Disclaimer: All rights reserved to the CW, Smallville and Warner Brothers.

Chapter Five

Bruce

Gotham City, New York, 2001

En-route –

The weight of Alfred's eyes remained voluble and admonishing.

'Master Wayne, do you not find exceeding the speed limit of this "tiny little hamlet" is pushing your unequivocally good luck: the span of your relationship developed with the Smallville police department has held so well?'Alfred's request flew over Bruce's head.

'Then again, since you are now building upon that wretched, deplorable but all the same seemingly convincing reckless playboy wonder persona, this may be a ploy to enforce it state-wide.' Commented Alfred tucked in the back seat of his master's Alfa Romero — a graduation present given to the then eighteen-year-old who'd delivered to his father (figure) a comely smile.

Bruce ignored Alfred's small and nearly un-discernible cough of disapproval: and he could almost, almost agree on the same lines of his father figures thoughts. This was rash — and Bruce Thomas Wayne, Age: Twenty, Occupation: Trainee repellent playboy of Gotham City and deferred College student, never — usually— decided without consideration of the variables first. Usually, of course — but …

'He's an idiot,' he growled again, the needle on the speedometer creeped closer to one hundred and twenty. 'Tell me Alfred, how does one idiot get lost on an island for nearly two years, retrieved finally, only to fall into a coma. And before, I, could even pack up my cosy woollen jumper. My moronic ex schoolmate, billionaire at arms: instead of resting his body. Hop, skipped, and jumped on one of my private planes — no, no I'm not mad Alfred, why are you looking at me like that— to fly, not to Cancun. But Hicksville,' his dry, clipped tone quieted and he felt Alfred's contentment as the speedometer quieted down, as did the volume of his voice. 'my Hickstown.'

Bruce sped past the welcome to Smallville sign, glacial eyes locked on the road. Blue found grey, both shades unreadable to those apart of the outside world, but all knowing between the two men.

'Am I correct in understanding the root problem here is: Oliver Queen and Clark Kent. Smallville may follow the atypical expectations of "a small town, you can run into anyone" trope. But I highly doubt a fourteen-year-old boy will be of — '

' I know it's a coincidence. Look at page 4 for example. For a death-defying idiot, he's got a keen eye. It'll be nice for the Luthor's to be stopped in their tracks. I'm happy to say I approve, if that's why he's here. But then again— '

' What was wrong with Metropolis?' The shuffling of paper drowned Bruce's concentration. He cut a look back at Alfred, innocent was not a word usually associate with the British butler. But it must have been what he aimed to convey. A coy smile grew on Bruce's lips as he shook his head.

' Perhaps he wanted to acquaint himself with the locals. Perhaps Star City and Metropolis were – are too big for him. An island, after all. That is, where Master Queen was marooned — you're on a pathway of self- induced seclusion. He has been forced on to it for three years. The company of people must not excite him as it once did. So, I do wonder...'

Bruce's scowl grew more prominent— those damned frown lines wrinkled his forehead, something both Clark and Oliver teased him on various degrees on the dictometer of personalities. Clark's always simmering on the low end and Oliver (to Bruce's annoyance missing the scale all together and skyrocketing to another stratosphere (Oh the irony).

'Wonder, what?' Bruce murmured, his words willingly lost to the air stream of the rolled down window, but never the less retrieved by his companion.

'The similarities. Are we travelling - still above the speed limit may I add — not to see an old friend from 'Hicksville' as you call it. But to instead, acquaint yourself with a faded mirror image of yourself. '

The sun's rays peeked, and then blinded Bruce momentarily. Just as intrusive and dogmatic as the butler. And though his mouth twisted, and the urge to spit the acid truth of the matter rolled on his tongue. His mouth remained closed, as well as the shutters over his eyes.

With a flick of the radio knob, the local news station flared into life. Cozying back into his seat, the silence Alfred affected, and the rush of air invading his watered eyes — the news report slowly, achingly infiltrated all his senses at once.

The zeroing in on the wonderings of the hick-town that homed one of the only friend he'd every "willing established": erupted a sort of frisson in his fracture person. When and if, he heard a mysterious saving down willow's creek or near the old Montgomery farmhouse, he and the intergalactic traveller had once played (badly on Bruce's part)

baseball.

But this time the electric current flickered through his system. In Smallville KROC's defence, it was their job to deliver all news no matter the scale it rested on the severities scale: but did they really, have to announce it in a manner that paused the minutes of this heart.

"FOUR BY FOUR NARROWLY MISSES CAR… FOUR BY FOUR CAUSE THE CRASH, ERRERATIC AVOIDANCE OF ASTON MARTIN TO CRASH INTO LOEB BRIDGE… LITTLE LUTHOR …. NOT AT THE SCENE OF THE CRIME… NOT BEHIND THE WHEEL… NO- NO BREAKING NEWS…. RECENTLY RECOVERED (FROM A COMA) OLIVER QUEEN, ALMOST DIED AGAIN. SAVED! YES, SAVED BY DIVING TEENAGER… NAME OF TEENAGER, SMALL TOWN HERO—'

The channel changed at a quick speed:

'And in other news, not more than thirty minutes ago, a recently comatose and island marooned Playboy Billionaire Oliver Queen, either cannot catch a break or in the words of my co-host - "is the luckiest son of a biscuit in the world". While driving an Aston Martin (as his own, according to reports is being transported from Star City, to our humble residence)– rented for the time being, down old Loeb Bridge. A four by four seemingly lost control of his steering and almost careened into the billionaire's car. With quick reflexes, Mr Queen avoided the collision.'

Was that sweat trailing down Bruce's brow, the sun's beating bolder.

' However, crashed and then dove into old Loeb river. Unconscious and bleeding, the billionaire was sinking, drowning, securely belted into his car. However, as they say three times lucky, a Good Samaritan, a fourteen-year-old boy from the local high-school—'

Bruce's brilliant gaze flashed to Alfred's in the mirror, while Bruce's read exasperation, Alfred, as it should, shone with pride.

Oliver

Consistence. For the time being, it was best to rely on consistencies; what was a consistency? A) he was still the son of Moira'Laura' Queen and Robert Queen. B) Clark Kent was still an intergalactic traveller from the planet Krypton. C) Clark ever the eagle browned Boy Scout would save the day and D) Clark's concerned gaze would always remain a startling blue. It was funny looking at Clark's eyes. Because if you looked hard enough at the makeup of blue surrounding his irises; they were like the constellations he was so fond of exploring in his telescope.

Clark blinked and for a moment, an exaggerated one, Oliver was brought back to a period of time, when the world did not know about Superman. When the world was rising on a shit pile of pain and struggle. But when Clark's eyes opened again, staring at him from across his hospital bed in one of those uncomfortable chairs, the bright glow of hope shone again... that, or, they'd given him enough morphine to screw with his over-active thoughts.

' We need to stop meeting like this. I know you said somethings and I said some to you. But what does that warrant you the right, huh? You keep saving my life or something and I'd have to start calling you a hero.' Oliver's mouth tasted like shit, like the scattering of ash and nicotine spread from a cigarette. He was pretty sure; his chest was not fairing too well either. With each word, he felt the effects of a snap, crackle and pop of some aggressive rice krispies sliding down.

Nevertheless, his eyes, his inconsistent green eyes (not brown, like he was used to; a brown that mirrored his paternal grandmother's, were forever gone. Like a past he once knew,) beamed across the room at his old friend.

The sound of the scrapping chair and it's collapse against the floor gave Oliver a rush of time to prepare him from Clark's onslaught. The boy- because physically, he must have been about Thea's age- collided into him. Wrapping his strong arms around him.
A raucous guffaw clawed its way to the front of his oesophagus — a rather rude decision on his brain's party, but as if his frontal cortex actually gave a damn.

As Oliver listened as Clark's laughter aligned with his own. He had to half wonder if he was crushing the man of steel, so hazy was the sound of his amusement.

Clark was the first to pull away, and although he probably had more time inspecting the changes this 'Oliver' had to present. The unabashed curiosity remained intact.

'It's the eyes, isn't it?' Oliver breathed, a better response on his lungs. 'Green is so different. I'll match Chloe, now won't I?' Then came the dot, dot dot, and the intake of breath, 'It's weird seeing her so young . So carefree and in love with you.'

' You didn't say so,' Clark said.
Oliver blinked back in response. While Clark didn't look that different, an adage of muscle had filled out his lean frame. And perhaps Lois had more control over his dark waves than Clark cared to admit in their (present) future. But this boy was not a far cry from the man he was to become - yeah, very true, but that prepubescent voice.

' You don't think she's "so in love with me" so that's good. She'll grow out of it.'

A wicked smile flashed on Oliver's face. 'Smartass. You've got to be careful of that mouth of yours, you're starting to sound a hell of a lot like a Daily planet reporter I know. I heard she's got killer legs.'

' Careful with your tenses old man, I think it should be "used to know".'

' Okay, now I know why Lois always looks like she's ready to kick your ass whenever you have her article in hand.'

Non to surprisingly, Clark was unable to muffle his laughter. And then the saddest thing took place: it disappeared.

Distant constellations swirled back at him, alien and as other as the creature from Krypton.

Clark at a human pace, picked up a paper cup, filled it with some water and handed it to him. His eyes an open book read to Oliver: stranger. Strangers are all we are. Talk later.

As Oliver took the cup from his saviour, a slow crooked smile worked itself on his face as the door of his hospital room ricocheted against the wall adjacent.

While Clark aptly jumped, a splash of water hit the white sheets of Oliver's blanket.

Oliver's eyes found three pairs focusing on him: the stocky African American boy gaped from Clark to the billionaire. Filling the space around his hospital bed - Clark teetered on the edge (an odd place for a stranger... but no one seemed to mind). Thea's kaleidoscope gaze watered down her face between fury and anguish. She slapped him — hard on his shoulder. His wince of pain swept under the rug, in the next moment when she flung — no, no— flew into his arms.

The Queen siblings ignored his wince of pain. His eyes fluttered close enjoying the contact, ever aware, green eyes touched his skin, exposing him with each brush.

' I hate you,' Thea's breath tickled the hairs on his neck. The shuddered followed like clockwork, the faint recognition of Clark's chuckle noted too in the back of his mind.

'Ouch, Speedy, there you are with that quick tongue of yours again.'

' You going to break my heart again, Queen?'

And though bright inflections dotted periodically over certain words, Oliver's sad eyes opened, met and brushed Thea's.

He knew this girl. He'd known her for fourteen years, a version of himself, one Oliver Queen (a lucky bastard version) had the privilege of knowing and loving a Thea Queen. Following a haunted flow of comfort, Oliver's arm extended to Thea's cheek. His hand cupped her cheek, and the escaped whisper of — 'I kind of love you Thea,' was exhibited to three strangers.

In the corner of his eye, he saw Pete throw a wide-eyed look between his two friends. Clark Joseph Kent, did not so much as blink, though two dusting bloomed on his cheeks, very much like a Chloe Anne Sullivan. And while, Clark found himself busy with the open expanse of ... well, Kansas.

Chloe gaze brushed against the two, a tiny smile tucked in the corner of her mouth.

Thea drew away and flew into Clark's arms — his nickname for her was more accurate then the joke. Clark - in ClarkTime would always have enough time to react. But even he too, followed with wrapping his arms around her — rather awkwardly, Oliver might add.

She whispered: 'Thank you, thank you,' over again, in a rhythm not to dissimilar to the one his mom sang once he'd woken from his 'coma'.

A bashful smile dotted the buds of Clark's cheeks —

so dissimilar from the man of steel's reassuring gaze. But Clark wasn't superman ... well at least yet.

The boy looked slightly uncomfortable, his large hand raked the tussles of his waves, as Chloe unabashedly seemed to ogle him — thank god, it wasn't with infernal 'teen spirt lust', just that investigative energy all Lane- Sullivan's were fuelled with.

' What was it like Mr Queen? After having survived on an island for a near two years and a coma. This new death experience must have been a walk in the park for you.'

And there she went, his Chloe running off with her tongue before her head. Within a jog of a second, he watched as her face crumpled into horror at her touch and go comment.

' Oh my god I'm...' she began. And it didn't matter, that Thea and Pete's eyes had widened to the size of dinner plates. A bubble of laughter exploded in the room. It was endearing, really. When you lived with the woman you loved for a year now, married to her and everything. Those little quirks became what's should be. Oliver laughed so hard, he rested a hand against his abdomen. The pain wasn't anything new, or so bad. He was sure Bart had done a worse job on him.

Like clockwork, a new cup of water was thrust in-front of him. Familiarity or not, Clark Kent with a twinkling eye assisted his friend. Oliver jerked his head in thanks.

'Second save of the day Boy Scout, how the hell am I gonna to reward you?'

Clark's gaze slowly drifted away from his, falling to the ground. He was so much better at this: acting, like a former self. Though Oliver was sure unlike himself, Clark's whole childhood had not been rewritten.
' It was the right thing to do, honestly.' There was even a slight hiccup to his adolescent tone.

' Bull- '

'Oliver Jonas Queen, I swear if you dare finish that sentence ...' spat Thea, almost playfully until her voice dropped, 'well at-least there's something that's stayed the same.'

'Chloe, as you were saying,' Oliver said. The great Chloe Sullivan blinked slightly dumbstruck by the lithe beats that were Oliver Queen— And he liked it.

'Chloe, you didn't tell me you know Oliver Queen. Do tell me how you met. Did you act the same as you did now? Mouth hang — 'Clark teased, only to be shot a venomous look from the blonde.

It seemed to fly over both he and Pete's head however, because their sniggers were auditory. While Oliver smile was internal, a soft look was given to Chloe: who blinked, the buds of the cheeks grew fuller with colour.

'Stop teasing my friend,' snapped Thea, the jab was directed at all people with a penis in the room.

Oliver raised his hands in defeat. 'If it's any consolation Ms Sullivan,' he said, 'drowning comes third on all the shitty experiences I have had. Incidentally my worse, yes even worse than being on an island, was when Thea was born...' he explored, threaded through the memory. the tale was meant to be a throw away comment, but ...' such a tiny thing. Red as a tomato, screaming her head off, and for some moments and days on time I thought I was going to be an only child again.'

Oliver found Clark's surprised gaze first. All eyes were on him, Oliver anyway.

Damnit, once again, he was pushing Thea on a rollercoaster of emotions. What the hell was wrong with him? No, better question would be when would he be better acclimatised to his current—

A faint knock interrupted his melancholy.
He must have said: 'come in' because the door opened and a distinguished older gentleman walked into the room, his strides confident. He immediately sent a kind smile towards Thea, who he was beginning to recognise had a habit of jumping people.

The butler, calm, as ever opened his arms up to his sister and said, 'it's a pleasure to see you again, yes Ms Queen. Especially when your life-threatening brother is awake enough to wipe the crust from his eyes.'

Pete's burst of laughter was somehow drowned by Chloe's conflicted expression of amusement and disapproval. She caught his eye, her gaze read — don't mind him whoever he is.

Oliver chuckled just as loudly as Pete at the older gentlemen. ' You're always busting my chops you old man?'

And before the butler could answer, a deep baritone a touch —if possible softer than Clark's in the future ( post puberty) —floated into the room before it's owner.

'Actually that's my job , Asswipe.'

This time he roared with laughter ( while Clark fought his damnedest to control his face).

If Clark's eyes reminded him of the glistening collection of stars burning several light years away, the artic glaze that cooled Oliver was entirely different. The new comers gaze roamed him over with the care of a physician. Meticulous with his inspection. But the next flick of his gaze, his whole god damned demeanour transformed.

A lazy bat of his blue eyes sent a slow, almost dopey smile of his mouth:

' Not even two weeks out of one hospital and you land yourself in another. You got a death wish?'

For once Oliver wasn't sure how to react. The words dripped with Bruce Wayne post playboy imbecile, but the act was still intact.

'You all good, all right now?' He asked so innocently, Oliver blinked darting a panicked look to the Kryptonian — half sure he was already x-raying the billionaire from Gotham. 'You have to be, I'm sure Clark checked you over.'

Feeling like a cross species between a guppy, Oliver gaped as Bruce fucking Wayne filled the room — to the point it felt at full capacity — and punched Clark as hard as he could against the shoulder.

Clark must have moved as he always did, following the motion, stopping the shattering of Bruce's balled fist.

For someone with such cool eyes, Bruce's gaze sure did burn. 'And you, I should hog tie you up' and drag you back to Gotham, for your own safety. I'm sure Ma and Pa will agree don't you think Alfred?'

A/N: Hi guys! I'm back, a year and everything. I don't know what happened, I'm pretty sure I lost confidence in my writing. I'm pretty confident in what's presented. I know a discussion needs to happen with Clark and Oliver and oh you know time travel.

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