyworth had reacted on being told;  Clark wasn't sure any language could express the combination of restraint and joy he had witnessed.

Buruzh's smile was tender and wistful.  "I've missed him as well.  Would you tell him--it will take me a few days to wrap up some business here, to pack and prepare.  Would you tell him I'll...be home soon?"

"I will.  You know...when you're ready, I can take you there.  If you like."

Buruzh smiled slightly.  "It might be nice not to go home alone.  Yes.  I'd like that."

The ambassador's words warmed Clark the whole long, dark swim back to the surface.

Four days until he would be taking Bruce Wayne home to Gotham.

Chapter Text

Three years ago

Buruzh swam into the Great Hall, the guards bowing to him as he entered.  The hall was empty now, the crowds of the day finally gone.  The coffin at the far end was tiny;  the man standing in front of it dwarfed by the immensity of the architecture.

Arthur--King Orin--looked up from his grandfather's casket as Buruzh approached.  The golden circlet was very slightly askew on his yellow hair;  Buruzh reached out and set it right.

"I won't get used to wearing the damn thing," Arthur grumbled.

"Yes you will."

Arthur stared down at his grandfather's crystalline casket again, at the body floating serenely inside it.  "He was a good man.  As good as he could be."

Buruzh nodded.

"I won't be as good a king as he was."

"Maybe not," Buruzh agreed.  "And maybe you'll be greater.  He set that in motion for you."

Arthur shot him a look from cool aquamarine eyes.  "The land."

"Yes.  It won't be long now until we have to deal with them."  He put a reassuring hand on his brother's shoulder and responded before the other man could say anything.  "We'll be ready, my liege."

A telepathic snort.  "Don't call me that."

"Ah, but I must.  Protocols must be upheld.  But Arthur--"  Cobalt eyes met blue-green, "--know that when I say it, I always mean 'my friend.'"

: : :

He was packing a few belongings when the curtain parted to reveal Arthur.  "You don't need to take everything," his king noted.  "You're welcome back here anytime."

Buruzh placed a silver arm band in the small bag.  "I know.  And I will be back to visit.  I promise.  I just--"  He broke off and left the sentence unfinished, staring down at his desk.  "I wouldn't want you to think it was because..."  This time his voice trailed off.  He still wouldn't meet Arthur's eyes.

Arthur looked at him for a long moment.  "My father used to tell me a story, when I was a little boy.  He'd tell it to me and cry every time.  The story of the selkie."

He moved to stand by his friend and continued, Buruzh still staring downward.  "You may know that selkies are magical seals that can venture on land as beautiful humans, putting aside their seal skins for a time.  One day a fisherman found a selkie's sealskin on a rock.  For his own reasons, he hid it away, and when the maiden came seeking it, he refused, bidding her to stay.  All her pleas and entreaties moved him not.  So he kept her with him, and in time she grew to love him, for he truly was a good and a kind man.  But he would sometimes see her staring out to the sea, her home, the place she truly belonged.

"It ended as such tales must always end.  One day the selkie found her sealskin, locked in a chest.  She wept as she held it, for she was fond of her life on land.  But the call of her blood could not be denied, and all must return to where their homes are.  The selkie disappeared and the man never saw her face again."

Arthur smiled slightly.  "I always knew you were my selkie prince, Buruzh."

Buruzh swallowed.  "Arthur..."

"Go back to your love, Buruzh, with my blessings."  Arthur's voice was soft.  "Go back to Gotham."

Buruzh put his arms around his king, rested his head on his shoulder.  "My liege," he said.

Then he let go and swam away without looking back.

: : :

Bruce broke the water above Atlantis.  The sea was unusually still today, glassy and smooth in all directions, the sky a cerulean bowl holding infinity. 

He waited there, caught for a moment between the sea and the sky.

From the endless blue Superman descended, cape billowing around him.  He lowered himself out of the sky until one red boot just touched the surface of the water.  Ripples spread in perfect concentric rings from that touch, spreading outward.  They lapped gently up against Bruce as Kal smiled and greeted him, and Bruce felt the now-familiar catch in his heart at the sight of that smile.

He let Kal lift him from the sea like the drowning man he had been since that day on the pier in San Diego, since his first glimpse of the sky in those blue eyes.  He let Kal take him home.

: : :

"I don't have to come in."  Kal watched Bruce stand on the doorstep of Wayne Manor, hand poised to knock.  He'd been standing that way for some time. 

"No, I'd like it if you stayed," he said, his voice just a touch nervous.  Then he lifted the door knocker and brought it down with a sharp rap.

The door opened slowly to reveal Alfred Pennyworth, standing very straight and stiff.  The scent of warm chocolate chip cookies wafted out around them.

"Alfr..."  Bruce's voice gave out entirely.  He coughed and tried again.  "Alfred."

The butler bowed, very slightly.  "Master Bruce.  Welcome home."  Bruce continued to stand on the threshold, speechless.  Alfred's eyes narrowed.  "I hope you won't stand there dripping sea water on the steps all night."

Bruce jumped forward as if he'd been jolted, despite the fact that his clothes were long since dried by the flight.  "I'm sorry," he said, a young boy's chastened voice.  He looked around the hallway, at the dark wood and gleaming brass.  "I'm sorry," he repeated again, his voice deep with regret.

Alfred reached out and put a hand on Bruce's shoulder.  "There's nothing to apologize for.  You're home now."

"Yes," said Bruce.  His voice was thick.

Alfred looked past Bruce.  "Mr. El?  I've just finished making cookies.  Perhaps Master Bruce would like to give you a tour of the house after you have some?"

Superman waited to see if Bruce would respond, but Bruce was still staring around him, his eyes hungry.  "If Bruce is willing, I'd like that."

"Oh yes," Bruce breathed, still looking.  "I'd love to show you around my home."

: : :

The sun was setting by the time they finished the tour.  Bruce led him across a broad expanse of lawn and to a gazebo overlooking the gardens, vast and terraced.  In the distance, Kal could see a distant silver flash of sea.  They sat in comfortable silence for a while, each enjoying the view.

"So what will you do now?" asked Kal.

Bruce frowned.  "Alfred and Lucius Fox took good care of Wayne Enterprises in my absence.  I'm a very wealthy man."  He sighed.  "When I was younger, I had dreams...that I could make a difference in Gotham.  That I could be a force for good here."  He looked out unseeingly over the dusk-dimmed gardens.  "But now...it's too late.  I've been gone too long.  I've lost Gotham."

Kal leaned forward.  "Don't say that.  There are good people here."

Bruce shook his head.  "The police department is hopelessly corrupt."

"I've worked with them before.  There are a few good people on the force here that you can work with, I know it.  Gordon, Bullock, Montoya--they're all dedicated to changing things.  They just need a symbol, a rallying point."

Bruce stared up at the sky where the first bats were beginning to cut parabolas against the twilight.  "A rallying point.  Like the one they have in Star City?"  He met Superman's eyes.  "Like the one they have in Metropolis?"  Superman nodded and Bruce exhaled slowly.  "I do have...certain advantages in that area.  The money is one.  I'm also...stronger than a normal human, rebuilt to withstand the pressure of the deep."  He looked down at his hand, fisted on his knee.  "That could be useful."

"There's another potential advantage you have, if we're going to work together."  Kal flushed slightly when Bruce looked at him.  "Uh, are we going to work together?  I shouldn't assume..."

Bruce's mouth tilted in a smile.  "I hope so."

"Well, if we are, then I should probably tell you that I...have another identity.  Not many people know about it.  I work as a reporter at the Daily Planet under the name Clark Kent.  I was raised as a human, actually, in Kansas."

Bruce looked somewhat surprised.  "I can't see you ever fitting in in Kansas."

Kal felt obscurely flattered.  "I've gotten pretty good at...blending in."

Sapphire eyes narrowed.  "Show me."

Kal swallowed hard, then disappeared and reappeared as Clark in a blur of motion.  "Most people don't really notice me like this.  It makes it easier to...stay connected to humanity."

Bruce was eyeing him closely, analytically.  "Amazing," he murmured, taking in the thick glasses, the ill-fitting suit, the slumped posture. 

"It did take a fair amount of planning, yes."

"No," Bruce said softly.  "Amazing that you care enough to do all this, to stay connected to humanity."

"Humanity's...pretty impressive."

"Yes," Bruce agreed with a flash of a smile.  "That's true."  Then he frowned again.  "Why are you telling me this now, and how is it connected to another advantage I might have?"

Clark grimaced and looked down.  "Well, it's...I'm sorry I didn't tell you about it before, but...I can hear your telepathy."

Dark-winged eyebrows rose sharply.  "Atlantean telepathy works for Kryptonians?"

"No, no.  Just...just you.  Just your thoughts."  It seemed uncomfortably intimate to mention that, and Clark looked away. 

"So...you can hear this?"  Bruce's mental voice was resonant and rich.

"Yes."  Clark couldn't seem to raise his voice above a whisper.

The chuckle was entirely in his mind;  Bruce Wayne's face remained placid.  "Well.  This could be very interesting," he projected.

Clark leaned forward eagerly.  "Yes, I agree!  There could be some major tactical advantages if we were working together, an ability to share planning, to communicate tactics.  Perhaps with some training I could send to you as well and--"

"That's not exactly what I meant."  Bruce's telepathy was pitched even lower now, a purr that made the inside of Clark's head feel pleasantly fuzzy.  "I meant this could be...very interesting."

His mental voice was black silk wrapped directly around the pleasure centers of Clark's brain, and he shuddered and felt his hands twitch.  In response, Bruce laughed--an odd double laugh for Clark, hearing it in his ears and inside his mind simultaneously, like a sensuous duet.  Then the laugh cut off abruptly and Bruce put a hand to his neck for a second, looking surprised.  "What's wrong?" Clark asked.

"It's just--I haven't laughed out loud for fifteen years," said Bruce.

Clark reached out and rested a finger on the other man's throat, very lightly.  "I hope you'll have many opportunities to do so in the future," he said.

This time he could hear the slight chuckle in his mind and his ears and feel it as well, a faint vibration under his fingertips. 

"I suspect we will," said Bruce.

Chapter Text

The Wayne Manor ballroom had been converted into an impromptu gymnasium.  In the polished marble floor, the reflection of two sparring men perfectly matched the actions of their counterparts.

Clark staggered back a couple of steps as Bruce's blow landed hard on his chest.  "Mph," he said.  "Your power levels are impressive."

"When I can connect at all," Bruce said with a grimace.  "My reflexes are shot from years living underwater, I always miscalculate."

"Still, think of the advantages--extra strength, improved night vision, the ability to breathe underwater.  They should more than compensate."

"The telepathy is a nice bonus as well," Bruce sent. 

As always, the feeling of that mental voice, like black velvet caressing his cerebellum, made Clark feel a bit giddy.  "Well, it's a little limited when I'm the only person who can hear it.  And I can't even send back to you."

"Yet."

The tone was rich with promise, although Bruce merely smiled slightly and launched another attack at him.  Clark found Bruce--formerly Buruzh, Ambassador from Atlantis, now Bruce Wayne, Lost Prince of Gotham--a bundle of contradictions.  On the surface, relations between them were merely friendly, collegial.  But when he spoke directly to Clark's mind there were always...overtones.  Like the haze of distance over faraway hills that made them look magical and enchanting.  Potentials and possibilities, undercurrents like a riptide in which even a Kryptonian could become lost.

There was a discreet throat-clearing from the doorway.  "I believe it might be time for the two of you to take a break for a light repast?"

Bruce dropped out of a kick immediately and rubbed the back of his head as if he'd been caught doing something naughty.  "Ah, yes, thank you, Alfred."  Bruce had a tendency to act as self-conscious as a young boy around Alfred, who he hadn't seen for two decades. 

It was yet another side of Bruce that Clark found fascinating.

Over sandwiches and coffee, Bruce shared his plans for crime-fighting.  It turned out it was something he had considered fairly often as a boy, and had an impressive array of ideas on the topic.  His hands traced the outlines of a car in the air as he explained to Clark how he was going to adapt an automobile to his needs.  Then they dropped to the coffee mug again.  "But really, I still need two things before I can get started:  a hideout and an angle.  The Manor is a little too public;  it would be hard to hide evidence of a vigilante life here.  Though I suppose I could make some of the attic into a lab...put in some secret doors..."  He looked thoughtful as he sipped his coffee.  "It just doesn't...feel right, somehow.  I can't put my finger on it.  Wayne Manor...I love it, but it doesn't feel like home."

"I'm sure it will again."

Bruce frowned absently.  "There's something I'm missing.  Something I need to find."

"And the...'angle'?"

Bruce put the mug down with a sharp click, his eyes gleaming.  "Everyone's got an angle, Clark.  Their gimmick, their schtick.  You've got the whole 'Super' thing, the guy in Keystone has the Mercury motif, even the schmoe in Star City's got the Robin Hood angle going on.  I can't just be 'Crime Fighting Guy.'"

"Well, I think it has a nice ring," murmured Clark, causing Bruce to grimace and mutter something about "Super Man" hardly being a masterwork of subtlety.  "Well, you could always go with something maritime, to fit where you got your powers from.  You could be...The Shark?  Manta-man?"

Bruce shook his head.  "Too obvious, and too easy to trace back to Bruce Wayne's time in Atlantis.  No, it has to be something new."  He chewed thoughtfully.  "I'm sure it'll come to me in time.  I still can't go public for a few months anyway, to throw people off Bruce Wayne."  He sighed slightly.  "It's hard to wait even that long, Clark.  My city needs me, and I'm not there for her yet.  I've waited so long."

"We all have," Clark said, knowing it was ambiguous enough to raise Bruce's dark eyebrows.

"Patience, Kal."  Bruce's mental voice was warm, almost apologetic.  "Let me get my bearings before I go falling into something I'll never intend to leave."

Clark took another bite of sandwich, blushing at the glints of emotion beneath the surface of the words.  "Gotham and I can both wait a little longer," he said softly.

: : :

"Center yourself.  Find the core of deep truth at your heart and express it without speech."  Bruce was standing in the garden with one arm held out, as though he could somehow draw the thoughts from Clark. 

There were beads of sweat on Clark's brow, and he was trembling with mental fatigue.  He focused intently, willing words into the space between them. 

Nothing. 

"I'm sorry."

Bruce opened his eyes and smiled.  "You're trying too hard.  It'll happen when you least expect it, I suspect."  He brushed his shoulder-length hair back, grimacing as it fell into his eyes a little.  "Alfred says I should get a haircut.  What do you think?"

"I think it rather suits your image as the returning playboy."

Bruce sighed as they strolled through the garden.  "That's going to be a pain, I can tell.  Although I suppose no worse than the number of court dinners I had to attend in Atlantis."

Clark fell into step beside him.  "I suppose you probably had to deal with hordes of admirers there as well?"

Bruce's shrug was a little uncomfortable.  "I wasn't exactly popular in Atlantis.  Most people assumed I was something like a well-trained monkey.  And then there was the fact that I...belonged to Prince Orin."  He stopped in front of what seemed to be a boarded-up well and frowned at it absently, then strolled on.

Orin again.  Whenever Bruce brought up the king of Atlantis, it was like a veil between them.  He didn't often seem to miss Atlantis itself, but its ruler was another issue entirely.

Clark wasn't at all certain he could compete with the memory of the fierce, golden-haired king.

"Well, you're going to have to get used to being atrociously popular here, I'm afraid.  Everyone's going to want to spend time with the long-lost Prince of Gotham."  Clark heard the hint of bitterness in his voice and winced slightly, but Bruce just sighed.

"Believe me, I'd much rather be training with you."  He shook off his gloom as it were a cloak.  "Will you come back tomorrow to go over those blueprints for the car?  I want to draw up some of my thoughts about using Atlantean tech in the engine."

"If you want, although I don't know much about automotive design."

Bruce's punch on his shoulder was playful.  "You know you just have to listen appreciatively to my brilliant ideas and now and then say, 'That sounds like a great idea, Bruce!'"

Clark couldn't help but grin.  "That sounds like a great idea, Bruce!"

"See?  Perfect."

But Clark didn't get a chance to look at the blueprints the next day, because he got a phone call at ten o'clock that evening from Alfred Pennyworth, his voice shaken, to tell him Bruce was in the Kane Clinic.

: : :

The doctor was bandaging up Bruce's wrist.  "Your friend here was quite lucky, Mr. Kent."

"Your friend here was quite stupid, Mr. Kent," Bruce's telepathy echoed sarcastically.  Aloud, he said, "I took it in my head to check the condition of the Manor and fell out of a second-story window."  "I was practicing rappelling on the roof, actually.  Damn reflexes are still off."

"Bruce takes his responsibilities quite seriously, don't you, Bruce?" Clark said jovially.

Bruce grunted non-commitally.  "I'm sure you're fretting over security and privacy.  This is a very elite hospital, and the doctor's trustworthy.  He knows I don't want it known how extensively I've been...modified."

"Actually, I was more worried about the fact that you've broken your damn wrist," Clark snarled without thinking.  The doctor blinked at the non sequitur, and Clark grinned apologetically at both of them, for different reasons.  "Sorry, I'm just really upset to see you hurt."

Bruce opened his mouth to say something, but suddenly there was a clamor and commotion in the hall.  Clark could hear a security guard:  "Sir!  I'm going to have to ask you to--argh!"  The yelp was followed by the distinctive clatter of a gun across the floor.

"Oh, damn," said Bruce as the hospital door burst open to reveal King Orin of Atlantis, his golden hair still dripping sea water on the linoleum floor, clad in light chain mail and looking as if he were prepared to toss every doctor in the clinic into the sea.

"Arthur--" said Bruce, but the Lord of Atlantis ignored him entirely to stalk up to Clark Kent and jab a furious finger at his chest.  "You.  Were supposed.  To keep him safe!" he snarled, his nose inches from the Kryptonian's.

The doctor took advantage of the opportunity to flee.

Clark set his teeth and glared back at Arthur.  "He's not my pet.  He's my friend.  And how the hell did you know he was hurt?"

Arthur's towering rage did not diminish a whit.  "Someone has to keep track of him.  And since you apparently aren't up to it, I'm the one who'll listen when he gets hurt and come to help."

Bruce's level "I didn't actually need help," was ignored by both the men.

Clark felt baffled rage and something he was forced to acknowledge as envy churn inside him.  "I can't hear his mental voice from Metropolis!  How can you hear it in Atlantis?"

"Buruzh is an uncontrolled sender.  He needs to have a stable emotional link to another person to bleed off the undercurrent of emotional energy he transmits."  Orin punched his own chest.  "I'm that link.  I can't sense everything he feels, he's gotten more controlled since he was a kid, but his pain--that came through loud and clear.  I'm not going to ignore his pain just because you're deaf to it!"  His voice was hoarse--with the same wrung empathy that he himself was feeling, Clark realized abruptly, the anger cutting off as if it had never been.

"That's enough, Arthur," Bruce said, and Orin whirled to face him, glaring.  After a moment's silence, Bruce noted, "Clark can't hear you when you talk to me mentally, so it would be noblesse oblige to speak out loud.  I'm fine," he added firmly.  "You can't come running to my rescue every time you sense I'm hurt."  His gaze took in both of them.  "I'll find my place here, somehow.  But neither of you can find it for me."  He shook his head.  "Maybe home is something that finds you, anyway," he said, almost to himself.

The king took a long, shaky breath.  "I don't know if I can bear it, Buruzh.  Being apart from you, feeling your loneliness and your...your yearning, and not being able to help you.

Against his will, Clark wondered what exactly it was Bruce was yearning for.

"I'm sorry, Arthur."  Bruce was staring down at the floor, at the salt water pooling there.  "I always knew this link was a bad idea.  I--"

"--You would have died without it," Orin said, his voice strangled.

"Would that have been worse than having you tied to me, unable to get away from my unruly emotions?"

"Yes," Clark and Orin said in unison, then glared at each other.

Bruce got off the hospital bed and put his uninjured hand to Orin's face.  "My leige.  The negative emotions are bad enough.  But I...don't have the right to..." he swallowed.  "To force you to witness the--other emotions."

The king's face was shocked, then terribly bleak.  "Buruzh.  My brother."  He shook his head, leaning into Bruce's touch.  "If I were to feel your happiness, I swear to you I would rejoice in it." 

Bruce didn't respond, but after a moment in which Clark assumed Orin added something mentally, his head snapped up and Clark saw a glitter of tears in his eyes.  "Arthur," he said, then fell silent.

Orin's smile was wry and affectionate until he turned from Bruce and locked eyes with Clark again.  The smile dropped away.  "Make him happy, damn you," the king said, then strode from the room, ignoring the challenges from security once more.

There was a long, awkward silence in which Bruce studied the puddle of water at his feet as through it held the answer to everything.  Clark cleared his throat.  "I can feel your emotions, sometimes.  Under the words."

Bruce looked up, frowning.  "Really?  That shouldn't be possible."

"There aren't many other Kryptonians to improve our sample size."

Bruce's grin was wry.  "Okay, how am I feeling right now?"

"Sad.  And a little worried."

"That doesn't prove much, since any fool could see that with their eyes," Bruce said, his sardonic smile taking the sting out of the words.

"I think I can sense how you're feeling sometimes, though.  Like a...mist in the distance, softening your thoughts."

"That would be..."  Bruce let his voice trail off, uncertain.  He shook his head.  "Clark.  I don't have the right to ask you to be in a relationship with someone who is tied to another person.  Arthur would be able to--" He broke off and Clark was surprised to see a faint reddening on his face.  "--to feel...intense emotions, when I experienced them.  He would...share in that.  I didn't want to ask that of you.  I was hoping the bond would weaken, but..."  he grimaced as the doctor peeked nervously into the room.  "I'm sorry, doctor.  That won't happen again."

As the doctor fussed over Bruce's wrist a little more, Bruce met Clark's gaze.  "I'm sorry."

Clark was still reeling from the revelation that Bruce had contemplated the logistics of lovemaking with him.  "He said to make you happy," he blurted.  "I'll do it as soon as you'll let me."

There was a long pause as the doctor did his best to pretend he hadn't heard the embarrassing declaration.  He handed Bruce a prescription and Bruce hopped off the table again.  "Do you have time to come back to the Manor, Clark?  I have something I'd like to show you."

Clark wasn't sure if the almost shy hope coloring Bruce's thoughts was his imagination, but he knew he didn't want to go back to Metropolis just yet.

: : :

"Are you sure this is wise?  Your wrist..."

Bruce cut him off.  "It's funny.  The moment I was falling from the roof, I remembered it."  They were in the garden and Bruce was tearing the planks off the old boarded-up well they had passed earlier.  "I fell in here, as a kid.  Broke my wrist then, too," he added with a grin.  He hoisted a flashlight.  "I'd rather not fall this time.  Are you willing to give me a lift?"

Clark put his arms around Bruce, careful of his wrist, and they descended together into the darkness of the well.

He could feel the draft moving by him as they touched bottom.  "See?" Bruce said.  "There's a network of caves underneath the Manor."  He started to move deeper into the caves, making his way carefully along the rough ground.  Clark followed him.

The cave was surprisingly warm and damp, the air pressing all around them.  Clark could feel the earth surrounding them, solid and real.  The narrow passage opened into a full cavern, its roof high above them.  Bruce turned off the flashlight and the cave was plunged into absolute and inky darkness.  "Shh," he said when Clark started to say something.  "Can you hear them?"

He could.  The rustling of hundreds of leathery wings, the sleepy chirring of numberless bats nestled in the ceiling.  Clark could have looked with his x-ray vision, but he chose to stay in the human spectrum, letting the blackness blindfold him.  They stood in the darkness, wrapped in its deep and measureless stillness, profound and warm.  "This is where I belong,"  Bruce's mental voice came to him out of the dark.  "Not the sea and not the air, but the earth."  There was a thrill of recognition under his words.  A feeling of homecoming.

As if by a signal, the bats stirred in unison, then suddenly burst into flight, making their way to the outer nighttime world.  Clark felt them winging around the two of them unseen, never quite touching, their paths sure and unerring in the dark.  Creatures of the earth, he thought wonderingly.  Graceful and elusive.  Like my Bruce.

He heard Bruce's inhalation before he felt the mental touch, full of dawning delight.  "Kal." 

Then Bruce's voice whispered in his mind, "Creatures of the earth, yes.  But oh, how they aspire to touch the sky."

There amongst the fluttering of a thousand wings, Bruce's kiss brushed his mouth:  the lightest touch, full of promise.