On the Road to Gotham

Author’s Note: Thanks for the review, Lucy! It’s good to know there are still Whitney fans out there!
***
The sewer system under Old Gotham had been constructed with Pre-Industrial London in mind. The passageways were narrow and further clogged with refuse that Whitney carefully aimed his beam away from. There were no walkways running along the walls to take them up out of the sewer’s sludge; just dark lines that marked how high the sludge could rise. The ceiling dripped fetid water between cracks in the stone and Whitney realized nothing here was dry. Everything his watch’s light flashed over dripped and oozed or otherwise reflected back so darkly he did not care to contemplate further. He thought again of Lex, and the warmth of his bed, then smiled to think of the hundred showers his lover would demand before he’s let him grace that bed. He looked forward to every one.

“We’re almost there,” Jessica exclaimed, breaking the silence they’d walked in for nearly half an hour. “See that marker?” Her finger pointed towards a soup can affixed by some means to the wall. “We’re almost home. Just a few more minutes.”

Her estimation proved correct. They came upon an unnatural opening in the wall, a darkness that melted from the stone and absorbed his watch’s light. With some reluctance Whitney followed, determined not to be shown up by a half grown kid. His first step dropped beneath his feet, steps, and he cursed softly as he stumbled, banging his arm painfully into the wet stonework.

A short flight down, a sharp turn and they were walking in a narrow, enclosed space. The roughly hewn walls brushed his broad shoulders and Whitney hunched as much as he was able. Jessica strode confidently ahead of him, her grip secure about his wrist.

“We’re here.” She stopped and the blond realized there was a door in front of them only when she knocked, the hollow noise not carrying far in the thick inkness that surrounded them. She knocked a distinctive code and a few moments later the door slowly eased open. “It’s me. Spark. Let me in.”

“There’s someone else with her,” a boyish voice said from beyond the door, but it still ponderously eased back.

“He’s a friend,” Jessica reassured. The opening was wide enough to squeeze through and the teenager dragged him after.

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but a bunch of kids playing videogames in the sewers of Gotham wasn’t it. Close to half a dozen sets of eyes swung his way, and not all of them were of a normal human shade variety. Metahumans.

“Hi.”

***
Superman was furious. In a detached part of his mind he wondered if anyone in the League would really object if he brutally rent Batman limb from limb. The man’s absolute refusal to accept help had buried Whitney under a pile of machinery and flooring. Tossing aside the massive constructions of metal, accurately gauging and compensating weight shift so nothing threatened to fall further had been easy, but the lead in the twisted sheets of flooring had prevented him from seeing Whitney and the girl’s exact location. Which was why he floated now above the knee deep sludge in the sewer, Whitney nowhere in sight.

Several feet away the focus of his ire was talking to himself, gaze focused on the small device in his gloved hand. Superman realized it was a tracking device, but he didn’t see how Batman expected to use the thing. Most satellites couldn’t penetrate into the sewers and even if Batman had one, what guarantee he was tracking the right blip? It was well known that Gotham, like New York, had tribes of disenfranchised living below the streets. Whitney could have been taken by nearly anyone.

“This way,” Batman growled and Superman flew after his running figure. This was the Dark Knight’s city, so he would trust him for now. If they didn’t find the detective soon, however, Superman would conduct his own search, even if that meant leveling Old Gotham. He wasn’t going to let anyone hurt the blond, not so long as he was here and Luthor was safely in Metropolis.

Batman stopped suddenly and Superman flew past a few yards before he pulled up, the force exerted rippling the water below. “What is it? Why did you stop?”

“Shut up.” The vigilante was staring hard at his little doo-dad. “It just disappeared. No, re-route through France.”

The man was mumbling nonsense. Superman angrily shook his head. “I don’t have time for this. We were headed this way. I’ll keep looking while you fix your toy.” No longer having to keep pace with his teammate the younger man sped off, moving too fast to hear Batman’s shouted protest.

***
“That hot-headed,” Batman started, but Lex interrupted.

“Let him go. It shouldn’t be possible we lost Whitney’s signal.” Lex’s tone was terse, but far calmer than Bruce expected. “Oracle, do you have any ideas?”

Barbara Gordon, former Batgirl and now acting operations hub for a loosely connected network of superheroes aptly named Oracle loosed an epithet she could only have learned at her father’s precinct. “I helped design and test that prototype. The signal should be detectable in space. I’m going to try boosting the reader. Some the technology was adapted from Cerebro so I’m going to try Hank or Kitty. I’ll let you know. Oracle out.”

***
With a cool, slightly stinging touch Whitney’s wound slowly knit itself closed. The sensation was not entirely pleasant, but it lasted only a few short minutes and he was soon left with a pale patch of unblemished skin. “Thanks, Plaster.”

The teenager grinned before slapping the detective on his newly healed arm. “No problem, chap.”

“Here.” Accepting the candy bar thrust under his nose Whitney nodded his thanks to one of his less hospitable hosts. He could understand Kenesis’ distrust. These kids by one means or another had been abandoned by the people who were supposed to care for them; earning their trust was going to take longer than one afternoon.

“I recognize you,” one of the girls said. She was perched on the edge of an older ratty mattress, thin arms wrapped about her bare furred legs, bushy tail curled over her tiny clawed feet. Calico’s mutations were obvious, and in the superhuman world, unremarkable. Unfortunately, what made her commonplace among her own kind equally made her an easy target for the prejudices for normal people. Calico couldn’t hide what she was, Homosuperior-felinous. How her nose handled living down here Whitney didn’t know. “You’re Lex Luthor’s boyfriend.”

Even down here his love life preceded him. “Yes.”

“No shit?” When Whitney just raised an eyebrow Bloom grinned. “What the fuck you doing playing cop at when you got a rich daddy like that on the line?”

“Would you really like to sit around all day like a good little wife waiting for the hubby to come home to order you around?” When a chorus of “yes!” answered him Whitney laughed. “No, you wouldn’t. Yeah, anything might seem better than here, but for how long? At least down here, you have each other. Playing some rich man’s wife, even one as gorgeous as my Lex, you’d be all alone. As a cop I can help people and Lex respects that.”

Bloom waved a dismissive hand. “Nah, he just wants your ass.”

“Bloom!” Jessica smacked her friend hard upside the head. “That was totally rude!”

“It’s okay, Jess.” Talking about Lex had reminded Whitney, however, that he had responsibilities to return to. Patting his pockets he reached inside as pulled out a pen, not noticing the LexCorp logo etched down the side. “Any paper I can write on?”

Someone produced a graphic novel and Whitney flipped open the back cover. “This first number is to a foundation sponsored by the Agency. They can give you food, clothes, the basics. Give them my badge number. They won’t ask any questions and you can go as often as you need.

“The second number is to the Xavier Institute.”

“We’re not mutants,” Plaster snapped. “We don’t want their help.”

“But you may need it.” Whitney addressed Plaster, but his eyes were on Kenesis. For all his hostility he figured the boy as the leader of the group. “No one can say that you are all done changing.” He rolled his eyes in Calico’s direction and Kenesis looked away, his expression darkening. From her size and build Whitney would guess she hadn’t hit puberty yet and he doubted it would be pretty when she did. “The Xavier Institute are the experts on genetics and you don’t have to join the club to get their help.

“The last two are work and my cell. Call me if you need anything. I’d like to say living in the sewers isn’t safe . . .”

“But we have no where else to go. Not any place that won’t split us up.” Jessica took back the novel, her small fingers running over the column of numbers in Whitney’s blocky script. “Thanks, Mr. Fordham.”

“Call if you need help, even if it is just to talk to someone.”

“Okay.” Jessica smiled, reassuring Whitney he would be hearing from at least one of these kids.

***
Jessica and Kenesis left him at a main access tunnel, their directions back to the surface fairly simple. It would take him a half hour of walking, but these clothes were destined for the trash anyway. Thank God the watch still worked. Considering how small the batteries had to be he’d expected the flashlight to have long since burned out, but it flashed on without a stutter. A faint green light blinked on the side, but Whitney didn’t notice it.

His feet sloshing through the near knee deep water was not the only sound carrying through the long tunnel; the distinct sounds of organic movement surrounded him, the shadows of sleek creatures splashing into the water ahead of him being caught on the edge of the beam’s range. Some of those shadows looked larger than a rat and Whitney stopped, suddenly unsure of being alone and unarmed in the dangerous sewers beneath Old Gotham. Somehow the old ‘Big, Bad Marine’ pep talk stuttered as he imagined what mutated monster could be lying in wait for him.

Before he could abolish his fears he heard the oddest noise of the wind rushing behind him. The sound was frightening in the enclosed space and he spun to face whatever was coming at him. Considering the highs and lows of his day so far he almost expected a tidal wave of garbage and sludge to be upon him. He didn’t expect to see Superman flying at him.

“Detective! Are you are alright? Where’s the girl?” The superhero came to a stop before him, hovering above the brackish water.

“I’m fine. Jessica is . . .safe.” It was testament to the man’s beauty that Clark Kent could look good in a badly made suit, but he was brain liquefying in skin tight spandex. Whitney’s watch light threw him into sharp relief, every hill and valley of toned muscle painted to perfection.

“Let me judge that. Your sleeve is saturated in blood,” the pompous ass rumbled. A large hand took a firm hold of his arm just above the elbow, gentle for all the strength that couldn’t be resisted. “Yet I see no wound,” the superhero puzzled.

“A long story. I’m fine now. Can we- Ah!” Something pumped into the back of Whitney’s legs beneath the water, hard enough to stagger him. Before he could react he was out of the water and in Clark’s arms, the hero staring down at the churning water with open hostility. Looking over his shoulder to see eyes glinting up at him Whitney exclaimed, “What the hell is down here?”

His shout tightened the grip about his middle. Pressed flush into those rippling muscles Whitney swallowed thickly. He loved Lex, loved the feel of that compact, slimly muscled form moving over him, but Clark Kent held his own allure. His strength was unparalleled and to himself Whitney could admit to understanding why women threw themselves off Metropolis rooftops in the hope of being scooped up into these arms. When they’d been teenagers Whitney had masturbated to fantasies starring Clark Kent. Feeling his face heat the blond ducked his head, pressing his forehead to a muscled pectoral.

“Good question,” Superman said, oblivious to Whitney’s turmoil. “One that the sanitation can answer. Our priority is to get you to safety.”

“Indeed.” Whitney hadn’t heard the Dark Knight’s approach, but there he was glaring up at them from a few feet away.

“Batman,” Whitney warned, “there’s something down there. Way bigger than a rat.”

“Yes. They are scavengers, however, and rarely eat what’s not already dead.”

“Thank God,” Whitney breathed. Though he wasn’t eager to be back in that sludge, if he didn’t get away from Clark’s arousing scent and body he was going to embarrass himself. “Thank you, Superman, you can let me down now.”

There was a long moment of hesitation before Superman carefully lowered him down. Somehow, though Batman’s facial expression didn’t change, Whitney knew he was glowering. A challenging expression Superman returned in full measure. Biting back a scream of frustration Whitney gave his back to both superheroes and started to determinedly slog his way down the tunnel.

“I’m out of here,” he called over his shoulder. Something bumped into his leg and he kicked back. “Get out of my way, rat.”
sSs
TBC.