Pairings/Characters (this chapter): Bruce/Dick
Genres: Challenge, Drama
Rating (this chapter): PG-13
General Summary: Enemies of The Prince of Gotham and his Royal Consort storm the Castle!
Chapter Summary: Bruce is not happy with the Reverend Spear.
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DC does, more’s the pity.
Date Of Completion: February 1, 2009
Date Of Posting: March 8, 2009
Word Count: 478
Author’s Note: This story fits my 2009 DCU Fic/Art Tabloids Challenge.
The entire series can be found here.
MAD BRUCE WAYNE
Bruce nearly slammed the remote on his desk. Trembling with fury, he was tempted to march downstairs and go into a tirade over the slurs tossed Dick’s way.
How dare that pompous ass imply that Dick was a thief and con artist! And his parents, too! And that he came from an unsavory background simply because he was from circus folk.
That’s really a new low even for you, Spear.
Dick would find out about it, even if he didn’t see the program. He hit a button on his desk and walnut doors slid shut silently, concealing the TV in the large cabinet.
Late afternoon light streamed in through the windows. Spring was fast approaching but it still became dark early.
The hell with this. I’m going home.
He picked up his briefcase and left the office.
“I’m going home, Allison.”
Sympathy flickered in her green eyes.
Bruce’s anger simmered as he passed the paparazzi and protestors, glaring at the sign-wielders. Flashbulbs went off, and his glare was sure to make the six o’clock news.
He scowled all the way home, driving a little too fast on the country roads.
He swore under his breath as he saw the paparazzi outside the Manor’s gates.
Well, at least the fundies aren’t here yet.
Bruce slowed down, driving past the gaggle of reporters and photographers and on through the gates, the iron clanging shut behind his Porsche.
Bruce’s stride ate up the stairs to the bedroom. He stormed in, Dick looking up from the bed.
“What’s got your knickers in a twist?”
“Just general frustration, I guess.” Bruce yanked off his tie and flung it on a chair.
Dick flipped the pages of his textbook, papers scattered around the bed. “You know, your ancestor was one crazy dude.”
“What?” Bruce removed his shirt.
“Mad Anthony Wayne. He sure made some crazy decisions during the Revolution.”
“He had chutzpah, all right.” Bruce stepped out of his pants. “Brilliant tactician. He had some amazingly intuitive flashes of insight.”
“Your family’s been here forever.”
And no two-bit pseudo-preacher is going to drive my family out of this city. We were here long before Spear and his motley group, and we’ll be here long after.
Bruce took a quick shower. When he re-emerged into the bedroom, towel around his waist, Dick was staring at his cellphone.
“You knew about the interview,” Dick said.
Dick’s voice trembled. “He called all circus folk thieves and scammers.” He took a deep breath.
“He’s an ignorant bigot.”
Dick was quiet for a moment, then said, “Yeah.”
Bruce approached the bed. “Forget about him.” He ran his fingers through Dick’s silky hair.
Dick smiled and reached out, whipping Bruce’s towel off.
Bruce answered that smile as he climbed on the bed, Dick’s papers scattering.