Smallville Geometry

**Geometry**

He doesn't think much of her when she enters into the main hall of the newly rebuilt Wayne Manor. She's not tall like Rachel was. She's not slick like Selina, nor is she as sharp-tongued and seductive as Poison Ivy can be. She's not any of this. Truth be told, she's short if she's anything, her nose too long and her arms a bit too fat. Plain is what Alfred would say, that quaint British euphemism.

She doesn't seem special.

He makes small talk for a second with her, noting she's managed to get in not as a member of the press but as a friend of Oliver Queen's, from his reputation. He's not thought much of Oliver since Excelsior, not until he went public, bringing out the wrath of the VRA on all of them, being a fool after a broken heart.

Bruce understands loss, more than anyone between Rachel and his parents.

It is not the time to fall apart.

The other man leaves him appalled.

But this girl, this "Nellie Blye" who comes from Queen Industries, she at least merits some of his attention. He's busy pretending to drink too much again, but this time keeping himself far from open flame. He still has a reputation to ruin so that others will never connect Bruce Wayne and The Dark Knight, so he can stay as effective as some of those in Metropolis are trapped by protesters. He should have paid her more mind when she slipped out of the room and away from Lucius.

He pays her a whole hell of a lot of mind ten minutes later when he's rushing down into the cave and finds her sitting at his damn chair at his workbench, a smirk on her face.

Mr. Wayne, you have something I want...

He's tempted to...well he can't hit her or kill her...but he is tempted to call Lucius for help, figure out if there's a memory drug to use on her, maybe ship her ass off to Arkham. He's not picky. He's not normally like that, but it's that damn smirk, that knowledge she's won and he's not even sure what game they were playing.

"Nellie" and he's sure now that she's not ever had a name even close to that, tells him the basics, which should be unbelievable. She tells him that she does know Oliver Queen as well as his associates with the interesting abilities and after hours predilection for spandex. She tells him so many things about Dark Thursday and the the carnage in Metropolis over a year ago, everything about the symbols popping up all over the world not six months before. None of that sways him. Not the intimate knowledge she has of the Luthors, both Lex and Lionel, not any of that.

She claims to be friends with the Blur, that she's on the run for his sake, that she's traveling the world waiting for her time to return to Metropolis and, in the interim, she's looking for other allies for him. She talks of an island of women warriors, of a goddess of sorts who's already trained her in hand-to-hand. She offers to show him what she can do, but he declines. His sensibilities not allowing him to just spring on a woman he barely knows, one in cocktail attire no less.

She wants weapons training from him, from The Batman.

She wants the very best.

Bruce doesn't believe half of what she says. The claims of aliens last May and a wide scale invasion, the stories of an island of Amazonian warriors. The girl is deluded. Smart, dangerous, but deluded.

It's when she turns to him, green eyes intense, and says:

It's hard when you love someone so much and they don't love you back. The Blur...I love him more than anything, have since we were thirteen and I was taller than he was. I never rated. It's like you, the late A.D.A. and Gotham...

Bruce was torn between slugging her on site for even breathing about Rachel, pretending to understand, but she'd hit deep, however she'd known. He loved Gotham more than he'd loved Rachel, and she loved whoever the Blur really was and he, well, Bruce cared little about triangles or romance. He cared about what was strategic, what worked, and an insanely gifted hacker and investigator wanted to play nice. It was easier to make an ally of her than to figure out how to keep her quiet.

Besides, truth shredded him. If he could redo his mistakes, choose Rachel over Gotham, he didn't think he could, even now. He loved his city, had sworn to save it. He wondered what would happen, though, if he refused "Nellie." Would it cost her something, cost the world something?

So they trained.

Bo staff, katana, guns, bows and arrows (at which she was already passable), shuriken, gauntlet blades. Everything that Raz had taught him, what he had studied for himself.

It came as little surprise they fell into bed together. What shocked him was that it was she and not he who shouted out the wrong name first. He didn't mean for it to happen, to imagine Rachel in her place, long chestnut hair instead of short blonde. He wondered what features she imagined as her pounded into her, as she arched her neck back and shouted "Clark's" name. Whoever The Blur was...well Bruce had a first name now, and a niggling wonder about if he measured up.

"Nellie" didn't come to train for a week after that. It was enough for him to do more than his own set of research, to track The Daily Planet articles, to piece together that a lead VRA reporter was one "Clark Kent" who, until recently, had been known more for articles on City Hall and on kitten shows than anything hard hitting, one whose star rose as Tess Mercer showed him favor.

When she did return, she came in jeans and a silk blouse, no condition for training.

I'm not staying. If you hurt him, if you do anything but offer alliance, Bruce...

He didn't argue that. He didn't love "Nellie" anymore than she did him. Lonely comfort, nothing more. Yet, he has to ask as she turns to leave his office, has to know:

If he won't have you like you say, why go back?

Nellie sighs and looks to the skyline, never making eye contact with him.

I saw it once, him cold and bleeding on the ground. It's not been his first time and it won't be his last, came so close to it with the Kandorians. I won't let that happen again.

I'm means to an end?

What else would you be?

That thought haunts him for years to come, until he finally meets Superman, until he knows full well who the consultant is that he and the Green Arrow turn to, call for overseas in Singapore. It haunts him when things go badly with Selina or on long, lonely nights. It haunts him more when he meets Lois Lane and watches Clark (off the clock) dote on her. "Nellie's" out there somewhere waiting for him, for something that will never be, and, maybe, just maybe Bruce is waiting for her in return. For the Ghost in the Machine and the woman whose name he doesn't even know.

Bruce was never a fan of triangles.

But he's trapped in one now.


End file.

Smallville, Angst, Drama