Similis

Clark's dead!



The last particles of hope withered inside Haze, leaving him aching and empty. He didn't doubt that Kal was right, Kal had nothing to gain from lying, and everything about him bore out the accuracy of the claim. The bond with Clark was gone, their link turned to dry ashes in Haze's mind and with its demise Haze's safety line to this alien world was no more.



Briefly Haze considered not even bothering to resist the pull. Somewhere at the edges of his awareness, darkness waited for him, and without a native bonded companion it would get him soon enough, but Haze was not concerned with his own safety yet. At that moment all the angel could think of was what he had just done.



Clark is really gone! And I … His own well-intentioned interference had somehow given Kal the very leverage that he had needed to extinguish Clark!



As Kal gripped him with sweating palms, resting his face against Haze's shoulder, still riding out the aftermath of a shattering climax, suffocating despair rose to claim Haze.



"Haze?" Kal gripped him tighter. Haze winced. For the first time, Kal seemed to notice Haze's distracted state. He looked more closely. "You're bleeding, angel." Reaching out, he ran one finger over Haze's shoulder. "That was me, I did that to you." There was no trace of concern or repentance in his voice. "Heal up, I want to take you out on the town and show you off…" He decided.



Haze shuddered. He couldn't deal with this, could not bear another second of this monstrous person touching him!



'NO!' His hand slashed through the air, rejecting the command and the speaker. Stepping away, he instinctively encouraged a wafer-thin gap within the space-time around him.



Kal's eyes widened. "But I …" The rest of the words were lost as Haze let the open edges slide snugly around him and fled.







Where is he? Staring into the blanketing shadows on the far wall, Bruce was still fretting about Haze. The reflection from the dim outdoor lighting outlined the French windows and cast a faint satin radiance onto the sheets as it ghosted into the room.



I should have been more understanding! More mature about it!



Bruce had finally abandoned the search for one evening, and come here to his uncomfortably empty bed. Not even bothering to close the curtains around the four poster, he had climbed under the smooth covers already knowing that sleep would prove impossible. How could he relax while the events of that evening were still turning over and over in his mind?



Of course Haze would want to go after Clark. Haze saved me, even though he didn’t know me at all, so how much more desperate must he be about rescuing Clark; given the feelings Haze still has for him…



With eyes now thoroughly adapted to the low light after several hours of fruitless cogitations, Bruce could clearly make out the dim outlines of the furniture with his peripheral vision. One second the space beyond the end of the bed was empty, the next it was occupied. The shape was more than familiar, and the lack of words more reassuring than any greeting.







"Haze!" Bruce sat up, heart pounding. Letting out a sigh of sheer relief, he breathed again. "I was beginning to worry that you might have gone for good."



Haze stood silently, only his outline showing, nothing more than a silhouette, though even the deep shadow was not enough to hide the downward slump of his shoulders.



"I am SO glad you're back." Bruce told him, "You still angry with me?"



Faint gleams slid over the dark curls as Haze shook his head slightly.



"How did the hunt go, Haze?"



The youth made another faint movement, partway between a shrug and a shake of the head.



Not a happy bunny then? Bruce wasn't sure if he was glad, or not. Haze finding Clark might have solved one problem but it would certainly have created others.



Like having a half-crazed, alien, super-teenager knowing exactly where I live for one…







"So you had no luck either?" Bruce supposed. "We've been looking for the last few hours, and picked up some promising leads on Edge, but nothing that looks like your friend. Haze… I'm so sorry it worked out like this." Bruce felt his heart go out to the motionless youth. No wonder Haze was so quiet; the angel had gone off with such high hopes of rescuing his friend.



He's shivering… The poor kid looked exhausted. Bruce's heart went out to the despairing youth. "Here, hop in with me, and get warmed up?" He offered, patting the bed hopefully.



Haze did not move. Bruce sighed, resigned now to the seemingly inevitable. It's too much to expect that Haze would let me get close to him now, not after the way things went this evening …



After all, why would Haze choose Bruce when that other equally beautiful and inhumanly perfect alien was somewhere out there, and so very obviously reciprocated Haze's feelings?



I should count myself damn lucky to have had even a moment of his affection. Bruce's natural insecurities manifested in full. Haze deserved someone that could match him, even if only on a physical level, and from even such a short exposure to Kal, or was it Clark, Bruce could see how the other youth certainly fitted the bill on that front.



But if things were that good between the two of them then why is Haze here with me now? As he gazed across at his dark-haired angel, something about the way Haze was standing began to nag at Bruce, demanding his attention. "Haze, what's wrong?"



A small shake of the head, so slight that Bruce might have missed it entirely had he not been looking for it.



"Something I've done?" He asked, earning another mute denial. "Then is there anything I can do to help?"



Haze shifted awkwardly, averting his face. The lingering glow through the window cast uneven patches over his shoulders and back, turning the muscled contours into a landscape of mixed shades.



"We're still friends, aren't we?" Bruce was anxious that Haze realise that he was not trying to cling, only to have whatever Haze felt able to offer.



"I don't want to lose your friendship, Haze, whatever it might have seemed like earlier." He added earnestly.



Slipping out from between the sheets, Bruce padded across the floor, bare feet scarcely making a sound on the polished boards. Wanting only to reassure Haze that nothing was wrong between them, he reached out and gently set his palm on the youth's bare shoulder. As his cupped palm lightly brushed over the familiar rounded curve, Haze pulled away sharply, retreating towards the shadows.



Not even THAT? But … why?







As he hesitated, confused, Bruce felt an unpleasant dampness on his palm, a stickiness that did not belong there, and that had no reason for being there. For the first time he really paid attention to the taught set of the youth's shoulders, and the careful way that Haze was cradling one arm.



"Haze?" Bruce brought his hand up to his nose and smelt it. Blood, and something else, almost familiar though … "You're hurt!"



The reluctant nod set his stomach churning. His head immediately buzzed with questions, where had it happened? How bad was it? Why wasn't Haze healing himself?



Setting the questions aside, Bruce decided that what Haze needed most right now was help, not an interrogation.



"Let's put the light on and take a look?" He suggested. He had known that something like this might happen. Why hadn't he been there to protect the boy? He suppressed that thought too. It wouldn’t help now.



Haze shook his head emphatically, wincing at the movement.



Does he think I'll make some sort of fuss? Be critical of him? Haze ought to realise that I'd understand … considering the amount of scars I had… before he healed me … Why doesn’t he want to trust me with this?



Whatever was wrong, Haze very obviously did not want Bruce to see.



Then again perhaps he isn't trying to stop ME seeing, maybe Haze doesn't want to be reminded of whatever happened this evening either?



"I'll leave the lights off if that's what you want, but at least let me fetch the first aid kit from the bathroom and clean you up?" Bruce offered, knowing he could not force this.



Haze stretched out a hand to stop him, only to snatch it back to support his injured arm again.



"Please, just stay there…" Bruce stepped into the bathroom, praying that Haze didn't decide to simply vanish off again.



"It should be safe enough for me to use a plain salt wash on you, Haze." He reasoned aloud, flicking the bathroom light on and hastily picking up the bottle of sterile salt solution he kept ready in the event of sudden need. His vigilante lifestyle had long since accustomed him to handling any minor issues without the need to disturb Alfred.



Grabbing a handy washcloth and a couple of fresh towels he walked back in. Haze had not moved from the shadows. Figuring that it might help, Bruce left the door just a little ajar.



Modesty, or whatever this is, be damned! I need to see at least something of what I'm doing if I'm going to help, rather than hurt, him.



Returning to Haze's side, eyes still blurry from the brighter lighting in the other room, Bruce urged Haze toward the end of the bed. "Sit." He told him gently.



Tensing, Haze edged back very slightly.



"I've seen a lot of injuries in my time, Haze." Bruce reminded him, "I don't suppose … " He had been about to suggest to Haze that there was very little that could shock him by now, but as Haze inadvertently stepped into the line of light still shining out from the bathroom, Bruce realised that the devastation in front of him now would have made a liar of him. Throat tight, he stood and just stared.







Obviously well aware of what Bruce was looking at, Haze waited uncomfortably, his face downcast, half turned away. There did not seem to be one inch of his back that did not have a mark on it. From his neck down to his waist, his skin had become a network of red welts, cuts and tears, while under the surface vague patchy patterns of mottled bruises spread in irregular bursts.



From the appearance of the injuries the damage was less than half an hour old, maybe much less? Suddenly Bruce knew exactly why Haze had chosen to transfer here rather than returning by air.



Those wounds must be painful enough while they're still oozing, let alone having that blood dry on him…



"What happened to you?" Bruce breathed.



Haze bowed his head as much as he was able, all-but hiding his face.



He really doesn’t want to talk about it…



Bruce pulled himself together. "After I get you cleaned up I'll help you get to bed so you can rest. Alone, if you'd rather?" He suggested, even though he knew full well that there would be no sleep for either of them, but determined to pretend; if that turned out to be what Haze really needed.



Again, Haze inched away. It was obvious that he really did not want Bruce to see the damage…



"Okay, if not me then Alfred, or Jon? Those wounds have to be cleaned." Bruce warned.



A pleading shake, and the youth's uninjured hand shot out and grasped Bruce's wrist, leaving Haze doubled over in agony as the movement jogged his damaged arm.



"Haze, sit!" Bruce ordered. "Before you pass out."



Haze nodded, and let Bruce guide him down onto the arm of one of the heavy chairs. It was higher than the end of the bed, and Bruce hoped that it would be easier for Haze to manage. The positioning of the injuries was obviously going to make bending uncomfortable for the angel.







The salt water flushed away the dirt and surface blood, revealing the full extent of the damage. Gritting his teeth, Bruce dabbed gingerly, working methodically down over Haze's torso, all the time wondering what kind of weapon had done this? Gotham had some pretty nasty characters in it.



Judging by the damage these wounds were inflicted at close quarters. But what makes marks like these? This was more than one lucky strike …



And therein lay the puzzle: when Bruce had evaluated Haze's fighting skills, he had found the angel to be a formidable opponent, strong, fast, experienced and canny.



What would rattle Haze so much that he would let his guard down long enough for someone to get this close?



"Fighting, Haze? Not your usual approach." Bruce couldn’t help but comment, staring at the small blunt crescents pock-marking the previously perfect flesh and still welling with rising fluids. His trained eyes did not miss the larger, more defined semi-circles marring the sculpted shoulders, flanks and neck, or the way the youth's skin was liberally dotted with small dark oval bruises, mostly in rough groups of four and five.



Haze shook his head and turned his face away.



Bruce simply could not understand what he was seeing, "Haze, how could you let this happen?" He asked finally. There was no response, but then he had not expected that there would be.



"Come on then, lets get this finished." Slipping his fingers onto a relatively undamaged part of Haze's arm, Bruce helped him lift it away from his chest, so that he could flush the skin beneath.



"Last bit." Standing directly in front of Haze and edging his fingertips beside a particularly well-defined batch of ovals, Bruce finally realised how the marks very nearly aligned with the ends of his own fingers. The clues clicked firmly into place.







Suddenly Bruce felt queasy. "This wasn't a weapon, was it, Haze?" He asked softly. Those oval bruises were finger-prints, and the larger less-defined patches were palm-prints, the weal's were from short fingernails, with the blunt crescents where the end of the nail had actually pierced Haze's skin…



"These are from someone's hands…" Forcing down his unease, Bruce measured his own fingers against the span of the crescents, the gouges were placed slightly differently than his hands would have managed. Haze's hands would be exactly the right size, except that the angles were all wrong, Haze could not have inflicted these on himself. And what about the marks on his shoulders, the BITE marks on his shoulders…?



"But not yours." Bruce had another horrible epiphany "It was him, wasn't it? You found him!"



Unable to deny it, Haze shut his eyes. At that moment a thin silvering of moonlight broke in to the room and painted the edge of that exquisite profile, revealing the accusing splotches of bruising along the line of Haze's mouth and the bloodied trail edging the unearthly youth's jaw.



"Oh. My. God …" Bruce felt his heart almost break at the revelation. As silent now as his companion, Bruce reached out with trembling fingers, and moving with the utmost care, cleansed the damaged areas. Reining in his emotions, he turned his full attention to bandaging Haze's injured hands.







With the purpling skin hidden beneath the swaddling layer of crepe, Haze seemed to relax just a little.



"Why would you let him get so close, Haze?" Finally Bruce felt he had to ask. "You know how strong he is! Good god, he could have killed you." He reminded the ethereal youth. "A bit more of this and he might have."



Haze shook his head. 'No.' He signed, the bruising on his hands and back making any movement painful. 'Kal. No kill me.'



"No? Just think for one minute about what he actually did! He came after you!" That was the part that still did not make sense to Bruce. Why hadn't Haze just fled once Kal revealed his intentions?



'No.' Haze denied it.



"No? Haze, I don’t understand …" Bruce hesitated, falling silent as the only other possible explanation hit him with the force of a sledgehammer. Haze always told the truth, so if Kal wasn't chasing Haze then …



Christ, he couldn't have, could he? Surely Haze wouldn't deliberately let that psycho touch him?



"You went up to him?" Bruce could scarcely believe it. "Why, Haze? Why would you even think about letting Kal anywhere near you? Even Jon could see that the boy is totally unstable?"



'Touch …Kal … skin … find … Clark …"



The bandaged fingers forced the words into shape, despite the obvious agony each movement caused.



"You thought that you could get close to Kal and slip under his defences?" Bruce could barely conceive of it. "But he turned on you and did this?" He guessed, wondering just how long it had taken before Haze could break free? Bruce recalled the barely restrained fury in the other youth. Has Haze just had to face that maniac? And alone? Little wonder his gentle angel was so shaken.



Shivering, Haze looked away.



There was a pregnant pause.







"Haze, I'm sorry. You're hurt and I'm tired," Bruce admitted. "Perhaps I simply misunderstood what you're trying to tell me? Try telling me again, starting from the bit where you found Kal?"



Haze pantomimed meeting Kal, and standing next to him. Sparing any details, Haze gestured that the two had touched and that he had gotten hurt. He then mimed someone freely offering him something, followed by the sign Jonathan had devised for the red rock.



"You're saying that after he hurt you he voluntarily took off the rock? That he just gave it to you?" Bruce was more confused than ever. "But I thought that giving up contact with the Red-K would turn Kal back to Clark, make him normal?" He frowned. "So where's Clark now?"



If the sign for Clark was uncertainly formed, the accompanying finger drawn sharply across Haze's throat was clear enough but at the same time utterly confusing. Bruce hesitated, bewildered. Did Haze realise what he had just signed? He waited for the correction, but the grim expression on Haze's face suggested that there had been no error.



"Haze? What are you telling me?"



Haze shuddered suddenly, and it was impossible to say whether the trembling in his limbs was from physical or emotional pain.



"You mean," Staring at the anguished figure in front of him, Bruce allowed the words that Haze could never utter to slip out. "Clark is dead?"







The thick silence surged between them, until Bruce felt that he must break it, or go mad. "Haze, do you know that for sure? Did you sense…" He left the question incomplete.



Sat rigid on the chair arm, Haze nodded stiffly.



Bruce stared at the silent youth, uncomfortable thoughts swirling around his head. Those physical injuries look bad enough, but who knows what emotional damage that red-eyed bastard did to Haze? Just how far was Haze pushed tonight?



Abruptly Bruce recalled Jonathan Kent's prior warnings about Clark's abilities.



Given that sort of strength in combination with Kal's personality could anyone, even Haze, take him down?



A chill ran up his spine as Bruce envisioned it: alien against pitted against alien, strength against experience...



Haze is normally such a gentle soul, but he's proved before that he's far from helpless, and we already know he was created to kill if necessary. What if something triggered him to do that tonight? Could Haze have been sufficiently pressured to turn his gifts against Kal? Use deadly force on him? And succeed?



Bruce really did not want to ask, but his conscience demanded it. "Haze, what happened to Clark?" He whispered softly.



Haze's fingers formed the tightening ring with his thumb and forefinger, close to his eye, that had come to mean …



"Kal. He finally won…" Bruce analysed the facts as effectively as any of his computers could have. Haze nodded. Taking another leap Bruce came up with something equally unpleasant. "And he wasn't actually aiming to hurt you was he? Or am I still getting that wrong?"



The slow shake of Haze's head told him the rest. A shiver of horror rolled up his spine and lodged in the back of his neck.



That little shit! Kal didn’t bother about what was happening to Haze! Probably never even thought about it! He just used Haze … took his pleasure with him... I swear if I ever get the chance I'll destroy Kal …



"Is there any more damage," Bruce hesitated to ask, but had to. "Anywhere else?" It was the closest he could bring himself to even think about what else could have happened.



"Did he hurt you," Bruce gestured vaguely at the areas below Haze's waist. "Anywhere more private?" He would not say it. Could hardly bear to even think that it might have happened. Hoped against all hope that it had not.







Painfully Haze shrugged, and then signed 'Bruise', nudging with a fingertip at the fastening of his dark evening trousers. With Bruce's help he slid out of the trousers and stood uneasily, still trembling slightly.



Bruce looked in disgust at the two livid handprints marring the smooth flesh of Haze's buttocks. "Bastard really goes all out for what he wants, doesn't he?" He whispered. "And what he wanted tonight was you … You were lucky to get away with only this much damage, Haze. It could have gone further …"



Haze seemed only too aware of what else could have happened. He glanced at Bruce, his eyes haunted, the less injured hand tapping out a frantic heartbeat against the opposite pec.



"He frightens you?" Bruce didn’t doubt that. "Well, he isn't going to get to you again while I can do anything about it." He wasn't sure how he was going to live up to that offer. What could he do if Kal came for Haze, except maybe buy Haze a few extra seconds to escape? Well, even if that did turn out to be all Bruce was good for, then he would do it anyway.







Fetching one of his old silk shirts from the closet, Bruce eased the fine fabric gently up Haze's arms. "I don't have anything softer." He apologised.



Haze barely moved as Bruce slowly fastened the small buttons with tightly controlled hands. As his fingers approached the top of the row, Bruce felt a shudder roll through the tortured form.



"Sorry." He murmured. "Didn't mean to press on anything sore."



' You. No.' Came the immediate reply. 'Hurt, no.'



"And I never would, at least not on purpose." Bruce reassured him. "When you care for someone, you don't hurt them."



The look of surprise and wonder on Haze's face said it all.



"Yes. I do care for you." Bruce leant in close and, mindful of the bruises on Haze's lips and jaw, pressed an affectionate kiss to the tip of Haze's nose.



"I never thought I could say that to anyone, but I care for you a great deal. Most of my life I have been in the dark, and it wasn't until you came along that I even realised it." Lifting his face, he blew away the straying 's' curl to improve his access, and kissed Haze's forehead tenderly.



For a second he thought that he must have been touching another tender area, as minute shudders ran through Haze, so tiny that they scarcely registered. The growing wetness on his chest brought Bruce fully awake. Haze was weeping, leaning against Bruce's chest, the youth's tears streaming silently down over both of them and dripping onto the floor.



Bruce let his hands dip low, then pressing both hands against Haze's hips, he held him close and comforted him as best he could.







After a few minutes, Haze shook himself free and awkwardly grabbing up the towel, dabbed carefully at his face with the edge of it.



"Get into the bed with me." Bruce urged. "I promise that we'll just lie there, and if I snore you can pinch me. Deal?"



Haze managed a small smile.



Bruce settled as slowly as he could onto the mattress, with Haze resting on top of him, with his face to Bruce's chest, as that kept the majority of the damaged areas clear of any contact with either the bed or with Bruce.



Haze's right side seemed to have suffered the least from Kal's attentions, and it was just possible for him to turn his head and lay that side of his face on Bruce's skin without too much extra discomfort.



Bruce lay there, staring up at the ceiling, palms draped over Haze's biceps, and very much aware of the fragile state of the chiselled body resting on his. "Do you know why you haven't healed yet?" He ventured after a few minutes.



There was a shiver from the silent form.



"I'm not trying to pry Haze, I'm worried about you, that's all." Bruce promised. There was no answer.







It was the movement that roused him, Bruce had dreamed that he was being lightly shaken inside a massive flour-sieve or some such nonsense, rousing he found that his bedmate was the source of the disturbance.



"Haze?" Bruce yawned sleepily. Somehow in the intervening time the shirt he had put on Haze earlier on had vanished. Their bed sheets were gone too: there was only bare skin under Bruce's hand now. By now it was full daylight, and Haze was still sprawled heavily over him.



"Haze?" Bruce tried gently talking to his shaking companion. "Haze?"



The youth was totally unresponsive. That didn't feel right to Bruce, Haze had never slept this fully before; in fact he had never done any more than shut his eyes and relax.



Except for immediately after healing me… Something is very wrong!



"Haze!" Bruce was immediately fully awake. He was also pinned under Haze's not inconsiderable weight. A consciously active Haze laying on him was one thing, but this was rather too much. The scientific part of Bruce's mind began to summon up warnings about prolonged overheating causing seizures. Was that why Haze's was unresponsive?



But his skin doesn't feel any hotter than normal?



He took note of the rapid way that Haze was breathing, his lungs partially filling, before emptying in unnerving shallow gasps, and the unnatural tension of the youth's limbs. It was a mystery. One the master detective intended to solve, and fast, but first he would need some additional assistance.



"Alfred!" Bruce slapped his free hand on the panic button beside his bed. "Quick, get in here."







A few minutes later, Alfred was hurrying in through the bedroom door. He immediately saw the situation for what it was, and for what it wasn't.



"What the?" Jonathan Kent was not quite so well versed in the potential kinks of the billionaire set. Like Alfred, Jon also a horrendously early riser, and had evidently already been sitting in the kitchen, sharing a cup of the odorous sump-oil substitute that he and Alfred lovingly called 'real coffee', when Bruce's summons had been received.



"Bruce, I really do hope this isn't what it looks like. Cause it really doesn't look … " Whatever else Jon was about to say was lost to posterity as Haze suddenly went totally rigid in Bruce's arms, muscles spasming in pain.



"Haze!" Bruce barked, "You have to snap out of it!" Holding on as tightly as he dared, he tried to prevent Haze from incurring any additional damage.



"Oh, my goodness. What is that?" Alfred wondered, pointing towards the upper edge of Haze's back. "That line?"



Bruce recalled the horrendous injuries that he had cleansed so carefully in the wee small hours of that morning. He sighed. No chance of hiding those from either Alfred or Jonathan now…



"It's glowing … like green kryptonite!" Jonathan frowned, "But what would that be doing on Haze, and … Holy …" His eyes widened.



"A most curious mark indeed." Alfred was outwardly calm, but evidently worried. "However could Master Haze have come by it?"







From his position Bruce could just make out the beginning of a green streak that extended down at an angle until it travelled down the curve of Haze's spine and out of his sight. Adrenaline began to pump through him. That mark had not been there earlier!



"It's like someone cut into him with a kryptonite blade…" Jonathan growled, before Bruce could answer. "This is exactly what it does to Clark!" He continued. "But that stuff never affected Haze before?"



"At the moment I'm more concerned with when this was done. It wasn't there last night." Bruce told them. "If someone got in, and was this close to us, then we've got a serious security breach!"



"There's another on Haze's arm!" Jonathan pointed to Haze's left bicep. "It's so small, I didn't notice it at first."



"And another on the back of Master Haze's neck!" Alfred pointed out. He shook his head in confusion. "Strange, I am almost certain that that was not there a minute ago?"

"There's another!" Jonathan pointed. "And look! Another one!"



"Heavens. Those injuries are happening now! There are cuts opening all over him!" Alfred gasped.







Haze writhed in Bruce's arms, panting urgently as the marks appeared in increasing numbers, to all intents he was unconscious but seemingly no less affected for all that.



"Easy, Haze." Bruce soothed, "I'm right here…"



"It would also appear as if the knife were also right here in the room with us," Alfred was openly worried now, and began squinting along the line of the bed. "Except that we cannot detect any sign of it!"



"Invisible knife?" Jonathan suggested "Like something right out of Chloe's 'wall of weird'!" He told them as he shifted his grip to bypass the long slash that now bisected the skin on the back of Haze's right thigh.



"But then where's the person holding it? There's no one on the bed but us. We'd feel the movement otherwise." Bruce theorised aloud. At that moment he felt something shift under his hand, as a fresh slash sprang into existence on that exact spot.



Easily twice the length of his palm, the cut ran all the way along Haze's right shoulder blade. Stunned, Bruce lifted his own hand off of the mark, but there was no sign of a corresponding wound in his own flesh.



"How is that possible, Bruce?" Jonathan demanded. "It couldn't have cut Haze without going right through you too, could it?"



"I don't know, Jon. There has to be an answer, except that right now I have no idea what it could be."



"What can we do?" Jonathan was openly worried.



"Hold onto him, don't let him thrash about or he's bound to tear something open," Bruce told him, "Do the best you can to avoid touching the previous wounds though, they'll be agony."



Alfred took one leg, while Jonathan took the other. Bruce locked his arms around Haze's biceps and struggled to apply no more pressure than absolutely necessary.



"Fight it, Haze!" He breathed in Haze's ear. "Fight back!" He felt a slight change in the pace of Haze's breathing, was it finally improving?



"Come back to me." He urged as Haze shifted uncomfortably in his embrace. "I can't lose you again!"







"Look at the first line, Alfred!" Jonathan nodded at the first long green welt. "It's dimming!"



As the three men watched the glow slowly faded, leaving an open cut across the smooth skin. The second line dimmed, followed by a third and a fourth, until finally the very last line was inactive. A network of fresh cuts now covered the wounds of the previous night; a moment's pause and blood began to seep slowly out of the new injuries.



A few second's more and Haze lay still against Bruce, his body relaxed and his breathing relatively normal again. There was a collective and audible sigh of relief from those with him.



"I shall fetch fresh cleansing solutions." Alfred decided and moved off.



"Bruce?" Bruce realised that Jonathan was still standing at the side of the bed and staring down at him.



"Jon?"



"Want some help there?"



"Might do." He quickly double-checked to see if he was still wearing his pyjama pants and found that he was. "Actually, yes. You slide your hands under Haze' hips, and I'll lift from his shoulders and see if I can't wriggle out from under."



Jonathan gave him a wry grin and nodded.



As Bruce started to ease away, Haze shivered, his arms coming to rest around Bruce's shoulders, his face nuzzled into the crease of Bruce's neck.



Bruce gave a small sigh. "On the other hand I could stay here a while longer…" He supposed. "Throw the sheets back over us, could you, until Alfred gets back?"



Jonathan nodded sagely. "Haze needs you right now. I guess we'd better try this again later?"



"I really don't do this sort of thing on a regular basis." Bruce apologised.



That earned him a wicked grin from the elder man. "Shame." Jonathan's eyes twinkled with mischief. "As far as I'm concerned, Haze is a consenting adult. Under better circumstances that position might even be fun?" He suggested with a wry grin. "Supposing someone were a bit kinky…"