The World's Finest Team... JUST ANOTHER MUTHA-$%@&!-ING  TEAM-UP STORY
World's Finest #4 - October, Year Three	by Bertram Gibbs

BATMAN

SUPERMAN

APOLLO

MIDNIGHTER

FOUR

Metropolis

    “This is your base of operations?” asked the Midnighter incredulously.

    He stood on the transporter padd in the false walk-in closet in the Kent’s bedroom.  Which was a mess, if you chose to be kind in your description.

    Drawers were pulled open in the dresser, the night-tables, and the small workstation in the corner, the real closet door hung open revealing clothes barely hanging from multi-colored plastic hangers, the bed looked like it was the scene of a vicious battle, women’s undergarments were on the window sill, along with a coffee mug and several intersecting circular brown stains.  Similar stains dotted the bedroom’s tan carpet, giving the viewer the first impression that sections of the carpet were of a leopard print.  Midnighter couldn’t decide if this was the scene of a burglary or a wild party (or a burglary after a wild party).  Superman glanced sheepishly over his shoulder.

    “Excuse the mess,” he said.  “My wife isn’t exactly Susie Homemaker . . .”

    “I sort of guessed that.  Doesn’t look the type.”

    “. . . and I’ve been too busy to clean the place.”

    “You do the cleaning?” Midnighter asked, a small dark smile spreading on his lips.

    Midnighter’s comment suddenly registered and Superman was about to ask him when and where he saw Lois, but was distracted by a self-conscious feeling from the man’s second question.  He shrugged.  “If I don’t, who will?” he asked, feeling suddenly embarrassed by the condition of his home.

    “Cook, too, I suppose?” Midnighter asked.

    “We take turns,” he replied.

    “That’s nice,” the dark man muttered, his eyes glancing through the open door and inspecting what he could see of the outside room.

    Superman frowned.  “Excuse me a second,” he said and ran from one side of the room to the other, cleaning and straightening up at super-speed.  A blur of movements cleaned one section and scrubbed another and straightening yet another.  Once the place was spotless (even the stains on the carpet were gone) he came to a halt next to the Midnighter.   “That’s better,” said the Man of Steel.  “Since I know how to find Luthor, we have a little time.  I need to check in at the Planet.”

    Midnighter scowled, not understanding what the ‘Planet’ was, but knew it was another delay.  “Let’s just get this done,” he said.  “The longer we wait, there’s no telling  . . . “

    “I know,” said Superman firmly.  He dashed from closet to dresser drawer at super-speed and in less time it takes a man to blink he stood there as Clark Kent, adjusting his tie.  “But this is my job.”

    Midnighter stared at him.  “Job?”

    “To support my wife and myself?” Superman asked.  “You know?  A job?”

    “And you’re dressed like that for what reason?”

    “The public knows me as Superman,” he said, “But I also go by Clark Kent.  I’m a reporter for the Daily Planet newspaper.  Which is where we’re stopping.”

    “We are?” asked Midnighter.

    “I just can’t leave you here,” he replied.

    Midnighter stared at him frowning behind his mask.  “Don’t take Spazinski lightly,” he said.

    “Trust me, I’m not,” said Superman.  “But I know Lex Luthor.  It’s going to take a good while to convince him to do anything.  Especially someone from an alternate universe.”  Superman caught Midnighter looking at him up and down.  “Something bothering you?” he asked.

    “You have a secret identity, ” Midnighter said.  “Why?”

    “Don’t you?”

    That question stopped Midnighter.  Yes, he took off the mask and the leather, but he had stopped being anything but Midnighter long ago.  That evil psychotic bastard fuck Henry Bendix made sure of that.  “No,” replied Midnighter.

    “So you have nothing to change into?”

    “Do I look like I have a spare fucking suit on me?” asked the Midnighter harshly.

    Superman sighed and pulled a small device from his pocket.  “Superman to Watchtower,” he said.  “Come in Watchtower.”

    “Flash here, Supes!” said Wally on the microscopic receiver (built by the Blue Beetle and the Atom; patent pending) in Superman’s ear.  “Wha'cha need?”

    “Go into Batman’s locker, get one of his suits, and transport it down” Superman said.

    There was a pause on the line.  “Shouldn’t we ask first?” West asked.

    “No time,” said Superman.

    “That means bypassing a lot of security,” mentioned Wally.

    “You have the speed to do it,” Superman replied.

    “Blue or brown?” he asked.  “I have both.  There is a small stain on the lapel of the brown, but I can get that out.”

    “He’s very talented,” muttered Midnighter.

    Superman smiled.  “Blue.  Contact Batman,” added the Man of Steel.  “Let him know the identity issue.  I’ll transport some of my clothes just in case.  Apollo looks about my size.  Superman out.”

    Seconds later, a dark blue suit, a light blue shirt, a black tie with royal blue diamonds, black socks and a pair of high polished shoes appeared on the padd.  Superman scooped them up and handed them to Midnighter.  “Get dressed,” he said placing a single breasted gray suit with black shoes, socks and a pale blue shit, and navy tie on the transporter.

    Midnighter grumbled and removed his mask, revealing a handsome blonde with strong features.  Minutes later, he stood dressed in Bruce Wayne’s suit, finger tousling his hair.

    “Hold your breath,” Superman suggested.

    Midnighter frowned.  “Why?”

    Superman waited a second for the man to inhale.  He scooped him up, ran down the stairs (twenty-six floors down), out the emergency exit, and down the thirty-three blocks to the Planet building.  They zipped through a rear entrance and up the ten flights of stairs to the Planet’s news office.  He placed Midnighter down on slightly shaking feet.  They were in the stairwell of the floor’s emergency exit.  He suddenly toppled backwards, landing heavily on his rear.

    “Tell someone you’re going to do that next time,” he said, exhaling deeply.

    “You okay?” asked Kent adjusting his glasses.

    “Go pick up your messa . . . “ Midnighter said coming to a standing position and stopped in mid-sentence to look; really look at the visage of Clark Kent before him.  “And . . . ?”

    Kent looked blankly at the hero.  “’And’ what?”

    Midnighter pointed at him.  “And what else?” he asked.  “You put on a suit, you comb your hair back, you put on glasses, and what else so no one will know you’re Superman?”

    “Uh, that’s about it,” Kent said.

    Midnighter’s eyes widened slightly.  “And they can’t tell the difference?” he asked shaking his head from side to side in the negative.

    Clark smiled slightly.  “So far, no,” he said.

    Midnighter’s jaw dropped.  “What the fuck is wrong with you people?”

    Kent flinched.  “You mind cutting that out?”

    “Cutting what out?” asked Midnighter defensively.

    “The profanity,” Kent said.  “A hero shouldn’t curse the way you do.”

    “Why the fuck not?” he asked, a dark smile forming.

    “We’ve become models for the kids,” said Kent.  “We have to set an example.”

    “Did you sign a fucking contract?” he asked.

    Clark’s eyes closed slightly.  “No,” he sighed.  “We didn’t sign a contract.”

    “Case closed,” said the Midnighter.  “We say what the fuck we want and whoever doesn’t like it can shove it up their ass!”

    Clark felt a headache coming on.

    Midnighter grinned.  Even without the mask, it wasn’t a pleasant sight.

    “But since this is your world,” he said, “I’ll keep the blue language down to a minimum.”

    Kent sighed and opened the exit door.  “Thank you,” he said.

    “Don’t fucking mention it,” Midnighter said with an evil grin.

    The muscles in Kent’s back visibly tightened through the jacket.

    They walked into a wall of noise; the rabid hustle and bustle of the newsroom.  Men and women dashed from desk to desk yelling at each other with papers crushed tightly in hand, on cell and office telephones, at computers typing away, and more running around and yelling.

    “What the hell’s going on?” whispered Midnighter over Kent’s shoulder.

    “It’s a slow day,” Kent sighed.

    “KENT!” bellowed a voice from across the room.  “Where the hell have you been?  Where’s my story on the museum robbery?”

    “Sorry I’m late, Perry,” Clark said rushing to his desk, which was where Editor Perry White was headed.  “All I have to do is print it out.”

    “I should have had it ten minutes ago!” barked White.

    Clark flipped on the computer and entered his password.  The system hummed and the screen with the Planet logo sprung to its pixilated life.  The icons on the desktop popped on one by one.  Slowly.

    “I’m waiting, Kent,” growled White.

    “Be a second, Perry,” Clark said, adjusting the glasses that slipped down his nose.  He double-clicked on the WORD icon and a blank page filled the screen.  Kent clicked on the drop-down menu and selected the story White wanted and opened it.

    The system crashed and began to reboot itself.

    “Keeeeennnnnnt,” White said in a warning voice.

    “System problem, Perry,” Kent said quickly.  “I’ll have it for you in a minute.”

    “He’s having problems with the computer,” said a dark voice over White’s shoulder.  White spun to see a blonde man wearing a very expensive suit staring at him.  “Lighten up.”

    Perry White frowned.  “And you are?”

    “Got it, Perry!”

    He glanced over to Kent, who was clicking the print button on the toolbar.

    “Well, Mister Kent?” White grumbled.  “Care to tell me who your friend is and why he’s in my office?”

    Clark was about to reply when his eyes widened at the PRINT JAM message on the printer.  He stood and popped the cover and removed several crushed paper of the story.

    “I’m working with him on a story, Perry,” Clark said, removing the toner cartridge, then sliding it back into its recess, then closing the printer’s cover.  “I’ve got to leave in a minute to check on a lead.”

    “You’re not leaving this building until I get that story!” barked White.

    “Who the hell are you?” asked Midnighter, again over White’s shoulder.

    The office suddenly went as silent as a tomb.

    White turned, eyes flaring.  “I’m the editor of the Daily Planet, mister!” he snapped, spittle flying.  “I’m in charge of this place and who are you to butt your nose into it?”

    “Maybe if you replaced your shitty equipment with a computer and a printer that worked,” snarled Midnighter, “you’d have your fucking story and we can get the fuck out of this zoo!”

    White’s eyes went wide and he lifted his hand to poke his finger in Midnighter’s chest.  He suddenly felt a vice-like grip on his arm and watched the room spin around him, seeing the top of a desk coming in quick.  He was slammed face first onto the desk, his forehead striking a stapler and cutting the skin, and his arm pulled up savagely behind him.  He felt the Midnighter’s hot breath in his ear.

    “Your precious fucking story is printing asshole,” he whispered.  “I thought you’d like to know.”

    Clark was already on his feet and moving forward, but a small figure cut in front of him.

    “Hey!” she barked.  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

    The Midnighter’s eyes shot up to the brunette.  “What’s it look like to you, you stupid bitch?” Midnighter rasped.  “I’m one movement away from breaking your asshole boss’ mother-fucking arm!”

    “HEY!”

    All eyes turned to Clark.  He was standing with his hands clenched into fists and his jaw was set tight.  Lois was close enough to see a red tint to his eyes.

    “That.  Is.  My.  Wife!” Kent rasped.

    Midnighter’s face fell.  He looked at Lois, then to Clark, then back to Lois.  His eyes slid toward Kent’s.

    “That’s your wife?” he asked.

    Kent continued to stare angrily at the hero from another world.  “Let go of Perry,” he whispered.

    His eyes cast a downward gaze at Perry White who was frozen in place, his face coated in sweat, afraid to move an inch for fear of breaking his own arm.

    Midnighter slowly released White’s arm, and White scampered to his feet and stood shaking, his eyes terrified daggers.

    Midnighter straightened and adjusted his jacket.  “Sorry,” he said.  “I have an anger management problem.”  He reached over and plucked the pages from Clark’s hand and handed them to White.  “I believe this is the story you were asking for?”  He walked past Lois and Clark and towards the newsroom entrance, whispering “Let’s go.”

    Lois turned questioningly at Clark.  His image shifted for a second and he leaned down and pecked her on the cheek.  “Look at your computer,” he whispered.

    Kent moved to Perry, whose eyes were on the back of the Midnighter.  “Perry,” he said.  “I’m really sorry!”

    “Who is that, Kent?” he whispered.

    “Mob hit man,” Clark lied.  “Doing a story on the Regibuto family.  He’s turning state’s evidence.”

    “Good work, Kent,” Perry said in a hollow voice, massaging his shoulder.  “We’ll have the breaking story.  Go on then.”  White walked through the parting staff members back to his office.

    Clark turned right into Lois, who hadn’t moved from the spot.

    “Since when is he a blonde?” she asked.  “And when does he talk like that?”

    Clark shook his head.  “It’s not who you think,” he replied.  He tilted his head.  “Check your computer.”  Kent glanced around and leaned close to her ear.  “Multiverse,” he whispered.  Since he was there, he gave her a kiss and walked out of the office.

    “Not again!” she groaned.  Lois walked to her desk and pulled out a triple size mug, then went to the coffer maker and emptied the pot.  She poured in a single packet of sugar and returned to her desk.  While the office returned to it normally hyper duties, she read.

  
Gotham City

     Batman and Apollo appeared on a rooftop overlooking Gotham Harbor.  Batman walked to the edge and looked down.  Apollo joined him at his side.  He looked around the city and his jaw tightened.

    “This looks a lot like my world,” he muttered.

    “Much crime?” Batman asked after a moment.

    Apollo nodded.  “But we’re trying to stop it,” he said.

    “There’s only so much you can do,” Batman sighed looking at his city.  “You can’t be everywhere.”

    Apollo regarded the Dark Knight for a moment.  “You believe that?”

    Batman’s gaze never left the cityscape.  “No,” he said.

    “You and your friends,” Apollo began.  “You work together?”

    “Not all the time,” Batman said.  He turned and went to a different section of the roof.  Apollo followed.

    Apollo looked around the city.  “You do this by yourself?”

    “For the most part,” he answered.

    Apollo took a step closer.  “It must be very lonely,” he said.

    Batman suddenly turned to him, backing him up to his original spot.  “I have help when necessary,” he said.

    Apollo stared into Batman’s opaque eyes.  “Thank you for helping us find Spazinski,” he said.  “Is there anything I can do while I’m here to help?”

    Batman looked at Apollo.  There was something in his tone that made him not question his sincerity, but exactly what it was he was volunteering to do.

    “You’ve changed your uniform!” said a voice from behind.

    Apollo turned.  Batman did not.  He had heard him coming.

    Robin’s golden cape fluttered behind him as he walked closer to the two men, his eyes glued to Apollo.  He came to a stop when he could see him better.  His lips pressed into a thin line.

    “You’re not him!” he said.

    “Robin,” Batman said.  “This is Apollo.  The League is helping him and his partner, the Midnighter, capture an escaped criminal from his universe.  Apollo.  This is my partner, Robin.”

    Apollo’s eyes ran from Tim Drake’s green boots to the top of his spiked black hair.  His eyes slid to Batman, then back to Robin.

    “Not the multiverse again!” Robin groaned.

    “Like them young, I see,” he said.

    “Excuse me?” Robin said, feeling suddenly uncomfortable.

    “Don’t let his age fool you,” Batman said.  “He very experienced.”

    “I’ll take your word for it,” he replied.  “So I take it Superior Man . . . “

    “Superman,” both Batman and Robin corrected.

    “He doesn’t mind you partnering with your young friend here?” Apollo asked.

    Batman’s head tilted slightly.  “Superman knows that there is the right person for the right task,” Batman said.  “There are times he is able to do things Robin cannot do, and vice versa.”

    Apollo shook his head and blinked his eyes.  “And it is just you two . . . “

    “Three, on occasion,” came a voice from below them.

    Apollo looked down to see Nightwing pulling himself over the ledge.  Grayson stood in front of the silver haired man and held out his hand.  “Nightwing.”

    Apollo looked at Batman, then at Robin, then back to Batman.  He shrugged and shook Grayson’s hand.

    “Are there any more?” Apollo asked looking around.

    “There are others I partner with,” Batman replied.  “But they’re not here right now.”

    “And your friends on your space station,” said Apollo.  “They don’t have any problem with your partners?”

    Batman shook his head, but frowned slightly under his mask.  “My associates are known to the League,” he said.  “They’re approved on my authority.”

    “This is a very open world,” Apollo muttered.

    “And what are you two doing here?” asked Batman.

    “I was patrolling the area and saw you and . . . Apollo,” said Robin.  “I wanted to see if you needed any help.”

    “And you?” asked Batman turning to Nightwing.

    “It was quiet in Bludhaven,” said Grayson, “So I came over to visit Robin.”

    “Yeah,” said Tim Drake.  “We haven’t seen each other in a while.  Figured a twosome would be fun and we can catch up on lost time.”

    Apollo remained silent, trying to absorb this conversation.

    “You need any help?” asked Grayson.

    Batman shook his head.  “Apollo and I are going to pay the Joker a visit,” he said.

    Nightwing silently pointed his chin at Apollo.  Batman nodded once.  Both Nightwing and Robin nodded their silent reply.

    “Well, it a pleasure meeting you,” said Nightwing, moving towards the roof’s ledge.

    “Yeah,” chimed in Robin, shooting a grappling hook to a far roof.  “When you finish with your business, maybe we can hang out!”  He looked at Nightwing with a grin.  “Won’t the Penguin be surprised!”

    The two dove off the roof.  Apollo watched their descent, seeing Robin effortlessly swing into space and shoot another hook in a different direction.  Nightwing did a power dive straight down to the sidewalk below.  Apollo glanced over to the Batman to see if he was going to leap after him.  Batman’s concentration was on a hand held device he was whispering into.  Apollo turned back in time to see Nightwing shoot out a line and swing up in an arc, catching up with the younger man.  They seemed to be talking to each other as they swung together.

    “The Joker and his men are on Kane and Finger,” Batman said.  “That’s only a few blocks from here.”  He leaped up on the ledge and turned back to look at Apollo.  “Try to keep up,” he said and dove over the side.

    Apollo rose into the air and stared down at the dark shadow skimming across the rooftops.

    “That bitch is hot and he knows it,” he muttered.  A grin of questionable morality flashed across his face as he followed the Batman.

    Closely.

To Be Continued…