"Happy birthday, Clark," Bruce said, clapping Clark firmly on his shoulder.
"Thanks, Bruce."
"So, you have any ideas what you might want to do for your birthday?"
Clark shrugged. "I don't know. I'm twenty-eight now. It's not like when I was a kid, hoping to get a couple of hours at the local bowling alley or something. It's not a big deal."
"Come on, there has to be something," Bruce countered, leaning against the doorway of the kitchen and folding his arms over his chest.
"Really, I'm fine. Maybe we can head over to Oliver's Seafood for dinner but that's about it. I'm just glad to be in town for a few days."
"Still disliking the overseas reporting thing, huh?"
"That's an understatement. I've been at this for years now. It was exhausting back then, to never have a permanent home." He shook his head. "But now?" He sighed. "Now I wake up every day with every intention of quitting. And the only thing that stops me is the hope that the experience I'm gaining will help me land the job I really want."
"You can always stay here while you look for a new job. You know that."
"Yeah, I know. Thanks." He ran a hand through his hair. "I'll talk to my editor tomorrow. See what he has to say. I'd hate to leave the paper but, if something doesn't change soon, I'll have to hand in my two weeks' notice."
Bruce nodded approvingly. "Do you have any idea where you might send your resume?"
"Everywhere, I guess. At least, to all the major papers in the country."
"You can always ask Vicki if she has connections," Bruce reminded him.
But Clark shook his head. "Not this time. I'm grateful for her help in getting my foot in the door at the Gazette, but I want to earn whatever comes next on my own."
Bruce cracked a tiny smile. "I can respect that. I've always respected that about you, ever since I first met you. You were always so determined to make it on your own steam, even at seventeen and all on your own in the world. So, then...say six o'clock at Oliver's?"
Clark chuckled. "Yeah, that sounds fine. And then...well, maybe we can go out tonight."
"Where to?"
Clark grinned. "Wherever Gotham needs us to be."
***
"Shootout," Clark said, via his headset, as he raced down the streets of Gotham on his motorcycle.
"Where?"
"Parsons Boulevard. I heard one of them say something about the video store. I'm about nine blocks away."
"On my way," Bruce said, and Clark could hear the Batmobile's engine picking up speed.
He didn't reply - there wasn't any need to. He and Bruce would make their separate ways to Parsons and do whatever needed to be done. They'd been working together like this for years - there was hardly any need to communicate in situations like these. At the corner of Ferndale, Clark made a sharp left turn and gave the bike some gas, goading it to move faster. If he was correct, once he hit Parsons, he should be right there at the scene of the shootout.
Down the streets he zoomed, cutting across town at a blistering speed. When he hit Westlake Avenue, he slowed and found a dark alley to park his bike in. He supposed he could just burst onto the scene in a blaze of speed and glory, but that approach could get Bruce killed when he joined up with him, even if Clark himself couldn't be hurt by regular bullets. So he opted for stealth.
Two rival gangs were fighting in the middle of the street when Clark made it to the corner. He could see bodies on the ground in the weak light of the street lamps - some groaning in pain while others were eerily still. Many more, however, were on their feet. Some had guns drawn in stalemates. Others had knives in their hands or were simply using their fists to beat their rivals into submission. Clark checked the area, but Bruce was nowhere to be seen yet. Another shot rang out in the cold night air. A car window shattered, the sound of the glass tinkling as it hit the ground, just before the car's alarm began to blare.
Clark made the instant decision to step into the brawl, without waiting for Bruce.
He knew Bruce liked to take the lead. After all, he'd been prowling the night and taking down criminals as Batman for much longer than Clark had been Nightwing. Bruce knew what he was doing. But for years now, Clark had watched and learned. He felt confident that he could handle the situation on his own, even without his super abilities. Still, he thought it prudent to see where his friend was.
"Hey, Bats?" he asked into his headpiece, careful not to use Bruce's true name. "What's your ETA? The situation here isn't good."
A burst of static and what may have been garbled words was the only response he got.
"Must be in one of the tunnels," Clark said to himself. Bruce was still working on that particular problem - the way the tunnels blocked the headset signals from getting through.
A scream broke him from his thoughts as one of the men slashed the other across the arm.
"No time to wait," he said, assuring himself that it was the right thing to do, to step into the thick of things without backup.
He strode out onto Parsons, calm and confident. One of the gang members stood before him, his back to Clark. Clark disarmed the man in seconds, before the man really even knew what was happening. Another man saw Clark and ran at him, full speed. Clark easily sidestepped out of the way, plucking the man's knife from his hand in the same fluid motion. The two gang members crashed into one another, hard enough to stun them for a couple of seconds. Clark saw his opportunity and tied the two up with a quick flick of a batarang. Then he was on to the next person, a tall, skinny youth who looked terrified as he held a gun up in a stalemate with another, older gunman.
Both saw Clark coming and ended their stalemate to face him. The other gunman fired, but Clark anticipated the move. He ducked behind a truck before the bullet could reach him, since he had to keep up the illusion that bullets could wound him. The younger man saw an opening. He shot his rival. Clark heard the scream and he raced to the source. The older of the two was laying on the ground, writhing in pain, his shoulder bleeding profusely. Clark ignored him for the moment. The youth looked stunned - it was clear he'd never shot anyone before, despite his gang affiliation. His hands shook and his face had gone ashen at the sight of blood.
"You really shouldn't have done that," Clark said calmly. "Now the police will charge you with attempted murder."
"But...but..but..." the youth babbled in shock.
"Yeah, I know. You didn't mean it," Clark replied. "It's amazing how many times I've heard that line."
He wasn't trying to be mean or mocking. But he was weary of every criminal trying to excuse their actions and put an innocent spin on things.
Clark grabbed the gun from the boy's relaxed grip. In anger, he tossed the weapon clear across the street. He heard it hit the brick wall of an ice cream shop where it may have broken. Clark wasn't sure and he wasn't about to take his eyes off the men in front of him. He quickly subdued the boy before checking on the man who'd been shot. Tearing a piece of the man's shirt, he helped the gunshot victim to apply pressure to the wound. Then he took that man's gun as well, and threw it to rest with the other one he'd discarded.
"Never thought the Night Bird would be helping me," the man grunted. "But don't expect me to thank you."
"I don't," Clark said evenly. "But I do expect you to repay your debt to society once the police arrest you."
Before the man could respond, Clark was already on his way to the next gang member.
And so he continued, for the next ten or fifteen minutes. When he thought he was finished, he used the pay phone on the corner to call the police to report the incident and request ambulances. He hung up after giving the operator his location, rather than staying on the line as he'd been instructed to. Seconds after, three more gang members burst onto the scene, attracted, apparently, by the sounds of the fight. Clark easily took care of them - not one of them was armed with anything more insidious than a lead pipe. He was in the middle of tying them up for the police when Bruce arrived. Clark finished tying off the knot and stood, brushing half-imagined dirt from his knees.
"Hey," Clark said, nodding at his friend.
"Hey," came the response, but Bruce wasn't looking at him. He was surveying the scene. "You did all this?"
Clark shrugged. "I couldn't wait. Things were bad. Where were you?"
"All the way across town. I got here as soon as I could."
Clark nodded in acceptance. "I called 911. The police and EMS should be here soon. I think it's best if we leave."
Of course they wouldn't really leave the scene until they knew the area was secured, the criminals placed under arrest, and the wounded were receiving the medical care they needed. But they couldn't risk being caught there either. The first responders of Gotham City were very much split on whether or not Batman and Nightwing were a threat to be arrested on site or benevolent, helpful vigilantes who deserved praise rather than scorn. It was always best not to tempt fate, however, so Bruce and Clark were always careful not to be spotted once the authorities arrived on the scene.
"Good idea," Bruce conceded, and they both hastily melted into the shadows. Clark flew up to the roof of a nearby building, where he could easily watch the scene unfolding below. Bruce followed, using his grappling line launcher to join Clark in his vigil. Though Clark had offered in the past to fly Bruce wherever he was needed, Bruce had politely declined.
"No offense, Clark," he'd said the first time Clark had offered, "but I think I'll stick to my tried-and-true methods."
"Your loss," Clark had shrugged.
Sirens rent the still night air. Clark didn't need the use of his super senses to know they were headed in their direction.
"I hate leaving those people down there," Clark muttered, half to himself, half to Bruce. "There's just too many to bring to the hospital, without knocking the whole lot of them out so they don't see me fly off."
"The EMS will take care of them," Bruce assured him.
"Yeah, but..." Clark protested, leaving his statement unfinished.
"You did more than enough," Bruce pressed.
"I'm not sure I did," Clark admitted, never taking his eyes off the street below.
Half a minute passed, and the first ambulances arrived on the scene, followed closely by police cars. Clark kept his eyes trained on the EMTs as they went about checking on the dead and wounded. He felt some of his tension melting as more EMTs arrived on the scene, lending their aid as the police began systematically arresting those who'd made it through the ordeal unscathed.
"Let's go," Bruce said after a few minutes of watching. But his tone was more than just bored with keeping tabs on the arrests. He sounded almost a little angry, to Clark's trained ears.
Clark hesitated then sighed as he allowed himself to come to terms with the fact that there was nothing more he could do there that night. "Fine. I guess I can always swing by the..."
"No," Bruce said, cutting him off. "We're done tonight. The sun'll be up in a couple of hours."
"There's still plenty of time..." Clark began.
"I said no." And with that, Bruce was away, grappling over the side of the roof and down the building to the ground.
Clark grit his teeth and followed. All the way back to the Batcave, Clark held his tongue, wondering what had gotten under Bruce's skin so badly. Had something else happened that night, that Clark didn't know about? For his part, Bruce said nothing over the earpiece either. They both simply raced through the waning night, back to the privacy of the Batcave and home.
"Okay, what was that all about?" Clark asked, as soon as they were safely tucked away in the Batcave, not twenty minutes later. He hadn't even dismounted from his bike yet.
"What were you thinking out there?" Bruce asked, getting out of the Batmobile.
"Excuse me?" Clark blinked, not sure he'd heard correctly.
"You heard me. What were you thinking, rushing into a gang shootout like that? Alone."
"I was thinking that I could stop anyone else from getting killed," Clark retorted, anger flaring now that his judgment was being called into question. "I was thinking that there wasn't any time to lose."
"You know the rule. We work together," Bruce replied, pulling off his cowl. He shoved it onto a mannequin head. "What if you'd gotten hurt? Huh? Then what? What if you'd been killed?"
Clark nearly laughed. "Killed? Come on, Bruce. It's me we're talking about. If anything, you're the one at risk every time we go out there and do what we do."
"Exactly. It's you we're talking about," Bruce said, ignoring the remark about his own mortality. "I'm responsible for keeping you safe. If something had happened, I never would have forgiven myself."
"But nothing did."
"Not tonight, no. But every single time you do something like that, I flash back to that night at the museum," Bruce admitted. "You could have easily been killed that night."
Clark's anger died down as he realized why Bruce was so agitated. He supposed he could scarcely blame his friend for his concern. His voice softened. "That was a fluke, Bruce. None of us knew that Kryptonite existed. Or that it could do what it can do. But these guys tonight? They were a bunch of idiots with guns. No one out there knows about Kryptonite or its affect on me. I'm as safe as I can possibly be."
"Maybe so, but I hate running that risk."
"Bruce, look. I know you feel responsible for me. I know you're still beating yourself up over Jason's death. But I'm not that same helpless seventeen-year-old you plucked off the streets. I'm twenty-eight years old. I can handle myself out there. I have been able to, for a long time now."
"I know," Bruce sighed, putting his earpiece away. "It's just...I still have nightmares about Jason."
Clark nodded in understanding. "I get it. But the Kryptonite incident was well over a year ago. And you still treat me like every thug we come across is going to use it to kill me. You need to trust me to make my own decisions out there, the same as you always trusted me when it came to going out in the world as a reporter, or in helping you out at Wayne Enterprises."
"I do trust you," Bruce said.
"No, you don't."
"It's everyone else out there that I don't trust."
"Bruce, stop. Please," Clark said, holding up a hand. He ducked behind a changing screen and spun out of his Nightwing attire and into his normal clothing. He sighed. "I can't keep doing this. If you can't let me operate independently when I need to, then I think it's time I moved on. Completely. Find a new city. Stop being Nightwing."
"Clark, I didn't mean to make you feel like you're being kicked out," Bruce apologized.
But Clark shook his head. "You didn't. It's just...this is something I need to do. I need to step out of the shadows and into the light. If I do continue to use my powers to help people - and I think I want to - it can't be under the cover of darkness anymore. I'm tired of people being afraid of me as often as they appreciate what you and I do out there during the night."
"If you start flying around out there in broad daylight, you might scare people anyway," Bruce gently countered as he ducked behind a changing screen in turn.
"Maybe," Clark allowed. "And that's why I'm not sure what I want to do about that yet. All I know for sure is that I need to move on. I've actually been thinking about it a lot lately. It's been what? Six months since I left the Gazette? I need to get out there and work again. I need a change in scenery. I'm going stir crazy, Bruce."
Bruce stepped out from behind the screen, dressed in his normal clothes. He hung up his Batman suit and together, the two men mounted the stairs up into Wayne Manor, leaving the Batcave behind.
"Where will you go?" he asked once they were back in the living room.
"I'm not sure," Clark said, shaking his head. "I'm glad I took some time off after quitting the Gazette. Even with my powers, going from place to place like that, never settling anywhere for more than a few weeks or months at a time...it was exhausting. But I'm ready to get back to it now."
He plopped onto the couch, starting to feel a bit tired from the night's work of fighting crime. He was more than ready for a good night's sleep, though he doubted his churning mind would allow him a quick send off to dreamland. With the question of where to go next, he had far too much weighing on his mind.
"There's plenty of respected papers in this country," Bruce offered with a shrug. "While I'll be sorry to see you leave, and while I know the Gazette is poorer for having you gone, any of those papers would be lucky to have you on their staff."
"Thanks, Bruce. I appreciate that."
"I mean it. All you have to do is figure out which one you want to work for."
"Actually," Clark said, drawing the word out as his eyes hit upon the stack of newspapers that Alfred hadn't yet cleared from the coffee table, "I think I know just the one to start with." He picked up the paper on top and gazed at the logo - a globe with a ring running around it declaring The Daily Planet. "Yeah," he said with more conviction. It all made sense. He'd been reading the Planet for years, and had always admired their impeccable dedication to getting to the truth."
"The Daily Planet," Bruce said with approval. "That's about as good a paper as it gets."
"Yeah," Clark agreed. "And I'm going to join its ranks, no matter what. Metropolis, here I come."
The End.
