Clark Kent

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You've heard this story.

There's a lonely road and a single car and a shooting star that seems to be aiming for said vehicle that thankfully manages to leave a crater at the side of the road instead of in it. But really, the most important part is what crawls out of the crater. Really, for all the fuss, he's a very normal looking toddler except, perhaps, for the eyes. And the fact that the whole thing seems to have left him without a scratch...

Generally, when it came to interstellar politics, the first name called up among the Justice League (for good or ill) was Green Lantern. And when the request for arbitration came to them from a distant planet, they'd initially suggested the Corps to do the job. That, unfortunately, had started a political fiasco of its own at first, given some less than savory behavior from the Guardians regarding the planet in question in the recent past, but thankfully Diana had been able to smooth the ruffled feathers and propose a solution.

That was why Superman, well known throughout the stars and the last survivor of a planet many considered to have gotten a similarly questionable shake from Oa, had been asked to take on the mission. Given the distance and the unfortunate tendency for situations like this to be a trap of some sort, it had been decided he'd need a partner and Batman had been, in Diana's words, 'the obvious choice.'

Of course, Bruce Wayne's capability to deal with and even carefully handle politicians was well known to her, as was his ability to smell a rat at 100 paces should there be something underhanded afoot. Then there was simply the logistics: Gotham had decent coverage with Batwoman and others, and with Superman off for a week, Diana was needed to handle whatever might happen in Metropolis.

Which was why, after a bit of discussion (just a bit), Clark and Bruce were on their way to Voepra Prime on what was more likely than not going to be a PR vacation.

Everyone else knew to clear out of the infirmary when Superman had that look on his face.

It wasn't the first time, of course: Big Blue was never a fan of people getting hurt and even LESS a fan of people getting hurt because they'd pulled ridiculous stupid stunts. Those people usually, usually were not Batman, however, which meant that this was not only an issue between the leadership of the Justice League (minus Diana, who was home on some family business and had missed the whole affair) but there was also a damn good chance that there was going to be a fight between exceptionally passionate life partners.

Thus the 'clearing out' had been more... the entire floor and most of that side of the Watchtower satellite. Because everyone knew by this point that when Clark and Bruce went at it, it was going to get loud and personal.

The only one who didn't was Lar Gand, recently joined to the League. Clark's friend from when he'd been a teenager, the Daxamite had decided to lend his aid to Earth since his allergy to lead had been cured not long ago, enabling him to leave the Phantom Zone. The two had been spending a decent amount of time with one another, Lar exploring the world that was now available to him, and Clark enjoying the company of someone he'd never thought he'd get to see in person again. The two had clicked back together almost automatically, like two peas in a pod, and that was why he tried to follow Clark as he made his way to see his... well, Lar wasn't sure what he and the Batman were, exactly, but Clark had assured him that the other man was deeply important to him.

"I doubt you're going to be doing anything inappropriate with him right now, Kal," Lar pointed out as they walked through the doors towards Bruce's room. Clark didn't speak, still too angry, before turning his head towards the room.

"Oh, trust me, that's not where my mind has gone," Clark explained with a bit of a sigh, just the barest edge of a snarl at his lips. :"And I appreciate it, really I do. But I need to talk to my--" a breath in "to Bruce alone."

Lar winced but nodded, leaving as requested as Clark made his way into Bruce's room. Bruce's room where he was laid up with any number of machines checking to make sure he wouldn' tbe dying in the forseable future.

"You want to explain what in the seven hells that cowboy show was, Bruce? I'm all ears."

[continued from here]

While there were a few different airports closer to Smallville, they'd discovered that morning that the closest airport large enough for Bruce's jet was in Wichita. Martha had assured them that the truck was more than prepared to make the trip, thank you very much, and that she'd be there when they touched down with bells on.

The flight was relatively uneventful other than a heated discussion about... something? Possibly journalistic ethics? That had ended in hair ruffling, something that would be called a tickle fight if either of the combatants were below the age of ten, and a bit of mildly ridiculous making out that had ended when they'd realized that they both had to straighten up to look presentable for Martha (as well as any possible paparazzi) when they stepped out.

The only truly exciting thing that had happened during the flight was that Clark had heard Livewire causing a remarkably awful mess in the middle of Metropolis, but Diana had called before Clark had even touched his tie to inform him that the situation was being handled and that he should continue his 'leave' undisturbed on pain of Amazon displeasure.

The flight wasn't long, though, and soon enough they were making their way down the stairs and onto the tarmac, Clark moving as quick as was humanly possible to snatch their luggage up before one of the staff tried to help with it. He could carry his own bag, after all, and Bruce's too since his persona would hardly let him lug about his own things.

"I think she said she'd be circling around if we were late," Clark informed him, "but since we're on time, we can probably just head out to the arrivals gates."

Because he knew exactly where she was and the timing would work out perfectly as long as they didn't dally too much.

Following their mission with the weapons dealer, Clark and Mike dropped their would-be assassins down at the local FBI office and made their back towards home, towards Smallville, even though Clark was apparently being assigned overseas for a solo mission which he was to report to after the drive...

[from here]

To say that Clark was a little nervous was an understatement.

After all, he liked Carol, had liked Carol pretty much since the moment he'd met her. And then the topic of further, well, liking had come up and he'd been unable to quite keep his mouth shut. He couldn't really be upset since the whole thing had resulted in tonight, which of course he hoped went well.

Hoped.

He'd made sure to wear the best of the suits he still fit in, the nice pair of shoes he'd found at one of the city Goodwills, and he'd made a reservation at a nice place with good reviews and a comfortable atmosphere for them to eat at roughly 7:15. It wasn't too far from the Tower, a short flight really, or a decent taxi ride if she wasn't up to flying.

And, of course, he'd brought the two most important things for the date: he'd brought her flowers, a rather nice little arrangement he'd found at a deli not far from there, and a small catnip toy for Chewie.

So at 7:00 sharp, he knocked on the balcony door.

Despite Bruce's comments to the contrary, Clark was finding it just a little difficult to return to life after, of all things, a four day cruise with Bruce Wayne. Of course, quite a few things had happened on that boat, and some off of it.( Read more... )

The problem with organized crime was that when a leader fell, all it did was create a power vacuum. Criminals were people as much as anyone else, and amongst them were people who wanted to climb to the top and others that desperately wanted someone to tell them what to do and how to succeed.

With the damage done by the Battle of New York and the 'war' that had been waged between the Devil of Hell's Kitchen and the now-unmasked Wilton Fisk, the field had been left ripe for the picking in more than one way and the cream of the crop of the organized crime syndicates had noticed.

Bruno Mannheim didn't even try to play the philanthropist. No, he was there for one reason and one reason only: easy pickings. And that was why it was getting increasingly dangerous out there for the uniformed crime fighters... and their non-uniformed vigilante assistants. Criminals with guns that reminded them more of the kind of weapons the Chitauri had brought with them. Criminals with allies in other towns, alibis in other places. Nasty on all levels.

Which was why Clark came home that night and headed for his laptop instead of his favorite book. It seemed this journalist was going to have some work cut out for him after all here in New York.