Author's Note: Here is an experimental little Spark in the Dark piece for New Year's Day. I wrote it in the first person, with the idea being that this is an entry from Clark's journal. It is currently the only Spark in the Dark piece not written in third person, but if you all like it I will endeavor to add more like it as the series moves forward.

Happy reading, and happy new year!

1 January

I suppose I really ought to be dating this entry for yesterday, but what happened last night feels like it belongs at the beginning of a new year rather than at the end of an old one. More timely, I guess. Either way, I was feeling a bit depressed – journalism will do that for you from time to time – so I thought I would swing by Bruce's place for a bit of cheering up. It still feels strange to write that even though he's had Dick for going on two years, but it's true; a visit to Wayne Manor is now my preferred method of attitude adjustment. It's funny how much of a difference the right person can make, even if they are only a child.

The sounds of a video game told me where to go before I'd taken more than a step inside. Something about that downstairs hallway that leads from the foyer to the ballroom is great for acoustics. If I didn't know for a fact that that end of the manor was finished long before Bruce was born I would swear that he planned things so that his parties sound louder and more popular than they are. Not that his parties are unpopular, or so the tabloids claim, but that's the kind of clever bastard he is. There have been plenty of moments when I was convinced that his vision is better than mine, not because he can see through walls but because he seems to find an extra edge on the competition no matter what he's doing. It's a heck of a talent.

It didn't surprise me to find Dick sprawled out on the game room floor with a controller in his hands, and the fact that Wally was sitting cross-legged beside him wasn't a shock, either. This is, after all, the last weekend of the school break; I think I would have been worried if the pair of them hadn't managed to convince their guardians that a New Year's sleepover was necessary. I stopped on the threshold anyway, though, and frowned. "...Bruce?!"

He turned to look at me from his spot on the couch. "Clark," he replied, sounding mildly perturbed.

I looked around for evidence of work and found none. My confusion deepened. "What...what are you doing?" I stuttered.

His expression implied that that was the singe stupidest question he'd ever heard. Before he could reply, though, Dick piped up. "He's watching us play a new game I got for Christmas, Uncle Clark," he explained without looking away from where the assault rifle-bearing character on his side of the screen was running through a dark marsh. Gunfire rang out suddenly, and the digital soldier staggered. "Oh, crud, Wals! Cover me!"

"I'm coming!"

A smile tugged at my mouth. "...You're actually just sitting and watching them play?" I asked. "That's kind of sweet, Bruce." It was amazing, really, how well he was weathering the action on screen. There was a lot of shooting going on, and while Batman never seemed fazed by such things I had always imagined that Bruce might be more sensitive to the sound of exploding gunpowder.

He shifted uncomfortably. "It's not sweet," he grumbled. "And I'm not just watching. I'm...pointing out tactical errors."

"Like that one?" I joked as Wally's avatar poked his head around a barrel at the wrong moment and immediately dropped to the ground.

"I'm dead, bro!" he cried out.

"I'll save you!" Dick exclaimed, sending his man sprinting towards the timer that had appeared some distance away.

Bruce grimaced, but he had the grace to look sheepish about his lame excuse. "...Yes," he ground out. "Like that one."

"You've gotta keep your head down, bro," Dick sighed as he reached his destination just in time. "...Are you going to watch too, Uncle Clark?"

Already feeling better, I smiled and moved to sit on the opposite end of the couch from Bruce. "Absolutely, pal. I'd love to."

It didn't take long for Wally to get himself into trouble again. "Bro!" he squealed.

"I'm pinned down!" Dick fretted. "I can't break out!"

"Craaap..." The clock kept counting down, turning red as it fell into the single digits. "Five...four...three..."

"Gah, I'm free! I'm running! I'm...oh." Wally's character's corpse faded from view. "You got sent all the way back to the beginning, didn't you?"

"Yup. But at least you got rid of those guys. Just wait there for a sec, and I'll catch up."

"Okay...oh no! Reinforcements! And I'm low on ammo!"

"Hide, quick!"

"Aaahh, grenade!"

"Throw it back!"

"I did, but-!"

But another grenade had landed beside him in the meantime, and he was doomed. The dreaded countdown began above his fighter. "Oh!" he cried out as he rolled dramatically onto his back and flung his arms out. "I am slain!"

"I'm comiiiing – oh, crap, that's a machine gun nest. Change of direction, and...ah ha! I see you!"

"Ruuun, Wally, ruuun!"

"Almost there...gah!" Firing came from three sides, and in the space of a second Wally's avatar had joined Dick's on the muddy earth. "Couldn't...make it," he moaned. "So...sorry..." Wilting sideways, he let himself fall across Dick's legs.

"Aaah, the whole war is lost!"

"Aaah, we failed!"

"Aaah, we...aaah!"

The boys' reactions to their on-screen demises was amusing, but it was Bruce's 'what the fuck are you two doing' expression that pushed me over the edge into laughter. He turned to me when the first chuckle escaped my lips, and for a moment I thought I was about to be punched. Then the kids started to giggle, too, and the disbelieving ire in his eyes softened. "Not funny," he breathed, shaking his head at me. "...Not funny."

He was right, I realized as Dick and Wally re-spawned and resumed playing. With any other pair of children my reaction would have been appropriate, but not with these two. While they would never find themselves invading enemy territory with automatic weapons in their hands, they were likely to fight many battles side-by-side and to rely on one another for backup and, on occasion, rescue. Sure, in real life Wally wouldn't have a problem reaching Dick 'on time', but in real life there were no magical timers that let a person come back to life so long as someone gave them morphine soon enough after they'd had their face blown off. That just wasn't how things worked outside of video games, and Bruce was apparently all too aware of it.

But what was the point of taking the game so seriously? Robin and Kid Flash could end up in a situation like the one they pantomimed, yes, but just then they were a couple of civilians pre-teens who were just having fun and being boys. Maybe when they're a bit older they'll look back on moments like that one and think they were acting naively; maybe not. Maybe their Shakespearean dramatics were necessary, at least for them. They're young, but they both know that they could die in the field, or could see each other or their mentors be killed. They both know that the timer could run out all too easily. What ten- or twelve-year-old – what person, for that matter, with all due respect to Bruce's odd personality – wouldn't want to lighten that harsh reality up a bit with harmless play?

It wasn't the sort of thing I could say out loud, of course, especially in front of Dick and Wally, but I chewed on it all through the late-night snack Alfred served us and well into the fireworks show we ventured out to see at midnight. Only when the new year had been thoroughly rung in and the boys were passed out in the back seat of the car did I manage to come up with something that touched on my musings but wasn't likely to earn me a glare. "...I love the way those two are together," I reflected quietly to Bruce. "It's beautiful."

"It's..." He glanced at them in the rearview mirror, then shot a sidelong look at me. "...It's valuable."

"It could save one or both of their lives someday," I prodded, feeling daring.

He let out a long sigh. "...It already has, Clark. But that doesn't mean it's guaranteed to do so again in the future."

I knew he was referencing last winter's battle with Daniel 'Sawbones' Sawyer, in which the kids' then-new friendship had been put through its paces, but I felt that he was looking at things from the wrong angle. "Sure," I agreed. "It's not guaranteed. To quote you, nothing ever is. But think about the things they've done together since then, Bruce. Think about how far they've come. Think about how much they care for each other. Even if none of those things are any guarantee, you have to admit that the boys, and the way they are together, give you hope." I paused. "...They give me hope, and they aren't even mine."

He didn't reply to that, but I could tell it had gotten to him. Neither of us spoke again for the rest of the drive back to the Manor, where I retreated to the kitchen to talk with Alfred for a minute while Bruce herded Dick and Wally upstairs for bed. His face was pensive when he came back down, but he didn't offer any explanation until we were alone in front of the clock. "...Clark."

"Yes?" I asked, turning my head to look at him.

He stared at the antique hands I had been about to shift towards 10:48. "Sometimes the more hope there is, the more worry comes with it. Just because one emotion is dominant doesn't mean that the other isn't there."

"Sure," I nodded. He would know that more than anyone, I think. "But Bruce?"

"Mm?"

"It's okay to pull the hope out from under all that worry sometimes and just enjoy it."

His gaze met mine, and I would swear that there was gratitude in it. "I'll keep that in mind," he said without rancor. "...Happy New Year, Clark."

It was a self-fulfilling wish, funnily enough, because I'd already had a happy new year thanks to his company and that of the boys. I suppose I shouldn't have expected anything less from a man who thinks three moves ahead of everyone around him. Nevertheless, it gave me hope beyond what I was already flush with from watching the kids interact all evening. Hope for Bruce, that he will continue to loosen up the way he has been since Dick came into his life; hope for me, that our friendship will grow and strengthen in response to his lighter attitude and somewhat-quelled jealousy. Hope for today, tomorrow, and all of the tomorrows yet to come.

In the end this turned out to be a hopeful new year as much as it did a happy one, and no matter what worries come I am resolved not to let them overcome the hope that inspired them in the first place.