What the Pictures Show

Chapter 12

Dick found himself in a rhythmic trance of repetitive motion, the film of suds enveloping his hands as he delved deeper into the mound of dishes piled in the sink and drew his hands back out again to be rinsed. He and Conner had volunteered to do the cleaning despite Ma Kent's protests. Dick hasn't really volunteered to be a good guest, though Alfred had taught him to always be one. It was a deliberate attempt to redirect his thoughts away from the agitation that was consuming him more and more, from the trial coming up in two days.

He was scared. He wasn't sure he wanted to attend. He had to. Still, maybe he could get out of it. Maybe he could do something to not have to face Bruce again. How would Bruce look at him when they finally saw each other after so long? Disappointment, pity, or hatred? He wasn't sure which would be worse. When their eyes met, would Bruce share with him some sense of understanding, an apology for years of harsh words and loneliness? No. That wasn't Bruce.

That was what hurt. Things, life, was so close to being good. He was so close to having a loving father. It would only take a few warm glances, words of praise, a few minutes—he wouldn't even have the audacity to ask for hours—of quality time together for the pure enjoyment of each other's company, not for a mission or appearances. Those moments always seemed to slip away though, leaving him aching and fragile again.

He fixated on his reflection within the bubbles, the delicate swirls morphing his face into a tired, distorted mess of colors. He didn't like what he saw. He looked lonely. He looked weary.

"Do you ever feel like it's always you who's fighting for your relationship with Clark? Like you're the one trying to bridge the gap?" Dick asked Conner, his head tilted upwards as if he was speaking to the air.

Conner's brow furrowed as he considered the question. "Yeah. I mean, I did. I was the one who had to go out of my way to prove myself, to show him that I was more than a clone. He didn't trust me one bit."

"I'm not sure Bruce trusts anyone." Dick paused, letting a deep sigh pass his lips and reaching for another bowl. "I'm always the one trying to break through his emotional walls, to make him open up, to show that I'm not rejecting him, just growing. Then he decides to reject me first."

Conner looked up at Dick, something soft behind his gaze. "Maybe he'll change," he said doubtfully. "Clark did."

"You know, he wasn't always like this. Bruce, I mean. Back when I first met him, he was my hero. He was this larger-than-life figure. He saved me from a dark place and gave me a new purpose. At first, everything was perfect. He made me smile. I laughed and felt like I was part of a family again. Then, he just stopped."

Conner nodded emphatically. "I guess there's a reason why people say 'never meet your heroes.' The Justice League is so amazing, so perfect, until you meet them. There's a group with some deep personal issues if there ever was one."

Dick laughed. "Yeah. I wished we'd all have some sudden epiphany and be alright. I think Bruce kind of had that when I was younger, but it, I don't know, when away. The more comfortable I got, the more he started to withdraw, to become more closed off."

"I get that. Luckily for me, Clark and I both went from uncomfortable to comfortable, you know the same direction. Different time scales though. I was a bit quicker to it. I wanted Clark to see me as more than just a clone, to accept me, and it just took so long for that to happen."

"At least it did."

"Yeah, I guess." Connor sighed.

They fell into silence, the clinking of dishes doing nothing to drown out their thoughts.

"You know you're going to have to talk to him about this at some point, after he's released."

Dick huffed. "If he's released. Everyone's so sure he will be, but I'm not. Even if things go smoothly, his reputation will never be the same again."