2014.02.26 - Grounded: House Call

Clark never realized just how mind-numbingly tedious travel must be for everyone else. Where he could cross the Earth in a matter of minutes, the trip from Smallville to the front door of Wayne Manor involved two connecting flights, a three hour layover, an airport shuttle and a taxi. He’s looking decidedly dishevelled as he wraps his knuckles upon the door, having called a few hours before to arrange a late afternoon interview with Bruce Wayne regarding some recent philanthropic work.

Moral: It can be inconvenient trading one's superhuman powers to a malevolent alien god, even for something one really, really wants. Boredom, the worst consequence. The front door to Wayne Manor is an imposing thing, even if previously Clark could've ripped it off its hinges with little effort. The heavy door swings open after a moment, swiftly answered by an older gentleman in a finely tailored suit fitting for an old world butler.

"Ah, Mr. Kent, I do apologize but Mr. Wayne had an unexpected engagement and has arranged to..." it's about this time that Alfred finishes fully taking the measure of the reporter on the rather ornate front stoop, and pauses-- just a beat. "Pardon me, sir, but are you quite alright?" To the Wayne butler's sensibilities, Clark might as well have been mugged.

“Pardon?” Clark pauses, leaning to the side to catch his own appearance in a window, “Oh my gosh, sorry.”

He reaches up to try and fix his hair, straightening his tie and tucking in the one side of his shirt that has errantly escaped. He straightens his blazer over his shoulders and pushes his glasses back up his nose.

“I’m ... “ he pauses, weighing up the situation, “ ... rough couple of days.”

"Ah, yes." Alfred accepts the explanation with the grace of a man who's heard everything, and continues, "As I was saying, Mr. Kent, I must apologize but a matter has arisen which requires Master Wayne's attention." Ironically, quite likely the one that -really- brought Clark here in the first place. "I've taken the liberty of arranging a suitable representative from the Wayne Foundation to field your questions regarding the medical venture with Mr. Stark. Can I offer you refreshment of some sort, before you venture forth once more?" One elegant brow arches, curiously.

This is not really how Clark hoped this would go down. He had it all planned out and he’d taken the several hours he spent in transit to mull it over and think about it. It was something he’d planned to reveal to Bruce before long anyway, the encounter with Darkseid only hurried it along. He just hopes that his assumption on Alfred knowing Bruce’s secret as well is a correct one. Otherwise this is going to be awkward.

He lifts a hand, removing his glasses and tucking them into his breast pocket. He smooths his hair down with one hand, his practiced hand neatening it up considerably. His shoulders rise from their slump, squaring and giving him a far greater presence than mild-mannered Clark Kent. His chin juts out, no longer tucked into his chest to leave him constantly staring at the floor. No longer is Clark Kent standing there, but instead this is Superman – albeit Superman wearing travel-worn business attire. When he speaks his voice is different as well, resounding and comforting rather than high-pitched and apologetic.

“I think he’ll want to see me.”

The second brow joins the first, Alfred's expression becoming one bordering on astonishment. He's sharper by far than one might presume of the manservant of an entitled, ludicrously wealthy manchild, and gets it, proverbially, all but immediately. "I see." The butler's tone shifts more subtly than Clark's, but it's clear that he does, in fact. "This way, if you please. He's been wondering where you wound up."

Alfred wastes no (further) time in admitting Clark to the manor, leading the way through a lavish entryway and down a nearly uninhabited wing to a large, three-story library that occupies a large swath of the mansion's east wing, looking out over the ragged cliffs and the sheer drop to the oceans beyond.

A swift, practiced hand motion that's all but impossible for depowered Superman to follow coaxes a stately grandfather clock into sliding aside with the hissing grind of hydraulics moving what is, in effect, a hidden vault door. One which opens to a windy staircase carved, it seems, from the stone itself, leading deeper into a tightening corridor of cave that descends sharply into the bowels of the cliff. Alfred seems to intend to stay upstairs, overseeing the portal until Clark has passed through.

Clark doesn’t bother to put his glasses back on, nor does he attempt to regain the stooped posture that he usually employs when not in his Superman attire. The cat is out of the bag and there’s no getting it back in there. He goes where he’s bidden, walking down the stairs once the portal is open.

“Hello?” he calls, the voice of Superman echoing off the walls. He’d be nervous wading into this Phlegethon without his powers if he did not at least tacitly trust Batman.

The staircase may seem like it goes on for quite some time, poorly lit but predictable. The chamber beyond is cavernous, massive, yet somehow nearly overcrowded with equipment and superstructure. Natural outcroppings have been reinforced and built up, bridged with resilient metal and adorned with every kind of workstation known to man-- and likely a few that aren't, strictly speaking.

A massive vault occupies the central space, descending into the depths and reaching in all four cardinal compass directions, its contents concealed beyond a massive door. Beyond it, a vehicle launch platform currently occupied by one of the batmobiles. Situated off to the right is a lavish laboratory that burbles merrily with several in-process concoctions and tests, while its opposite workstation is occupied entirely by one massive monitor, and several smaller ones, presently displaying feeds from secure cams and news reports in hotspots nation-- and worldwide.

It's all muted as confirmation is examined the main screen, however, software swiftly matching points of Clark Kent's face with images captured from Darkseid's 'trade' with Superman earlier. By the time Superman makes his way to the base of those stairs, he's out one very big surprise.

Not that Batman seems overly shocked, to begin with. "I could have guessed." He observes, grimly, of the Man of Steel's cover identity. "And I thought dealing with a demon was the epitome of the idiot's play. What were you -thinking-?" Someone approves. He speaks like Batman, even lacking the cowl, and just now... he's otherwise dressed for work.

"It'll have to, won't it?" Bruce retorts, tapping a few keys on one of several input consoles surrounding the workstation. He's barely looked up at Clark, thus far, but he did watch him approach on closed circuit. Which is just as good, isn't it? "All men must die, Kent. Because it's an imperfect universe, some of us die... badly." It's not that he doesn't sympathize. He does, maybe more than Kal-El realizes. Still, there's no pity to be had, here.

"What you really want to know is if you can have it both ways. Sacrifice for your father, and regain what you sacrificed. The only thing that gave your life meaning." Protecting them. Being the hero. In some ways, he's better suited, more immersed in it than Wayne; that it might have been the last time, when he knelt for the sake of his father's safety? Batman knows how that must have felt-- and he can see the disapproving look on Thomas Wayne's face now, conjured from the depths of memory.

"You're here because you want my help outwitting your devil." the Dark Knight presumes. "The good news.. is you've got it."

“Good.”

Clark breathes a quiet sigh of relief. He’d certainly hoped that Batman would help him and had even assumed he would based on what little he knew of the man. Still, there was a seed of doubt that the master of pragmatism would see little use for a Superman who was no longer super.

“He told me it was wrong,” he muses, perhaps simply looking to get the weight off his chest now that he’s no longer strong enough to carry it, “My father, I mean. He’s grateful, I think, in his own way. But he knows I have to be Superman. He’d die a million times before I gave it up. I won’t let that happen.”

“I don’t look for the lesser of two evils, Bruce. I look for the good. It’s always there.”

He stands up, pushing himself off the outcropping he was leaning against.

“If I can’t defy gravity and carry an airliner on my shoulders then I’ll find some other way to help. I’ve seen how people are reacting to this. I need to be out there even if I’m not /up/ there.”

He gestures surreptitiously through layers of dirt, granite and concrete to the sky.

"You won't do anyone any good martyring yourself." Batman notes, brusquely. "Without your powers, you're a liability. You've made powerful enemies, and a lot of them wouldn't hesitate to take you out while you're vulnerable." It's the long form of 'You're simply not ready.'. For all his pragmatism, and realism, and longview.... there's part of the Bat that's also a hopeless idealist, fighting a war he can't win, in a new way that binds his hands further. It's the only way to make something better.

"How grateful will he be when he realizes how many lives it cost? Even if Darkseid doesn't mean to renew his invasion..." and the Dark Knight clearly expects that he doesn't, per se. "... What he's delivered is a blow to hope, and an opening for all the others who'd exploit the inevitable chaos for their own gain." The Dark Knight doesn't sugar coat it; hard truth, at least how he sees it, is half of what he's here for.

"The first thing you can do to help..." a gesture goes across the chasm, to the laboratory. "Is sit in a chair, and give me samples so I can figure out exactly what happened to you. I have a readout on the frequency of the Omega Beams used to depower you, it may be reversible."

“Right,” Clark ceases his musing on his decision, grateful to get down to brass tacks, “Whatever you need.”

He obediently heads over to the lab and takes a seat, reaching for the syringe to take a blood sample himself. He is a scientist, after all and Darkseid did not take his mind. He knows what he’s doing for the most part.

“If it helps, he stored it in some kind of crystal. Kryptonian science uses similar principles though I think Darkseid’s is more advanced.”

Skin samples, blood specimens, and a thorough scan with equipment that's modified well beyond what most medical professionals would need, they're all in Superman's future. As to the crystal? Well, upon looking around a bit more, Superman might well realize that some of the items being experimented on, or with, -do- appear to be Kryptonian in origin. Small universe? A crystalline power source thrums with a stellar charge, while another is exposed to currents well beyond what most earthly materials could withstand, the readings processed by the bank of servers and powerful mainframe that make up the heart of the 'batcomputer.'

"Theoretically what he stored is the collected solar charge your cells have gathered for decades, expended and replenished as you've exercised your powers." Yes, he already has a fair idea how Kal-El's powers work-- this isn't the first time he's run tests, with or without Superman's consent. "I'm more concerned with how he's altered your cellular structure to prevent you from absorbing or metabolizing that frequency of radiation. Undo that...." and the rest sees to itself. In a decade or two. It's not a perfect plan, but it is the first, obvious step.